A/N- WARNING! CANNI!BLAINE AND SERIAL KILLER!KURT. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.
For anyone who has been redirected here from Twenty Words, thank you for attempting to read this. I love all of the people who consistently read that fic dearly, I hope you know that.
If you have no fucking clue what the above statement was about, that's cool too. Just know that this was a prompt given to me that had a rating too high to be included in my other story, so it has been posted separately. Feel free to read Twenty Words (hell, I would absolutely love it if you read Twenty Words), but if you don't plan to, then just ignore the fact that some words in the story are in bold.
The prompt words are: toast cannibalism face paint perverts translator Asia triangle hipster cake Starkid belt buckle Winnipeg blizzard flesh drugs microwave lizard twenty-eight adjective macarena.
If there was one thing Kurt Hummel hated, it was silence. There was silence the entire month after his mother died, aside from small sobs and broken, meaningless conversations. There was silence through much of his childhood, actually. It's safe to say Kurt had a rather hard time making friends. The other children treated Kurt like they needed a translator just to understand him. His days were spent alone, sad as that may be. Even now, when he actually has friends, there is silence. The silence comes from Kurt and Kurt alone as he is pushed to the back of the crowd countless times.
Even at this very minute, as Miss Rachel Berry opens her mouth oh-so-very wide to belt out the last note of her latest solo, Kurt must remain silent. And he can't fucking stand it. Whenever there was silence, Kurt would begin to think. Sometimes his convoluted train of thought wasn't worth discussing, but in times like this, oh GaGa in times like this his thoughts were... interesting, to say the least. They would distract him from the real world entirely, pulling him away with thoughts of tossing a knife into Berry's open mouth, killing the brakes on Artie's wheelchair, grabbing Santana by the ponytail and-
"Kurt?" Schuester was giving him a strange look. Apparently Puckerman had decided to whip out his guitar and sing to the masses, giving those high school perverts the chance to bump, grind, and macarena across the classroom like fools. He was the only one who remained in his chair, grinding his teeth as he thought of shipping Tina and Mike back to Asia in body bags. "Kurt, don't you want to dance?"
"Dancing sounds..." Kurt thought for a moment. What was a good adjective to describe the thought of dancing with these people? Repulsive. Vile. Detestable. Nauseating. Any of those would do. Though of course, they were probably all far beyond Schuester's vocabulary. "I'd just rather sit," Kurt replied with a grim expression. Schue didn't seem convinced, but he left Kurt alone nonetheless. While the Spanish teacher's back was turned, Kurt grabbed his bag and walked out the door. He couldn't stand to be in the presence of these simpletons any longer.
On the way out, Kurt pulled out his phone to text Blaine. Kurt liked being Blaine's boyfriend. Blaine always looked at him like there was nothing more important in the world, like every word that spilled from Kurt's lips was pure gold. And he let Kurt speak; they could talk for hours, and there was never any silence, never any time for those dark thoughts to return to him.
Blaine was quick to reply to his text, and it wasn't long before they had made plans. Blaine was going to stop by the Hummel-Hudson residence; Burt was at the shop, Finn had glee club and football practice, and Carole was off doing whatever the hell she did every day. Kurt didn't really give a shit.
Kurt drove home, going at least fifteen miles over the speed limit the whole way. He got back to his house in no time flat, giving him the opportunity to eat something before Blaine came over. Then again, what if Blaine was hungry? What if he was offended that his loving boyfriend hadn't planned on serving him anything? Kurt put back the leftovers he was about to microwave and grabbed some fruits instead, tossing together a large fruit salad while he waited.
The doorbell rang just as the blade of Kurt's knife was being guided through a fat red strawberry. He jumped, letting out a string of profanities as the sharp edge cut into his thumb. He dropped the strawberry and grabbed a paper towel, pressing it to the thick line of blood that was forming as he ran to the door.
