Chapter 1 Lam 5 #3
“What’s the matter, handsome?” Lam said, licking his lips at the feeling of fresh blood from the agitated wound. “You wanted to fuck me, come in me. I’m giving you what you want.”
Lam brought his hand to his mouth and tasted pennies. Sharp pleasure ricocheting up through him, and it drove him into a faster rhythm.
His hips were moving punishingly now, driving Brent relentlessly inside him. His own cock was bobbing freely in the air, dripping and needy. He didn’t have the hand to spare for it. He was climbing the crest, slipping his fingers deeper into his own mouth, painting the blood across his tongue.
“Fuck me,” Lam demanded as his fingers popped out of his mouth. Brent’s eyes fluttered open. He searched Lam’s face, and then his gaze slid lower to where they were joined.
“Ah?” He said stupidly.
“Come on,” Lam sneered.
Brent’s chest was heaving, his arms itching to move even as he kept them still.
“Don’t move those arms sweetheart,” Lam warned. He was getting close to the point of distraction now. “Wouldn’t want to pick up any more injuries. What would your wife think?”
Brent made a lost noise. “P-please don’t–she doesn’t know–”
“Of course she doesn’t,” Lam cut in. “Why would she know about your fantasy to go out and rape men?”
“I didn’t–I wasn’t–”
Lam scoffed. “We both know what you were going to do to me under this bridge.” He grinned, circling his hips. “But this isn’t as good as you thought it was going to be, is it?”
The man gaped at him.
“It never is for me either.” Lam said, too honest. “It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t quite scratch that itch, does it?”
Brent still had nothing to say.
“Oh well, there’s always another bar, another Brent,” Lam said, trying to console himself. It would be a while before he could go out again, but there would be other nights. Other, hopefully more interesting opportunities. “Let’s finish this.”
He fucked down hard, edging closer to his own orgasm. Brent grunted. Arousal or pain? Lam didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
“You’re going to come just like this, understand?” Lam asked.
Brent's hands curled and uncurled like he wanted to do something. But he didn’t, he just kept staring up at Lam like he didn’t understand him at all.
“You could’ve had me in the bathroom, you know,” Lam confessed. His eyes fluttered shut a moment, imagining it. “You could’ve pushed me against the dirty wall, fucked me. I wouldn’t have even brought out my knife.”
Most of the time that was how his nights ended. If they approached him in the bar, if they approached him with anything nearing consent, Lam would let them fuck him, and then let them go. No violence, no blood. A simple hook up.
Those instances were more like masturbation for him though. They didn’t give him this. This, Lam only got to have when they didn’t approach him in the bar. When they followed him out on a dark walk back through the city. When they thought they could have him without asking.
“Fuck,” Brent groaned.
“You could’ve had it like you imagined it, rough and mean. Making me cry as you bullied your way into me.”
“Jesus.” Brent gasped.
“But maybe that would’ve been too close to the wife. To what you have at home. You wanted to chase me. You wanted the fear.”
Lam leaned in to lick at the sweat on Brent’s jaw. “How did it taste, the fear?” Lam pressed the blade in, just above the carotid, letting it split the skin.
Brent choked, but had just enough sense not to move, not to jerk and drag the blade somewhere worse.
Lam drank it in, hips moving and moving, riding Brent.
“Tastes good, doesn’t it? The fear, the power. The moment right before you catch their throat in your teeth–”
“I’m–I’m sorry–!” Brent bleated. Gone was all of that temper, all of that masculine ego. Now he was prey begging to be spared.
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Lam said, “I want you to come.”
Like a switch flipped, Brent did. He hacked a wet sound, cock starting to twitch inside Lam, filling him with heat.
Lam’s eyes dipped to the blood at his throat, the beautiful rivulet of it.
How easy it would be to press the knife in.
To split the skin and have all that blood, all that hot life in his hands, dripping over his skin–
Fuck, then he was slipping over the edge himself, coming in shivery ecstacy. He lost himself in it, just enough that if Brent had any wherewithal, he could’ve done something.
But he didn’t. Brent came, and then collapsed panting against the cobblestones at Lam’s mercy.
Lam sighed as his own orgasm faded. The shocky warmth of it was still sparking in his fingers and toes. He’d made a mess of Brent’s hoodie, come streaking it up and down.
But that was the least of Brent’s problems.
Maybe this man, as simple as he was, was going to make it through. His fish-eyed obedience saving his life. It had been a while since Lam had let one of them go. Most of the men he’d let live had been in his early days, when Lam had been an amateur himself.
But he was about to leave this city, so letting Brent go wouldn’t be too much of a risk. He’d just have to alter his appearance.
It was almost funny that Brent of all people was going to make it through due to obedience and good timing. He didn’t deserve the honor, but there it was.
Lam lifted up, letting Brent’s softening cock slip out of him.
Hot, wet come leaked out after, and Lam hummed.
He’d enjoy that more when he got home, sliding his fingers in through the mess, tasting it.
Taking one of his toys and reliving better nights.
Fucking himself raw, imagining another man, the faceless one in his fantasies that could give him what he wanted. What he needed. A man who–
“You’re the Three Strikes Killer,” Brent said, jarring Lam out of his fantasy.
Lam tilted his head, looking down at Brent.
“Oh sweetheart,” he said with faux disappointment, excited adrenaline spiking again in his chest. “And you were doing so well.”
Before Brent could respond, Lam drove the filet knife quick and deadly into his neck. His other hand covered where’d he cut so the spray didn’t douse him.
“Third strike,” Lam said as Brent began to flail. He tried to scream, but in seconds he was choking on the blood. Dying.
It poured out quickly, gloriously hot and thick.
Lam pulled the knife out and brought it to Brent’s cheek. He made the third mark there and then leaned down to lick the blood, to press his face into the mess of it.
“But you’re right,” Lam whispered, lapping at the blood, tasting the sharp, deep flavor of it. He could never get enough. “I am.”
His fingers found the cut he’d made in Brent’s neck and touched the blood. It was already starting to cool in the winter air. Lam’s cock twitched, fresh arousal singing in his veins.
He always wished this part lasted longer.
When he pulled back though, the man’s eyes were vacant.
“Well it’s been fun,” Lam said as he pushed himself up. Breeze blew past, chilling his wet skin.
Lam took a deep breath and pulled his pants up and stowed his knife. His eyes caught on the mess across the cobblestones. He wanted to reach down and touch it, but the moment was over. He couldn’t stay.
Lam strode over to where the bridge met the wall. There he began moving the rocks he’d stacked earlier to hide his things.
He made quick work of stripping and changing his clothes, then wiping the blood off himself with wet wipes. His soiled clothing went in a backpack.
Then he unrolled the body bag, took it over, and maneuvered the body in. He filled it with enough stones that nothing would bring it back up, and sealed it shut.
Their coupling had taken place just two feet from the edge of the canal, so it was easy to roll the whole thing in. The splash was loud, but there was no one around to question it.
The bag sank as quick as the others had, drifting down into the dark, impenetrable waters. Lam would miss the easy disposal option the canal provided when he moved.
He took the bucket he’d stored and dipped it down into the waters, pulling up sludgy water to splash over the bloodied stone.
After a few rounds, any evidence of what had happened was washed into the canal.
The man would be missed, like the others had been, but so far the city hadn’t put any force behind it, hadn’t dredged the canal.
People didn’t tend to jump to murder first, when a man went missing.
Lam cast a look around, to make sure he didn’t miss anything.
The night was silent when he finished. He was alone, just him and the night and the stars above.
As always.
Lam sighed and went home.