directors_cut

They knew it was a possibility, but it didn't keep Billy's brow from creasing in anger at the loss, eyes narrowed, but that hold keeping him in check. "So that part was true? Shit. That complicates things. But the stick was fine? We can work with that." Little more drawn out than their preferred style, and they weren't exactly quick about their killing to begin with.

"You did good~," he finally offered some praise, lips curled and starring into Stu's eyes, watching to see what that little bit of praise from Billy's lips did to him.

There was a reason they preferred the knife, though, and Stu wasn't entirely satisfied by 'work with that', grimacing his own frustration. Beaten with whatever was on hand was a crime of passion, it was sloppy, it was a sad story of some guy who didn't even have any respect for the genre. They were artists. At least, Stu thought so, when he didn't know about Billy...

His frustration was quickly reworked by Billy's encouragement, managing to untangle his fingers as much as it turned his grimace into a grin, and in a burst of enthusiasm Stu was releasing Billy to give him an energetic shove, only to grab him again by the shirt and yank him into that same smacking kiss to his mouth.

The knife was ideal. Beautiful. Complex but simple. It could kill fast or slow. And they were artists, you had to be the with knife. They didn't just hack and slash, there was a definite art to it. Though if Billy was being honest, he really did like using his hands. Looking into their fucking eyes as the fight drained from them? Perfection.

He didn't admonish Stu for pushing and jerking him around, instead getting into it, none too gentle with Stu either as a hand caught at his throat, squeezing just enough to get a reaction.

Stu was quickly grabbing at his wrist to pull free, bodying him back against the nearest surface, a control panel that clattered and groaned as something in it broke under the weight shoved against it. "Is that how you're going to congratulate me?" he complained. "What if this guy bleeds out, and nobody else even cares? You're the only one I can count on, Bill."

Fuck, that was gonna bruise. But Billy wasn't complaining. No, that was all Stu, and Billy huffed, dark eyes looking over his partner in crime.

"And what is it you think you deserve, Stu?" he prompted with a smirk.

It wasn't nearly as fun when they didn't wrestle back, draining enough of Stu's enthusiasm to pitch him over where he could plant his hands on that dusty console, forcing Billy to bend back further yet to accommodate his height as he heaved his own sigh. There, he was bowed enough to nose his way along Billy's jaw as he mumbled, "An adoring audience." His mouth on Billy's neck was as much a bite as it was a kiss, arms tense on either side of him to keep him from wrenching away from the bruise.

Gritting his teeth, Billy tried to twist his way free, but they both knew Stu was the strong of the two of them.

"Fuck, man-" He smacked Stu's shoulder hard, and then dropped his hands to start roughly working Stu's pants open. "Adoring's asking a lot."

The smack effectively pacified Stu, freeing Billy from his crowding as Stu slouched back obediently with a dark laugh, watching Billy through his lashes with the expectant dedication of a dog waiting for the signal to attack. "Do I need to finish him off for that?" he asked. "I could go back. It wouldn't even be that hard, one nick and I could peel him open, spread his guts so far they'll think it was a bear attack."

Billy laughed, grinning wide and feeling like he was never quite able to with anything else. This shit brought him to life, and Stu was the only one he'd ever met who could understand that.

"Keep talking-" he instructed with an eager nod, dropping down onto his knees and tugging those pants down. His hand fisted loosely round Stu's cock, tongue more interested in tracing over those pink scars on his stomach.

That guy had dropped on the first hit, and Billy fucking Loomis was on his knees. Stu had never felt more powerful. Even then, he only got as far as a hiss of surprise, already overeager and oversensitive from running half-hard through the woods, and caught Billy's free wrist with one hand as he pushed the other roughly through his hair to comb his bangs back, before he was doing as he was told; "Don't even need the knife," he could agree then, "one good hit and his skin was pulp. He'd open like a book. I could just dig my fingers in..." He pulled Billy's hand up his side, to spread just under his ribs to illustrate, "--pull the muscle until it snapped, until it was just meat."

How they waited a year between their first killing and their second, Billy had no idea. Even waiting this long since they'd been dropped into the space had felt like an eternity. They might not have got the job done, but they'd planned for that.

He grinned against Stu's side, that sick description doing all the right things for him. No one could paint a picture quite like him. Billy's mouth teased closer, nosing along that cock with hot, damp breaths, a challenging look on his face. He wanted more.

Stu could have whined, his proud sneer briefly crumpling into a pleading twist of his brow at this devastating teasing, until he recovered enough to demand more gruffly, "C'mon, man--," his fingers tightening in Billy's hair. He had to take a steadying breath to continue, and by then his nails were digging into his own chest, threaded through Billy's pressed against his solar plexus as he said, "When they stop fighting it's so easy to just reach in, everything's soft and wet." His fingers closed tighter into a fist, scraping welts into his skin, clutching around Billy's hand. "I can take whatever I want."

"So take it," Stu encouraged with pointed look, tugging against the grip on his hand, and giving a harsh shove, still craving that fight. And Stu was so easy to puppet with the right words, the right motivation. Stu was his. Stu understood the shit no one else could. Embraced it.

Stu was made for him.

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