"Hey," Kurt said breathlessly, opening the door to find his handsome boyfriend waiting on the front steps for him. Blaine was dressed in his average hipster attire, and he gave Kurt one of those knee-weakening smiles before letting himself in. Kurt slammed the door and followed close behind him, waiting for Blaine to say something sweet, to touch him, to brush their lips together. Anything to make him feel better.
But of course, Blaine didn't open their conversation in the way Kurt had hoped. "What happened to your finger?" Blaine asked, gently grasping Kurt's wrist and turning it over in his hand.
"Cut myself. I'm fine." Kurt tried to pull away, but apparently Blaine's grip was tighter than it had first seemed.
"Let me kiss it and make it better," he said seductively.
"You don't want to, it's bloody." Kurt tried again to pull away, but Blaine had pulled his whole body closer now. He tugged the paper towel out of Kurt's hand and pressed his lips to Kurt's thumb. Little beads of red blood landed along Blaine's lips, and the dark-haired boy lapped his tongue against them to wipe them away. Kurt hissed as that tongue brushed along the long line of his cut, but there was something more behind the pain that stung at his finger. As Blaine pulled away, Kurt couldn't help but wish the strange occurrence would happen again.
Blaine pressed their lips together now, his tongue probing along Kurt's teeth. He pulled away all too soon, leaving Kurt with shallow breathing and an unfamiliar copper taste in his mouth. "Do- do you want something to eat?" Kurt asked in his dazed fashion. Blaine gave a small laugh and shook his head, sitting down at the kitchen table. "You sure? I made fruit salad."
Blaine shook his head. "No thanks, I'm not really a fan of it." Kurt pursed his lips, wishing he had made something different. He opened the refrigerator door now, calling over his shoulder, "I have more stuff. Lunch meat, chips, ice cream... and I'm pretty sure there's a slice of cake left in here somewhere." Kurt pulled out the small platter he had left the last bits of his double chocolate cake on. It was completely empty, save for a few crumbs, yet someone had carelessly left it in the fridge. Probably Finn, Kurt thought to himself. That fat fuck.
"Really, Kurt," Blaine said, pulling the brunet from his reverie. "I promise you, I won't find anything in your fridge all that appetizing."
Kurt sighed and sat down across from his boyfriend. "Do you wanna watch a movie?"
"Eh..." Blaine shrugged in a noncommittal fashion.
"Do you wanna go somewhere?" Blaine shook his head at the suggestion. "Do you want to do ANYTHING?"
Blaine let out the breath he had been unintentionally holding. "I need to talk to you about something," he said quietly.
Kurt raised his eyebrows in anticipation, yet Blaine didn't speak for a quite some time. Kurt could feel his foot twitching, his palms sweating. He finally smashed his hand against the table. "Spit it out, Blaine!" he shouted.
Blaine sighed, not at all phased by Kurt's outburst. He stood up and circled the table, coming around behind Kurt and putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. He started massaging at the taut muscles of Kurt's back, and the younger boy felt hot breath on his neck that sent chills down his spine. Blaine was kissing him, sucking at the sensitive skin of Kurt's pale neck. His teeth were grazing the flesh, nibbling now accompanying the sucking. Kurt let his head drop back to allow Blaine more access, which the boy took gratefully. His actions became more intense, the pulling and biting at Kurt's skin going from pleasant to painful.
"Blaine, Blaine stop," Kurt whined. The pressure only increased, and Kurt began squirming with discomfort. Kurt was going to call out again, to try and make Blaine stop when those pearly white teeth suddenly went too far. Kurt screamed in pain, immediately fighting against the sharp teeth that were embedded into his skin, the sucking that was pulling blood from Kurt's neck. He tried to pull away, but the strong hands on his shoulders only pushed him farther into the kitchen chair. He was letting instinct take over now, fighting for any chance at survival. Kurt planted his feet firmly on the ground and thrust backward. His chair threw Blaine against the wall in surprise, and Kurt took his opportunity to scurry away. His first coherent thought was one of instinct as well: grab the knife on the counter.
