Summary: Steve finds a companion whose darkness might just match his.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is dark. I am FULLY AWARE of how profoundly fucked up this is. MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS. I'm so serious about this one.
There are also HUGE spoilers for Fresh.
I do not condone the actions in this fic. I think that's pretty fucking obvious, but I just want to say it anyway. This is PURELY fiction. I'm an adult and I know the difference between fiction and reality. That's all I'm going to say about that.
MASSIVE CONTENT AND TRIGGER WARNINGS: smut, kidnapping, blood, blood drinking, mentions of cannibalism and murder, discussions of stalking and serial killing, drugging.
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Steve doesn't remember when he started hunting people. He supposes it's always been a part of him - a monster in his closet that he kept hidden, but continued to nurture as he grew. As a child, he was naturally observant, mirroring people and charming them to get what he wanted out of them. You can get a lot out of someone if you're careful, if you move when they move, and mimic their body language. If it's subtle, most people don't notice it. Hell, they're drawn to you because of it. He could have people wrapped around his finger in seconds. Steve found that he was more than conventionally attractive and a warm smile went a hell of a long way.
His father called his tactics manipulative, but Steve sees human interaction as a game. Everyone wants something from someone else. Some of us are just better at getting it.
It was much easier with women. With men, he had to appeal to their bravado; make shitty sexist jokes, talk about sports which he always found boring. Steve was more into art because it required precision, endless practice and dedication. He loves ballet, painting, music, all things his father found to be "too feminine." Steve always enjoyed the finer details rather than the bigger picture. It's probably why he's so good at what he does.
His mother used to take him to the ballet, the opera, and she introduced him to fine art. She even bought him his first anatomy book when he was a kid. That's when he remembers being interested in what someone's insides looked like, what they would smell like, or feel like in his hands. He fantasized about licking blood off of his fingertips and embracing the darkness that had been slowly consuming him over the course of his life.
The first time he tasted human flesh, he was 18. She was an ex-girlfriend. They got into a fight and his rage took over completely. He still doesn't remember killing her. He must have blacked out, but after it was over, he felt a sense of calm wash over him that he had never felt before.
And he wanted a taste of her. So, he consulted his anatomy books and went to work. After that, he knew he could never go back to eating animals. They weren't as smooth, the cuts weren't as easy to work with, no matter how good the butcher was, and the flavor wasn't as rich and complex. It didn't melt in your mouth the same way.
The moment he took his first bite, he had to have more. It was an addiction. It was all he thought about for weeks on end until he finally decided that there had to be a market for this. Steve started doing research online. A lot of it was bullshit, people talking up a big game, but after a few months, a door finally opened for him. All it took was a little persistence. He could finally put his talents to good use.
On the outside, he was a successful cosmetic surgeon with a booming practice. On the inside, he was a depraved fucking animal with a bloodlust that couldn't be quenched no matter how hard he tried, just like every other serial killer he's ever read about. He researched them all, looking at where they went wrong. Steve has always been very careful not to slip up. There are rules to follow: never get too drunk, never strike at random, always have a plan, don't let emotion take over no matter how much they fight back or how angry you get, and make sure that the girls don't have family who could come looking for them.
Even the heavy hitters had to start small, right? Bundy was a peeping Tom, Dahmer started by dissecting roadkill, Richard Ramirez used to break into hotel rooms just to steal things... not that Steve would actually compare himself to those fucking animals. They were barbaric. Steve is precise, kind, even. He appreciates the art of dissection, the precision of it. It's why he's so good at his job.
Steve kept those urges inside for years, all the way through medical school, resisting the urge to rip off his surgical mask and lick a scalpel clean of blood - or staring at a woman's scarred leg and fighting the instinct to dip his head and take a bite out of her. He could see it all play out so clearly, his mouth filled with blood and flesh while she screamed in agony. The image played on a loop in his mind, so clear and vivid that once he was finished with her, he had to sit in his office with his head in his hands, breathing hard, willing the adrenaline to pass.
The monster is always waiting to take over, but Steve is all about control. It's why he double checks the locks on the girls' cages, why he has an impeccable security system, and he always turns the wifi router off and hides it before he brings a girl over. To an outsider, this all looks very dark, but you can get used to anything if you're immersed in it long enough.
Steve has lived with this darkness since he can remember.
The girl he chose this time is sweet. Her name is Catherine. Auburn hair, pretty smile, nice skin. They've been dating for about a month now. He likes to play the long game, it's why some of his deliveries take so long.
