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Warning: Male/Male sex. Graphic NCS. Dark.
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Weiss Kreuz
ken x Crawford
Ken stroked the cold hardness of his clawed hand as he watched his enemy sit down, in a drunken stupor, on a park bench.
He didn't have orders for this. His target was someone else, someone who liked walking through dark parks and murdering innocents, innocents who were foolish enough to walk in the night air, troubled or just happy for the experience of rustling fall leaves and a crisp temperature, after the long hot summer. A wolf among the sheep had to beware of the sheep dog. Ken's role in things was clear, as clear as his orders.
No time, anyway, Ken thought in frustration, as his enemy stretched out onto his back, and passed into unconsciousness, one arm draped over his eyes as if to shut out even the darkness. Still, there might be a way to buy more time.
The clink of handcuffs didn't wake Crawford. His wrists were securely chained to the bench in moments, and that bench was set in concrete. Immovable.
Ken stroked Crawford's cheek with his metal claws. It was rough with stubble. "Wait for me," he whispered unnecessarily, and then he was gone into the darkness after his main prey.
Ken took the 'wolf' down before he could sink a knife into a young, foolish girl, jogging down a park path, headphones blaring music into her ears, making her totally unaware how close she had come to death. She went on her way, while Ken dragged the dead man into the bushes. A park police officer. The man had won his victims' trust as easily as putting on that uniform. He had used it to get close enough to kill without allowing his victim time for more than surprise. Ken had another use for it now.
It fit a little loosely, but was convincing as he returned to the park bench. He had tried to call for orders, but no one had been waiting for his report in. They had been that confident of his success. He wouldn't be a murderer, Ken thought. Having orders made it someone else's decision, someone else's guilt. It was too hard to justify to himself without them. Still, he wanted something, some revenge, that a man like Crawford might remember.
Looking down at the unconscious man, Ken couldn't help thinking how handsome he was. He felt guilty for that traitor thought, but it would make what he felt compelled to do that much easier. He prodded the man in the gut with his nightstick.
Crawford blinked up at him, orienting on the uniform and the fact that he was cuffed. He smiled in a sleepy, still drunk fashion and rattled his wrists. "Sorry, officer, guess that I drank too much. If you'll release me, I promise to call a cab."
Ken didn't say anything, as he ran his nightstick under crawford's shirt. The man blinked at him, trying to see his face under the dark visor of the cap. He wasn't a stupid man, even drunk. He grimaced.
"This won't look good on your record, officer," Crawford tried.
Ken rubbed the man's nipples and felt a rise in his pants strong enough to surprise and disgust him. What was wrong with him? This man was a killer, his enemy, this shouldn't be anything more than a forced act.
Crawford was looking at his bulge, but, if he was alarmed, he wasn't ready to show it. "I'm a top, if you want to know. A very good top."
Ken slipped the nightstick out of Crawford's shirt and slipped it between his legs. The man tensed as his balls were threatened. His smile didn't leave his face though. It was predatory, cruel, and it said that he was well used to darker desires.
"I hope you're not intending to use your nightstick?" Crawford wondered. "You have a pretty good one in your pants already."
Deflect the violence? Bow to the inevitable? A purer man might have panicked, might have struggled vainly, or even cursed him. Crawford was lifting a leg, sliding a knee up as if to give Ken the access that he needed. Ken found himself getting harder, looking at that flare of hip, the taught pull of pants over a full crotch. Was he a bottom? Was he wanting that bulge? He watched the men flex his hips, giving that bulge a suggestive movement, wanting, definitely, to direct how this assault was going to happen.
An evil man used to evil things would know just how to use psychology. Subtle and probably very effective on most, Ken was warned, through past experiences, not to fall victim.
The nightstick went into Ken's belt and then he pulled Crawford's pants and underwear down to his ankles with swift efficient motions. The cock that slapped onto Crawford's belly was sizable and not the least daunted by circumstances as it swelled.
"Like that?" Crawford wondered, giving his hips another, slight thrust, and making the member twitch. "I don't mind if you take a ride, officer. I promise, I am very skilled."
Ken did like it. He did have a fleeting fantasy about that hard cock pushing inside of him, and Crawford... Ken frowned. He had been warned enough times about the man's power. Whether it was shear personality or some power he didn't understand, Ken had almost succumbed.
It made Ken cruel. He opened his own pants and showed Crawford what was in store for him. He stroked it, letting his claws slide out and gleam in the lamplight of the park. The man started at that revelation, but then he seemed to relax, to smile even wider, like a cat getting unexpected cream.
Crawford raised his own knees. "If you insist."
Ken was between his legs and pushing in as if he couldn't help himself. Crawford gave a strangled shout and writhed, but then Ken had him trapped between the bench and his body as he drove in as deeply as he could. He rested then, panting, mind dizzy from his own violence.
Crawford lifted his head, looking pained, and grabbed Ken's earlobe in his teeth. He pulled and chewed, making Ken start. He whispered in that ear, "You're not bad, officer."
Ken's claws raked wood from the bench as he drove home again, trying to get his revenge, trying to punish the man under him. The man was urging him on, though, telling him, 'Harder.' , 'Good!', and 'Make it hurt!' His body was dominating Ken, along with the man's will, as if he were in control, as if Ken were underneath him, and subject to the man's strength. Ken found himself obeying, found himself reaching a peak of excitement, that had everything to do with Crawford's attraction.
Ken exploded, filling Crawford, with short, brutal slaps of his hips, until he was spent and collapsed on the man, body and psyche wrung dry.
"I was feeling pretty down," Crawford told him. "You were a very entertaining distraction, officer. Thank you."
Ken shoved off of the man in disgust and pulled his clothing into order, panting in exhaustion and hating himself, hating his traitor body that had wanted someone as evil as Crawford. He threw the keys to the cuffs at Crawford and they landed on his chest, barely in reach.
"Next time, I'll have orders to kill you. I won't show mercy," Ken promised.
"We'll see," Crawford laughed, "or maybe I'll show you what this feels like on the other end, eh, 'officer'?"
Ken fled. He wouldn't tell anyone what had happened. He wouldn't tell anyone about the darkness that he had found in himself; a darkness that he didn't think would go away until Crawford died.
End