"Kurt!" Blaine barked, overcoming his confusion. "Kurt, I-"
"Stand the fuck back, Blaine!" Kurt twirled the knife in his nimble fingers, poising it in the perfect throwing position. "Don't think I won't jam this knife into that stupid triangle you call an eyebrow, you rat bastard!" Blaine looked hurt by Kurt's words, though Kurt couldn't fathom why. Blaine wasn't the one bleeding from the fucking neck, now was he? "If you take one more step, I will kick you so hard in the ass you'll fly into space! They'll be calling you Starkid Anderson, you'll be so far in orbit!"
Blaine shook his head. "Kurt, what did you expect to happen when I said I needed to tell you something?" His tone was quiet, but the blood spread across his face like paint made it seem more sadistic than anything else.
"I don't know! You wanted to break up. That you did hardcore drugs. That's you're secretly into bestiality and you wanted to buy a pet lizard or something to watch us fuck? I don't know, Blaine!" Kurt brandished the knife as Blaine tried to take a step closer. "Pretty much anything would have been better than you trying to eat me!"
"You mean you never picked up on the signs?" Blaine was shaking his head again. "I've been planning this since the day I met you, Kurt Hummel. And you don't even realize how many times I've tried to do it." Blaine was laughing now, that sick bastard. Kurt opened his mouth to yell, to see what the hell was so funny about all of this, when Blaine cut him off. "Really, go ahead. Try and guess one of the times I tried and failed at getting you alone long enough to, how do I put this delicately... take a bite."
Kurt bared his teeth in disgust. "The blizzard," he said. It was the first thing that came to mind. "The blizzard where I was trapped at Dalton overnight. We sang Baby, It's Cold Outside."
Blaine made a show of clapping for him. "See," he said with a cackle, "I always knew you were smart, Kurt." He was stepping closer now, not caring that Kurt was ready to throw a knife through his chest. "There were other times, too. All our trips to the coffee shop, when I would invite you back to my house. You always turned me down."
"Like we'd be alone there anyway," Kurt said, as if it was obvious. "Your parents-"
"Are dead." Kurt's eyes widened. "They've been gone for a while now, actually. It's a good thing I come from a rich family whose only contact with one another are letters and checks in the mail. Killing them off and continuing life like nothing happened? It was easy as pie. All I do is sign a few checks in my father's name and it's like they're not even gone."
"You... you sick fuck." Kurt backed up against the counter. Blaine was right in front of him, but Kurt was too shocked to do more than let Blaine take the knife and set it on the counter.
"They didn't deserve their lives to begin with, Kurt."
"But to kill your own parents- to kill anyone is just-"
"Oh, like you've never thought about it!" Blaine seemed exasperated with Kurt, but had continued to remain eerily calm. "Like you don't sit there fantasizing about killing every shit-for-brains you come across. I can see it in your eyes, Kurt. And I think I'm the only one."
Kurt swallowed. His hand had found its way to his neck. Dried blood was forming around the tiny, teeth-shaped holes. He would need to put some gauze on those later. "How many? How many people have you killed?"
Blaine didn't even have to think about it. "Twenty-eight." Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "Don't act like it's such a big deal, baby." Blaine touched Kurt's cheek. "Look, I see something in you, something fighting to get out. I don't want to kill you, Kurt. Yeah, you would be," Blaine leaned in and breathed in through his nostrils slowly before whispering, "fucking delicious. But I think we were meant to meet. The way you fought back was... indescribable. I think we could make a great team. A great couple."
Kurt narrowed his eyes. "What makes you think I still want to be with you?"