He hasn't fucked her yet, but he's thinking about it. Steve only fucks the ones he really likes, and he thinks he really likes Catherine. They've come close a few times, mostly after too many beers at her cozy apartment, but he's been the one who's been reluctant to cross the line. Catherine has been patient, accepting, and even offering to talk him through it. She probably thinks he has intimacy issues. Why do women always think that?
He does, but that's not the point.
Still, he really likes her. She's agreeable and she makes him laugh. She likes his stupid jokes, and they have the same taste in music.
There's also something about her that's mysterious and keeps drawing him to her. He can't figure out what it is. Usually, people are easy to read, but Catherine is special in some ways. It's like there's a part of her hidden away that only makes an appearance when she's had a little too much to drink, and even then, she pushes it down.
It's going to be a shame when he has to start cutting her up. She's so pretty.
What Steve would really love is a companion in all of this. It gets lonely.
So far, not a lot of women have been willing to go along for the ride. Most of them just freak out. "How can you do this?!" "You're a monster!"
Steve knows what he is.
He also knows going to be a long time before he gets caught. Portland is an easy place to pick up potential candidates. It's filled with tourists, and most people don't stay here long due to the rising cost of living. Steve isn't one of those blitz killers like a Bundy or a Ramirez - he takes his time. Most of the girls are with him for months before he finally has to kill them. It's always humane... for the most part. The ones who misbehave meet a much more gruesome end, but the ones who follow orders just never wake up from their last surgery.
He's doing them a favour. It's kind. Compassionate.
Steve grabs their bags out of the car.
"Wow, you live really far out of town," she remarks.
"Yeah," he laughs. "I like the seclusion. It's nice to... clear my head, you know? We've got all of this great nature, it'd be a shame not to take advantage of it."
"That's true," Catherine laughs.
She reaches up and rubs her neck as Steve opens the front door.
"You okay?" He asks.
"Yeah, I just... car rides kind of make my neck act up." He quirks an eyebrow as he puts her bags near the front door. He told her the same story he tells all the girls. He got off work "late", so they'll spend the night here and head out to Cottage Grove tomorrow. Why he got off work late is always subject to change, but Steve does his best to make it sound like he's had the most chaotic day in the world, and all he wants is to have a drink and cuddle up next to them on the couch. They fall for it every time.
"You want a drink?" Steve asks. "Might help you relax."
"I was actually going to ask you if you had a tub."
He laughs.
"A tub?"
"Yeah," Catherine replies, still rubbing the same spot. "Sometimes when I take a bath, it helps me relax and the pain's not so bad."
At least when she passes out, she'll already be lying down. He walks over to her, cupping her face in his hands and presses a soft kiss to her lips. Catherine melts against him, giggling into his mouth. She has such a sweet laugh. It'll be a little sad that he won't get to hear it again. Steve pulls away, his bright blue eyes locking with her hazel ones. Her lips part and he sees her breath hitch in her chest.
He's got her.
This is always so easy.
"How about I make us some drinks and we take a bath together?"
Catherine raises her eyebrows and bites her lip as Steve looks her up and down. She really is attractive. He almost doesn't want to do what he's about to do, but the animal inside of him has to be let out of the cage.
As cliche as Dexter is, he wasn't wrong about that dark passenger shit. Steve has felt that is whole life.
"Sure," she whispers.
He smiles and walks toward the bar cart as Catherine slips out of her boots and takes a look around. He drops a sugar cube into the glass and pulls out a small vial labelled BITTERS and puts a few drops in her glass. It's a potent sedative that'll knock her out by the time she finishes the drink. Steve likes to watch them slowly fall asleep while he maintains a normal conversation. It's a bit of a power trip, but nobody's perfect. Steve muddles up the bitters with the sugar and fills the glass with ice and bourbon, giving it a quick stir. He makes another one for himself, putting a small orange slice in Catherine's glass so he doesn't mix it up.
He made that mistake once. The girl stole his wallet and took off. He never saw her again after that.
Steve hands Catherine her drink and motions to follow him down the hall. He only has one girl right now, but she's too afraid to say anything. She's resigned to her fate here. He broke her will completely.
"Your house is beautiful," she whispers.
"Yeah? My sister helped me decorate it. She's got better taste than me."
Catherine laughs.
"Well, tell her she did an amazing job."
Steve glances over his shoulder, noticing she hasn't taken a sip yet. She's too busy glancing around the hall at the art that hangs on the walls.
They reach the main bathroom and set their drinks on the counter. Catherine's eyes land on the massive bathtub and she chuckles.
"Holy shit. That thing's huge."
"Yeah," he laughs. "I almost never use it."
