Work Text:
Meddle About
Chase Atlantic
1:35 ━━━●───── 3:23
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ
volυмe : ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇▉
Evander met Ronin Beaufort in a dark, dingey alleyway. The thought was almost humorous, being in an alleyway with a smoke between his lips before a half-drunken man ran past him with his arm pouring a long stream of thick blood. Perhaps it should’ve scared him, made him get goosebumps, and made him scream in fright, yet all it did was invoke some sort of... curiosity. What had happened? Who had been the cause of it?
His prayers were answered when ten seconds later a purple-haired man with a manic smile entered right where the man had come from, crowbar in hand that was dripping blood. Evander had to admit the site was quite peculiar, but in this sort of town it wasn’t surprising.
His curiosity was yet to be fed, as he was completely ignored by the two. They didn’t spare him a single glance, which was usual for Evander. Always in the shadows. He doubted his mother could ever remember his birthday, let alone the name she herself bestowed him.
It didn’t take long before the quiet chokes and wheezes went silent. Evander quietly relished in the newfound silence, the man's haggard running and wheezing interrupting his silence. He took another draw from his cigarette, not even looking towards the man who walked out of the shadows, even more bloody than before.
Evander could get a proper look at him now. The messily cut hair that somehow fit perfectly on him, the dark bloodlusted eyes, and the blood-stained teeth that were pulled into a grin, seemingly high off the chase he got.
It stirred a strange feeling in his chest when the man turned to look at him, grin not faltering. “Enjoy the show, darlin’?” He snarkily asked, and god when Evander heard his voice, it felt like his heart stopped and his entire body faltered as his mind blanked for a response.
The hot stranger laughed at his reaction, taking a teasing step forward while swinging the crowbar back and forth. “Scared of me?” He asked, a cheshire cat grin enveloping his face. He tilted his head to the side, almost in a playful cat-like manor.
“No, just... admiring the goods,” Evander responded, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, which was exceedingly difficult with the present company. It was odd—the influx of emotions; he rarely was at a loss for words with anyone, so why this murderer?
That earned him another loud laugh; the man did not seem afraid at all of bringing attention to himself. A blood-soaked cackling man in a dark alleyway was quite literally what the police would be looking for.
“Admiring, huh? Gotta say…” The man's eyes trailed up and down Evander’s body in a way he was sure was to make him uncomfortable, but it didn’t help the strange tightness in his stomach. “Not horrible yourself, darlin’.” The man took a few more steps closer, and despite that, Evander was in no fear for his life. If he was meant to die, he simply would.
“Name’s Ronin, darlin’, what’s yours?” Ronin asked, reaching up to his forehead to push away some hair that was sticking to his forehead due to the blood. It was somehow the most attractive thing he’d ever seen a man do, and that was very stupid of him. Yet he couldn’t help the strange stirring in him, yearning to move closer and lick the blood that was drying on his face. Under normal circumstances, he’d find it disgusting, but there was something so appealing about how Ronin wore the look.
“Evander,” he answered, silently chastising himself when it took him too long to respond. “Now, Ronin,” he began, taking another puff from his cigarette before taking his eyes off the man and looking to the full moon. “Are you planning to dispose of me like your buddy in the alleyway back there?” He asked, slightly jerking his head to the back of the alleyway that was covered by buildings; no moonlight got in, which left it pitch black. Quite the smart place to kill someone.
“If you behave yourself, I won’t have to~” Ronin teased, taking a drawingly longer step towards Evander. “You gonna be a good boy, or do I have to punish you?” Ronin asked, cocking his head to the side again with a wide-eyed smile.
The implication left Evander frazzled, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He prayed to every god he could remember that his cheeks weren’t as burning red as he felt they were, yet it was all to nought.
“Do I make you nervous? Flustered, perhaps?” Ronin continued, not bothered when Evander didn’t answer in time. Ronin’s fingers raised dangerously close to his face, so close that Ronin could strangle him and he couldn’t be able to do anything about it. The prospect—the danger—made him tingle with excitement. It had been a long time before he found someone who interested him like this. Someone who captured his attention the moment he saw him could wrap his pretty hands around his neck and he’d enjoy it.
“Intruged, maybe. Not nervous.” Evander finally let out, flicking his tongue over his dry lips and pressing the cigarette in his hands to the cold brick wall behind him. Ronin’s fingers ghosted over the red tint on his cheeks, a touch that Evander was sure to crave like an addict.
“How cute , darlin’.” Ronin practically purred, pressing his cold and stained hands to the side of Evander’s warm skin. It’d be foolish to describe the touch as people so often did in romance books as 'electifying'; it was not that. It was more like two beasts, one starved and the other tainted, blending together in reckless and addicting abandon, knowing full well that everything could crash and burn, but who was Evander if not a risk-taker? Who was Evander if not greedy? Who was Evander if not a firefly to a flame, always chasing what he cannot have?
That was the first night of many. Evander didn’t question it when the next day he woke up to Ronin making himself at home, going through his kitchen, and making breakfast for the two of them. Oh, how sickeningly domestic! He was disgusted yet yearned for more at the same time. Yearning so much for a man he met yesterday who was slaughtering someone.
Well, Evander never claimed to be smart.
Occasional visits from Ronin were routine by now. It’s not like he had much else to do except kill, work, sleep, and eat, then do it all over again. Evander supposed he was a nice distraction, which he didn’t mind, as long as he stayed the only distraction.
The subtle change in Ronin’s behaviour never went unnoticed by Evander. How he’d suddenly know his favourite flower when he never told him, how he’d mention past boyfriends with snide comments, how he’d become possessive if they were ever out together in public. If Evander didn’t know better, he’d say Ronin was almost acting like a boyfriend. A stalking, jealous, possessive, obsessive one, sure, but a boyfriend nonetheless.
When he brought it up, it was, “I’m simply staking my claim, darlin’. You don’t mind, do you?” Because he knew Evander never minded, if anything he craved those interactions. Those subtle moments where he could pretend like he had ownership over Ronin, like Ronin owned him. So much that he’d purposefully ‘loose’ Ronin in the crowd and slide over to a charming guy, one who had no qualms flirting with him. The pure, unadulterated rage was what fueled Evander. That he knew it was only so long before Ronin snapped—killed a guy, truly claimed Evander. He couldn’t say he’d argue with either.
So when that day finally came, when Ronin dragged him away by the wrist and slammed him into the very same alleyway where they met, pinned his body beneath him, and tilted Evander’s chin up with a sadistic look and smile—one which Evander often called his ‘cheshire smile’, used exclusively when he was tempted to murder someone—Evander’s heart stopped beating for a few seconds.
Ronin roughly slammed his lips into Evander’s, and Evander was sure he could taste something akin to blood, but he couldn’t tell whose it was. Either way, he was blissfully encaptured in the moment, using his hands to pull Ronin as close to him as possible. It was messy, it was bloody, and it was addicting. Just like them.
Only a few weeks ago did Evander not know the name of Ronin, The Butcher, but now he was letting Ronin drag him up to his house, rage fuelling every step as he murmured how he’s going to “slit the throat of any asshole who thinks they deserve to talk to you, darlin’.”
That night was intoxicating and ever so life-changing.
Next morning a new murder was announced on the news, and Ronin walked into the house an hour later with Evander’s favourite flower and apologised for leaving so late at night.