"Because," Blaine said in that smooth voice of his, "I'm the only person who understands you, and I'm the only person who ever will." Kurt looked Blaine in the eyes, and somehow he knew this was undeniable. He grabbed Blaine and pulled him in for a kiss, all tongue and teeth and tinged with lust and the coppery essence of blood. It could've been ages before they pulled away, but it felt like it could never last long enough for either of them. Blaine's teeth dug into Kurt's lip as they separated, and for the third time in under an hour Kurt was bleeding. Blaine dove back into the kiss to taste Kurt, who was beginning to tingle and enjoy the sensation, the closeness of it all very, very much. When they finally parted, Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine and rested his head on the shorter boy's shoulder. His eyes passed over the clock as he did so, and Kurt's whole body froze when he saw the time.
"Shit!" He pulled away from Blaine and pushed him to the door. "Get out, my family will be home soon!"
Blaine nodded, but grabbed a pen off a nearby table and wrote something on Kurt's hand first. "This is my address. Tonight, around midnight, you need to sneak out and drive here, do you understand me?" Kurt nodded and ushered Blaine towards the door once more. Blaine pulled him into another one of those heated lip-locks before running out to his car and driving away.
Everyone was asleep when Kurt left. He hoped they were all still asleep now as he pulled into Blaine's expansive driveway. Blaine was waiting outside the large white house for him, and he motioned for Kurt to get out of his car and climb into one of Blaine's, a sleek black one that you could barely hear as the engine came to life and it pulled away from the place Kurt just arrived at.
"If there was one person in the entire world that you could do away with, who would it be?" Blaine asked him calmly. Kurt thought for a moment, though the answer seemed obvious all along.
"Rachel Berry."
"Do you know where she lives?" Kurt rattled off the address and Blaine typed it into his GPS. They started off towards Berry's house, though Kurt had no idea what he was supposed to do when they made it there.
"Blaine?" The older boy glanced away from the road quickly to look at his lover. "Have you ever thought about what you would do if you got caught?"
Blaine chuckled darkly. "That's all I've been thinking about lately," he said, his voice deep and sinister. "But I've never wanted to be alone. I was waiting on the right person to run away with."
"Me," Kurt said. It wasn't a question, but more of a statement of fact. Who else could it be? Blaine reassured him, saying, "Yes. You. Do you see that suitcase back there?" Kurt glanced behind him, noticing the black leather briefcase. He nodded, and Blaine continued. "There's money in there. Cold hard cash. Fake passports too. I've always wanted to live in Canada, did you know that?"
"No, I didn't." They were silent for a moment, but Kurt needed the silence to be filled, he needed his questions answered. "So that's the plan? You're taking me and a suitcase full of money across the border?"
"Not until we get you your first kill. We're on a mission, baby."
"But where are we going afterward?" Kurt asked impatiently.
"I've made arrangements for us in Winnipeg. All we have to do is cross the border."
Kurt let out a harsh laugh. "Are murder and cannibalism legal in Winnipeg or something?"
"No, of course not. But from there it's a straight shot to those rural areas where we'll be a lot harder to catch." They had reached Rachel's house. Kurt could see her first floor window, the lights off, from where Blaine had parked his car.
"How am I supposed to do this?" Kurt asked sheepishly.
"Improvise. You'll need to knock her out so we can get her tied up and in the car. Use something in her room, or something you have with you if there's anything heavy enough. Leave as few fingerprints as possible. Stay quiet, and make sure she does too. If you can get her out the window, I'll help you with the rest."
Kurt nodded and took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself. He stepped out of Blaine's car and crept up to Rachel's window, which was thankfully already open. The screen was easy to punch through, and it wasn't long before Kurt was in Rachel's poorly decorated bedroom. Suddenly, the lights flicked on.
"Who's there?" Rachel was holding a small golden trophy, probably the heaviest object around her bed. She looked down and gasped when she saw Kurt on the floor. "Oh my gosh! Kurt! Are you okay? Is something wrong?" She tossed the trophy on her bed and helped him up. Oh, this will be too easy, he thought to himself.