That's not true. He washes body parts in it, but he always disinfects it afterward. He's not an animal. He's not like them.
"That's a shame," Catherine replies as Steve begins to fill the tub up with hot water. He slowly undresses, peeling off his shirt as he watches Catherine. She seems shy. It's one of the things he likes about her. A little meek, but cooperative. She hasn't said no to him yet.
And now she never will.
Catherine's body is gorgeous, curves in all the right places. But he surgeon in him notices the small imperfections, the dips, the stretch marks, the dimples, his brain going over all the ways he could fix them. He also can't decide what he should take from her first. It's always the hardest decision. This client isn't picky, but some of them are. He told Steve he trusts his expertise.
And he should. If there's anything Steve knows well, it's this.
Catherine unbuttons her jeans and pulls them halfway down her legs before she sighs.
"Fuck."
"What?" Steve asks.
"I forgot to shave my legs."
That won't be a problem.
He laughs.
"Are you embarrassed about that?"
"A little."
Steve flicks his tongue across her bottom lip.
"I could shave them for you," he offers softly.
She laughs in disbelief, but he stares at her, his icy blue eyes piercing hers.
"You're serious."
"I mean, I am a surgeon. I've got steady hands." He holds them up and turns them slowly. "See? No shaking."
Catherine gazes at him, her eyes stormy. And then he sees it, that spark that he sometimes catches when she's a little drunk. It's dangerous, making her eyes glint. Steve's heart races a little. The only two emotions he feels intensely are rage and adrenaline. Everything else is perfectly rehearsed, right down to his charming smile. But this? This is fucking real.
"Okay," she whispers.
"Yeah?"
She swallows, the muscles in her neck twitching slightly.
"Yeah."
"Get undressed," he rasps.
Catherine nods and slips her jeans and underwear off, leaving her standing naked in front of him. Steve abandons his navy blue sweater, tossing it onto the ground. He kicks off his shoes, rips his socks off, and climbs out of his pants and briefs. They stare at each other. Catherine bites her lip, her cheeks bright red. Steve smirks.
"You're beautiful."
"Thank you. So are you."
He stretches out his hand and helps her into the tub, handing her her drink. Catherine watches him with a coquettish smirk on her pretty pink lips as Steve opens a drawer and grabs a straight razor and a bar of shaving soap. He likes shaving with a straight razor. It feels like a scalpel in his hand. She sips her drink and he climbs into the tub in front of her.
"Give me your leg," he purrs.
She sticks out her foot and Steve grabs it gingerly and begins to lather it with shaving soap. He starts at the ankle and works slowly while Catherine watches him.
"I think this is the most intimate date I've ever been on," she whispers.
Steve smirks.
"Me too."
Catherine spends more time watching him than she does drinking her old fashioned. Steve doesn't really mind the pace. There's something about this process that makes him feel focused, almost as focused as when he's cutting into someone with expert precision. He rinses the blade off in the water every few swipes before going back to keep working. He finishes her right leg and taps her left one to get her to lift it up. She does with a soft giggle.
"You have a beautiful laugh," Steve says as he lathers her left leg with shaving soap and gets to work.
"I used to hate it."
"You did?"
She nods.
"Hated a lot of things about myself."
"What kind of things?" Steve asks.
He expects a list of physical attributes - her lips, her ass, her tits. What comes out surprises her. Catherine taps her temple with her finger and Steve tilts his head, a smirk spreading across his face. He licks his lips, his hands almost working independently from his body to keep shaving her legs. He's on autopilot, trying to stare into her eyes to unspool her thoughts. That glint in her eyes is back again, and she's a little looser from the drink he gave her.
"When I was a kid, I started to have these intrusive thoughts," Catherine says softly. "I still do sometimes."
Steve glances up at her.
"What were they about?"
"I had an ex-boyfriend who was a total asshole. He cheated on me with someone he worked with. He thought I had no idea, but women always know." She scoffs softly. "One morning, I was brushing my teeth while he was shaving - with a straight razor." She takes a sip of her drink while Steve watches, still very aware of being careful as he drags the straight razor up her leg. The way she speaks is captivating, her voice low and raspy as her hair falls in her face. "I used to think about grabbing it out of his hand and slitting his throat with it." Another laugh. "The fucked up thing is, I couldn't stop thinking about it the whole day. The thought was almost comforting."
Catherine blinks and puts her glass back down on the edge of the tub.
"What the fuck kind of bourbon did you put in this?" She laughs, covering her face with her hands. "I shouldn't be saying this shit."
