Archive of Our Own ^beta

He's bloody.

You can tell that he got finished not all too long ago, from the way his pupils were shrunk to the size of peas, and the barely restrained, somewhat satisfied, grin on his face.

Dave is approaching a little bit quicker than he normally would, striding with those long legs towards you. You bite your lip. He obviously means business.

"Well, lookit what we have here." He sounds like he's high off of the rush, drunk on adrenaline.

You find that to be sexy as hell. You don't have the same deranged desires, the same drive to kill. But murder looks way too sexy on your Dave.

You begin to back up as he approaches, like the tango, except you two aren't dancing, and he's just forcing you up against a wall. With your chests pushed up against each other, you can feel his heart pounding, and his grin is growing wider.

Your own heart is starting to speed up too, and you shudder, hands sliding up his sides, tugging him in closer, desperate to feel those bloody hands on you, to feel them prying you open to expose your delicate, inner parts. You want him to rip you open and leave you to possess some shitty, worn-down robot.

Perhaps that specific fantasy is a bit too real, a little too...accurate, to what he's done before. To what he's done recently.
You aren't nearly as deranged as Dave, but being turned on by a child murderer must mean something, shouldn't it?

He leans in, all teeth against your neck as he groans your name out, unspoken promises whispered against your skin as those talented, blood-soaked fingers taint you, as he taints you.

You're far too eager when he asks if you want him. You barely register his words over the lust-filled static in your head. Of course you want him. You tell him that.

The way he says 'good' is almost like praise, and it you curl your fingers into the front of his cheap, scratchy Fazbender's uniform. You want it off. And, thank god, he does exactly what you want, without you even having to say it.

The shitty shirt comes off. You reach for his belt next, but he stops you, pressing you further up against the wall, slotting a thigh between your legs. You shudder.

"Now I don't think I told ya to go reaching for that, did I?" He doesn't sound mad, or disappointed, but the way Dave nearly growls into your ear makes your breath hitch.

Your clothes come off next. Not even just your shirt, Dave strips you down to the bare skin, leaving you shivering against the cool wall, exposed to Dave's watchful eyes. The man doesn't even try to hide the way he's looking you over, like a killer staring down at the helpless body of a victim.

God, you really need to stop with the whole 'relating your sex-life to murder' thing, before you actually ask Dave to stab you. Which you're pretty sure he'd do. It still sounds kind of hot, but you'd rather not have to go to the hospital for a sex-related injury again. Last time was embarrassing enough.

When Dave gets all up in your personal space once more, it's to grab a fist-full of hair from the back of your head, tugging you up close to his face, his other hand unceremoniously gripping your dick.

The sharp pain of feeling his crusty fingers tangled in your hair brings a shuddering whine from you, hands scrabbling weakly at Dave's shoulders for purchase as he pumps your dick, half-dried blood smearing red along your length. It feels so wrong, and yet so fucking right in so many ways.

The wet slide of blood that doesn't belong to either of you sliding over your dick, the way your hair sticks together with the quickly drying blood on his hands. You're starting to sweat. Dave doesn't seem to mind at all.

In fact, just like you, he seems to enjoy it. He's tugging on your hair, pulling on your dick in long, hard strokes. You hiss out a groan, desperate pleads for his cock spilling from your lips, similar to the way the thick blood of innocents poured over his fingers only hours before.

The dips and wrinkles in his hands create cracks along the dried blood on his hands. Though, there isn't much red left. It's all on your hard, twitching length. The sight makes you groan, and you plead once more.

Dave's resolve breaks.

"Sure are a slut, ain't'cha?" He growls, shoving his wrinkled, shitty slacks down his thighs, purple boxers tagging along.

And there it was. God, Dave was so big.
"Well? You want it?" He bumps your dicks together. It makes you shudder. Of course you want it.

"Fuck-- Yes, Dave, ple--" He cuts you off smoothly, like a blade to flesh, closing the gap between you two, locking lips.

He encases you like faulty springlocks, prys you open like a sturdy handcrank. You're all his, and he knows that.
Dave's hands go from your hair to your ass, pulling you apart like flesh from bone, disgusting, blood-crusty fingers slipping against your hole.
You both seem to forget that dried blood doesn't make for good lube, because soon after gliding against your hole, his fingers reappear, presenting in front of you.

Does...Does he really want you to get his fingers wet when they're like that?

Dave prods his fingers against your lips. "C'mon, dollface. Open." He sounds stern, and demanding.

Your mouth opens.
It's salty, and disgusting, at first, but knowing exactly what's on his fingers, and how they got like that...God. It makes your dick twitch.
You wet his fingers nicely, painting the inside of your mouth with a thin layer of red.

"That's a good bitch." He coos, and those fingers go right back to where they used to be, slipping inside of you like they fucking belong there.

Dave stretches you open, readying you for his cock. You say that you're ready before you're truly prepared, and he knows that. His version of reprimanding is gripping you hard by the ass, mouth latching onto your neck to bite into your flesh, marking you as his.

You're nearly sobbing by the time he has his cock at your hole. Dave has you spun around, face pressed up against the wall, hips angled back, ready for him to use you as he desires. Which he does.

Dave slides into you like a knife into the supple skin of an innocent. He gives you no mercy, jackhammering into you in a hungry manner that makes you keen, thighs quivering.
One of Dave's hands is locked around your hip, the other gripping you by the hair to keep your face squished up against the wall, like a corpse stuffed into a robot.

The way his cock reaches into the very depths of your soul makes you almost wail, nearly drooling against the wall, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
He uses you, just like you want, continuing to fuck you even after you've already came, spilling your cum against the wall like blood on the floors in a shitty pizzeria's saferoom.

You're whining, squirming through the overstimulation, but Dave only mutters some dark, threatening, insanely sexy words into your ear as he fucks you to his own completion, hissing and sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he spills into you.

Dave fills you with his cum, topping you off like corpses into the empty shell of a robot.
Your mind finally stops with the murder metaphors when he pulls out, and you feel his cum dribbling down your thighs. You pant softly, leaning up against the wall for a few moments longer before you push off of the wall, legs trembling as you struggle to hold up your own weight.

Dave watches you struggle simply for a few moments, before finally deciding to grace you with some mercy. He helps you along to the bathroom, teasing you about how you'd acted. How much of a slut you'd acted for him.
You were a little too out of it to protest, too hyper focused on Dave's hands, the way they curled around your shoulders, the way his rough-around-the-edges voice sunk into your skin, making you shiver.

God. This man was truly going to be the death of you. Both literally and metaphorically. And you couldn't wait for the day that came.