"I'm so sorry, Rachel." Kurt made his voice seemed choked and he tried to muster up a tear. "I just didn't know where else to go." Rachel gave him a funny look, but she eventually nodded in understanding. She must have thought it was all a dream, for she was accepting his words blindly.
Kurt looked around the room cautiously, in search of a blunt object. There was the statue, but that was behind Rachel. Her lamp would be useful, but it was too loud. He looked down, trying to continue his facade of remorse for breaking into her house. And that's when he saw it.
Kurt's belt buckle, a massive metal piece with jewels fit snugly in the surface, was perfect for the job. He asked for a glass of water, and the dumb bitch was happy to oblige, though she promised he would be interrogated thoroughly when she returned. Kurt removed his belt as fast as possible and hid on the side of the door. As Rachel tiptoed back with a plastic cup in hand and closed the door behind her, Kurt pulled back and swung the buckle at her face. It thumped her right between the eyes and she fell against the door, looking dazed. Kurt wound back again and swung, this time clocking her upside the head. Rachel fell to her knees with a confused, unearthly sob. Just to put her out cold, Kurt landed a swift kick to the soprano's temple. She collapsed, unconscious.
Kurt ran to the window and called out. Blaine was waiting for him, and he grabbed Rachel's shoulder's as Kurt shoved her through the window. Her head flopped forward as Blaine bound her hands and feet, then gagged her mouth. Kurt slipped his belt back on and observed her head, which was already turning an angry shade of purple.
"Good job, Kurt." Blaine finished up and kissed his boyfriend on the forehead. "Now help me get her in the car." Kurt ran and opened the trunk before hurrying back to assist Blaine. They threw the lifeless girl in the trunk and climbed in the front seats.
"Where do we go now?" Kurt asked, his breathing heavy.
"I know a good place." Blaine started driving in no particular direction. It took them about thirty minutes to reach the remote forest where they would finish the job, but it only took Rachel twenty minutes to wake up. There was something warming about hearing her muffled screams from the trunk of the car. Kurt and Blaine climbed out, but not before Blaine reached into his glove compartment and handed Kurt a pocketknife. Kurt's grin was malicious as he watched Rachel squirm helplessly.
"We can take the gag off her mouth. No one will hear her out this far." Kurt smiled and, instead of untying the handkerchief in her mouth, he slashed it with the point of his blade. Rachel's blood-curdling scream filled the air as a thick line of blood dripped down her face and Blaine dragged her by the hair deeper into the woods. Kurt would kick her in the gut whenever she struggled, leaving her more lifeless and winded with every blow. Blaine held her upright when he felt they had gone in far enough.
"A toast," he began, pulling back Rachel's dark hair to reveal an expanse of skin. "To a fresh start, with fresh meat." With that, he sunk his teeth into Rachel's neck. There was no sucking, no nibbling involved this time; Blaine dug his teeth in and ripped backward, tearing Rachel's flesh as she shrieked in horror. Blood was spilling down the side of her neck as she cried, her salty tears stinging the exposed flesh. Blaine stepped back as if to say, I've had my fill. This kill is for you.
Kurt stepped forward willingly, crouching low to see eye to eye with the girl who's shadow he was constantly forced to reside under. But no more, no, never again. The dead don't cast shadows to hide those with the true talent.
"Scream for me, bitch," Kurt rasped right in her ear. Rachel whimpered but, seeing her last chance to defy her fate, she spit in Kurt's face. Blaine practically growled and lunged forward to protect Kurt, but the brunet held him back. Kurt raised the knife and drove it into Rachel's thigh. Now she was putting those pretty little vocal cords of hers to good use as she screamed, the high pitched sounds echoing off the trees around them.
Kurt suddenly knew that running away with Blaine would be the best thing that ever happened to him. He could be happy. Rachel's screams filled his ears like an orchestra, a mixture of pure notes that were music to his ears, ending in the grand finale as he slit her throat. Kurt finally knew how to fill the silence, the very bane of his existence: screams of terror.