Steve's cock twitches. He might just keep her all to himself, as long as she keeps saying things like that. He doesn't need Ann. She's disposable. The razor slips, slicing into her skin. Catherine gasps as blood appears like magic on her skin.
"Sorry," he whispers.
"Accidents happen," she replies, her eyes locked with his.
"Catherine, do you know why I like you?" Steve asks.
She shakes her head.
"You're real," Steve answers. "I like people who are honest, even if it's uncomfortable."
She swallows hard and stares at him, her breath rushing in and out of her chest. Her eyes are starting to droop but she's mostly conscious. He grins, deciding to offer a piece of himself to her. Blood is beginning to drip from the cut on her leg.
Steve dips his head and sticks out his tongue, lapping up the blood that trickles down her leg. The taste of copper on his tongue makes his eyes roll back. Catherine watches him, her eyes wide as Steve lifts his head and stares at her, their eyes blazing. Her cheeks are bright pink. Steve expects her to run, but she doesn't. Instead, she licks her lips and slowly withdraws her foot from his hand, her eyes still on hers.
She adjusts her position and sits on her knees, crawling toward him to climb onto his lap. Steve doesn't move a muscle as Catherine reaches down between his legs, wrapping her hand around his pulsing cock. He whines and she grabs the straight razor from his fingers, pressing the blade into the spot just below her collarbone to slice into the skin. Blood appears and begins to dribble from the wound. Her strokes get faster as her lips part. She puts the razor down on the edge of the tub, runs her finger along the wound, smearing blood on her skin while Steve watches, his breath quick as she pumps him faster. Catherine's middle finger is coated in crimson. She brings it to his lips, smearing it across his mouth. Steve laps it up and their lips crash in a chaotic and messy kiss. Teeth click and they groan.
He's found her.
He's been looking for her his entire life and she's right fucking here.
He finally made the right choice.
Steve grabs her hand to still it and rips his mouth away from hers.
"Fuck me," he whispers.
Catherine doesn't need to be told twice. She climbs onto his lap and eases herself onto his cock, water sloshing against the tub. Catherine throws her head back and howls like a fucking animal. Steve's mouth attaches to the wound she made on her chest, sucking on it until more blood fills his mouth. He groans, his voice hoarse and raspy with desire as she fucks him hard. He can't seem to fuck her hard enough, even with his hands on her hips controlling the pace. The darkness inside of him takes over completely and he bites into her shoulder as hard as he can, breaking the skin. She screams, her hips bucking wildly as she pulls her hand back and slaps him hard across the face, but she doesn't stop. This turns her on. Steve grips her wrist, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise, his eyes flash with lightning.
"Do you know how fucking dangerous I am?" He growls.
"Tell me," she pleads, bouncing on his cock. "Fuck, Steve, tell me!"
"I fucking cut women up into little pieces."
Catherine moans and her nipples pebble.
I hit the fucking jackpot.
"I sell them to rich, fat fucks. I eat some of them, too. I take them apart piece by piece."
"Oh, fuck, Steve, I'm gonna come!" She whines.
Is she even listening to me?
"I was going to chain you up, watch you struggle in your restraints."
Her cunt flutters and clenches around his cock as she comes.
"Don't stop talking!"
Her head is buried in his shoulder. She's still fucking him, her body trying to greedily find its way to a second climax.
"I was going to fucking tear you apart, Catherine."
"Please!" She begs. "God, please!"
He feels like a God right now. The confessions won't stop spilling from his mouth. He had to coach Ann to be obedient, but Catherine is like a fucking gift that dropped right into his lap. Literally. His cock flexes inside of her. She's soaking wet. Steve reaches for the straight razor and grabs her by the hair. He gently drags it across her throat, making a thin line of blood. Catherine laughs, tears springing from her eyes. Steve feels it too, a lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He feels something. For the first time in his life, he fucking feels something other than the urge to consume and destroy.
She fucks him harder, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. The mouth-shaped bloodied bruise on her shoulder looks beautiful. He wants to make more of them. Steve doesn't know why she isn't running, and he doesn't care. Catherine comes again and the sight of her exposed, bloodied throat makes him come so hard his vision whites out.
Her body slumps against his, her blood smearing all over his sweat-stained skin. They breathe heavily and the straight razor clatters to the floor.
"Was that all true?" Catherine pants.
He swallows thickly.
"Yes."
She lifts her head, her eyes piercing hers. There's more than just a devilish glint in them now. Something sinister has taken them over completely.
"Show me."
Steve's mouth crashes against hers. He's found what he's been looking for all his life.