Beauty

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Title: Beauty
Author: *kalypso / koulagirl666
Characters: John Ryder/Viggo
Rating: R18+
Warnings: blood, knifeplay, torture/death
Beta: j_ryder448
Prompt(s): #22: brandy
Disclaimer: I don't own Viggo (he belongs to himself) or John (he belongs to Platinum Dunes et al), and I don't intend to imply anything about them.
Summary: Two men meet in a bar. One doesn't leave.
Author's Note: Also inspired by 'Whiskey in Mind' by Christian Kane.



It's supposed to be just a break from the road: a drink and a good night's sleep in yet another foreign bed before driving into the dawn like it's sunset and this is a Western. The short glass that slides in front of me, unasked, puts that plan neatly off-kilter.

The bartender just tilts his head towards some newcomer in all black, leather and denim and cotton that's unseasonal but looks worn. The guy is stringy-thin and has long hair that hits the straw side of blond under the smoky, dim light that his eyes should be more accustomed to. It's not an interesting combination but for the way he moves, approaching with grace and confidence enough to hint at a challenge.

I don't turn down challenges.


The guy sits without introducing himself and lifts two fingers. I drink the one I already have; I'm surprised that the golden-brown reflection translates to something fruity and yet strong enough to hit my throat in just the right way. The next one stays in my hand and I watch him as he talks, without really listening. He's already hazy-drunk; his eyes are slow to look at me when I ask him to my room and it's too easy for him to pay for us both, wallet back in his left pocket and keys in his right, and take the bottle.


He drinks from the bottle and I wonder how long before he starts to fade but instead he just settles on the bed and undoes his jeans, like this is something he does a thousand times a year.

'Take it all off,' I say; my voice must hint at some kind of arousal I don't yet feel, because he's quick to throw the jacket and shirt aside without bothering to make a show. He has hair on his chest that only just obscures the outline of muscles that used to be more defined than they are; it goes all the way down to his cock, already half hard for me. He smiles when I tell him he looks good. I don't think it's something he hears very much, because he also blushes, and I would say it's beautiful, except it's not quite perfect yet.

I leave my boots, coat and shirt on the far side of the room and watch him as I approach. He touches his cock and reaches for me; I let him undo my jeans and tug at my briefs until he looks close to begging. I almost pity him when he eyes my cock and his tongue slides over his lips.

'I want to try something,' I say, and I take my knife from my pocket. He nods, and shifts so his legs are apart; I kneel between them as he watches me. His eyes are blue like the sky after a storm has cleared, but his head is tilted back and soon his eyes will close halfway and his mouth will open like he wants to sigh but can't. I press the catch on my knife; it slides out and smoothly clicks into position. There is still a bit of blood on it, but I scratch it off before I touch the blade to his skin. I know the metal isn't cool but he flinches anyway, and I draw blood. He hisses but I put a finger on his mouth and lean down. His blood tastes no different to anyone else's, but it isn't as dark as I would have expected.

I want to leave him alive for now, so I only make light marks, but after that first time he is willing enough to let me trace each line on his chest with my blade like I'm learning his body the way a lover would; he stays hard, and when I'm bored I make my first deep cut along the bottom of his cock, just to see if he'll move. He makes a sound, then, a strangled cry I know he tried to hide from me.

'I want to hear you,' I tell him, and then I stop holding back. I want to see how many times I can mark him before his eyes close. He still hasn't fought like I hoped, though he twists when I get too close to somewhere sensitive; instead it's like he's willing and arching into my blade until the serrations catch on his skin and it rips so easily and leave ragged lines that bleed unevenly, causing the blood to thin and dry too soon.


I turn him on his front. Every time he moves away from me he rubs his cock on the bed and it must hurt him because he's groaning now, but I think he's still hard because he moves even when I'm not touching him. Finally, his blood is flowing thickly enough for me to collect it on my fingers and fist myself hard; I let him think I'm done with him and he relaxes just enough for me to slide inside him to finish. I lift him up by his hair and hold my knife to his throat.

'Please, please, please,' he says, over and over like he doesn't know what he needs enough to ask for it. I pull my knife towards me and slice his throat. His body shakes and I finish inside him.


I wash and dress and leave him on the bed, still naked and perfectly broken, finally beautiful. I left him on his side, so he looks like he is resting. His eyes are still open and I don't close them.

I take his wallet before I leave and his keys match a beat-down Ford with enough gas to get me out of the state and on my way south. Before I start the engine I check his ID - it's too obvious a name to last for long, especially with the news being how it is, but he bled too nicely to let him go.