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Arthur knew what he was doing was stupid, wrong, but he couldn’t stop his feet as they took him stumbling towards the back door of Smithfield’s.
The stranger had pushed his victim up against a tree, his knife pressing into the soft flesh of his stomach as his other hand held his hair tightly in a white grip. The man was whimpering, tears running down his cheeks as his legs shook. Arthur’s steps stumbled a good distance away, but still too close for comfort. When the stranger’s burning gaze fell on him, he couldn’t move even if he could will himself to. The man sneered at him, turned his attention back to the whimpering victim in his grasp as Arthur’s feet brought him slowly closer. The stranger was snarling harsh words into the man’s face before his knife was slashing, slicing through the man’s stomach and spilling blood into the man’s clothes, a scream breaking from his throat. Arthur’s breath caught, his heart hammering, moving closer still. When the stranger brought his knife from his victim’s stomach, it glinted dark and wet in the moonlight. When he brought the blade to rest under one of the man’s ears, he sobbed a wet sound, hands cradling his organs as they slipped through the slices in his stomach.
“Look at me,” the stranger growled darkly, and for some reason the man obeyed. When his eyes snapped up, the stranger sliced deeply from ear to ear, drenching his own neck and chest with blood, the warm liquid splashing across Arthur’s face from his position just a few feet away. The stranger pulled back, panting as the man’s body fell at his feet, already cooling. He looked up at Arthur, predator sighting in on prey, freezing him in place again. Arthur’s glance darted to the knife, coated in red, matching the man’s hands, his chest, his neck, his face. Arthur swallowed thickly as he met his eyes again, shudder racing through him. When the stranger lunged at him, he couldn’t even think to draw his revolver; he prepared himself for the deep, searing pain of a blade, but found a different kind of heat as the stranger bit at his lips, forced his mouth open and kissed him. Arthur grunted, eyes sparking at the taste of blood on his tongue. The stranger held his face tightly between his hands, grip slippery and smearing blood over his cheeks, knife edge pressing dangerously close to his eye as the stranger kept it in his hand. Arthur groaned, his hands coming up to claw at his back, pull his hips closer. He felt like he was watching himself through a pane of glass, screaming and pounding, all inaudible over the feel of the man’s mouth on his, of the copper smell of blood forcing its way up his nose, licking the taste of it from the man’s lips as he ravaged his mouth. He shuddered hard as the man brought his knife hand down to his lower back, tip breaking the skin as he rolled the bulge in his jeans against Arthur’s.
The stranger chuckled darkly into Arthur’s mouth, pulling his hand from his face to quickly undo his jeans. Arthur was aching and leaking when the stranger pulled him out, thumb smearing over his slit and causing the man to groan into his mouth. He began jacking him, steady, firm strokes that made Arthur’s knees weak. When he pulled his hand away, Arthur actually whimpered, hips bucking, fingers digging in where they clenched into his shoulder, the flesh of his back. He watched from hooded eyes as the man smeared his palm up his throat, collecting up cooling blood in his palm before he was stroking over him again, faster than before. Arthur groaned hotly at the cool liquid on his cock, jumping in the man’s grip as he worked him closer and closer to the edge. The knife pressed deeper into his back, blood trickling down beneath his shirt. Arthur gasped at the sting, eyes snapping up to meet the stranger’s, black and glowing.
Like a Panther…
Arthur’s muddled mind supplied. The stranger stared him down, held him in place with his gaze, flush barely visible on his cheeks, snarl curling his lips. Arthur grunted as the stranger pressed a nail into his slit, precum oozing to mix with the blood. Sharp pain suddenly bloomed diagonally across his shoulder blade and he gasped harshly, body arching.
“Oh…” the simple sound dropped from the stranger’s lips like a realization and a groan all at once. The next cut ran parallel to the first as the stranger worked the head of his cock, and Arthur was gasping, spilling up between their stomachs, over the back of the stranger’s hand. The man hummed down at him, chest rumbling as he continued stroking over his spent cock, mixing his cum with the blood he’d used to lube him. When the man pulled his hand away, Arthur looked up. The man was licking a line from his own wrist up to his middle finger, eyes closed as he savored the taste of blood and Arthur’s seed, all from his hands.
The glass panel in Arthur’s mind shatters at the satisfied groan that leaves the man’s bloodied lips. He pushes back and off of him, breaths shuddering as he looks between the stranger and his messy cock, going tacky between his thighs.
“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he quickly tucks himself away and zips his jeans, backing away. The stranger is looking at him oddly, smirk on his lips and eyes still burning, glowing in the dark.
Predator.
Arthur stumbles backwards, fear clenching suddenly in his gut. He stumbles and then jogs, before he’s running away from the man, the murder, what they’d done. He heads for the lights of town, darting looks over his shoulder, but the man doesn’t follow, just waves with his knife as Arthur retreats.
When he stops, it’s between a few buildings. He runs a hand down his face, panting, when it comes away sticky. He pulls it from his jaw, pulls his fingers apart against the tacky blood. His head is reeling, he feels like he’s gonna be sick. When he looks down, his shirt is marred with blood, the front of his pants too.
“Fuck!” He exclaims, breaths shaky as he goes to the same water barrel he’d used after the fight with Tommy. He looks down at the water, sees the blood coating his face in his shaking reflection. He splashes water over his face, scrubs at first, then digs his nails into his skin to pull it from his face, his neck, finally sheds his hat and dunks his head, scrubbing furiously as his heart hammers. Thoughts run through his head so quickly that he has to grasp at them before they depart.
What the fuck was that?
WHO was that?
Why did he follow him?
Why didn’t he kill him?
Why had *that* happened?
Why did he like it?
Why did he like it?
The slashes along his back throb, remind him of their presence before his stomach rolls suddenly and he turns, bent at the waist as he voids the contents of his stomach into the dirt. He coughs, spits, and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, groaning. He pushes himself up on the barrel, looks down at the fouled water, his reflection marred by the stain. Arthur splashes it, shattering his image as he bends to pick up his hat. He makes a face at the cool, drying dampness in the crotch of his jeans. His clothes are beyond saving, unlikely that the stains would come out even after a thorough washing. He sighs as he turns back to the dark. He swallows dryly as he surveys it from the comfort of the light, almost certain he can see those glowing eyes out in the brush, watching him.