you'll never take us alive
Written for Spooktober 2021, Prompt: Scream. First try at Scream fic and don't quite know how I ended up getting this out of it. Um. Literally nothing about what they do is safe – contains poorly negotiated knifeplay, bloodplay, breathplay, a little bit of praise kink, also infidelity given they both have girlfriends, and they're like 17, I think, so technically they're underage. Canon-typical violence. Might come back to this at some point but it is standalone for now. Also, today is my birthday so comments and kudos would be especially awesome. Enj
They'd done it again.
They'd killed that bitch Casey Becker and her idiot lunkhead of a boyfriend Steve and they'd gotten away clean – even if she'd fought back a bit more than anticipated and her parents had gotten a little closer than they'd intended to catching them in the act.
They'd taken care to cement their alibis. Stu had stopped by the Riley house before the murders to see Tatum, lingering there long enough to be in the clear. After the murders, thw two of them had headed straight for the Prescott's. Billy had snuck into Sidney's room, just as they'd planned, ensuring he'd be able to claim that he was with her when the police inevitably questioned them. But that wasn't the only reason they were there. Sidney's father always brought his suitcase out, stowed it in his car the night before he left on his business trips so he wouldn't have to deal with it in the morning, and he did the same now, only Stu was waiting for him. He'd been promptly knocked out, tied up and shoved in the trunk of his own car. When Billy had reappeared a few moments later, they'd driven him back to Stu's place. They'd hidden the car in the garage and locked the man up in the basement. They would keep him there until it was time for his reveal in the final act. They'd cleaned up and hidden away all the evidence – the phone, the voice-box, the costumes, the knives. All according to plan. And now, finally, after a long, long night, it was time to celebrate a job well done.
Together, they retreat to the sanctuary of Stu's bedroom. Stu throws on some horror movie they've seen a hundred times (Re-Animator, Billy notes, a good choice) for background noise and there's a brief moment of tension while they work out who's going to be the one to make the first move tonight.
It's Billy that strikes, swiftly shoving Stu down on his bed and straddling his hips, pressing their lips together in an intense and desperate sort of kiss fueled by all of tonight's violence. He laments the fact that he can't leave marks the way he wants to, resists the urge to bruise, to bite, to claim what is so profoundly his. They can't risk it. Not now. Not yet.
Soon enough, Tatum will be gone. Soon enough, Sidney will be gone. When this is all over and done, he'll be able to leave all the fucking marks he wants on Stu's body. Could carve his name into Stu's flesh if he wanted, so the whole fucking world would know who he belongs to.
"Couldn't fucking wait for this part, been aching for it all day," Stu tells him, his hands loosely settled on Billy's hips as he grinds up against the other boy through entirely too many layers of clothing. But Billy has other plans for tonight and none of them involve dry-humping like a couple of virgins. He grins down at Stu as he undoes his belt, pulls it free from its loops. "What're you up to?" Stu wonders, but Billy does not leave him wondering for long. Stu doesn't fight him, never fights him unless Billy wants him to. He lets Billy wrangle first one wrist and then the other into the makeshift leather restraints, cinching them tight as he loops them through the headboard. Stu gives an experimental tug against them – they hold, probably won't bruise so long as he doesn't get overzealous with the struggling. "Oh, this I can get behind."
"I don't remember giving you a choice," Billy counters, well aware that Stu will be begging to touch him soon enough no matter what he's agreed to, he always does. "God," he says, claiming another rough kiss as he palms at Stu through his jeans, already hard and eager for more. "I can't wait to fuck you."
"Get on with it, then, babe," he challenges.
Billy does not need to be asked twice.
The first time had been almost exactly a year ago, after they'd killed Maureen Prescott together. They'd been less than composed afterward, both high on adrenaline and disbelief that they'd actually done it, they'd actually killed someone and they'd gotten away from the scene without getting caught. They'd retreated back to Stu's house (his parents perpetual absence made it a haven of sorts for them), and by then they'd both been nearly manic, both still splattered with her blood. For some reason that had made sense at the time, they'd crammed into the shower together to clean up and things had… escalated. It had been a frantic mess of a first encounter, rough and quick and sloppy.
And then they'd done it again. And again. And again.
It became a regular thing, carefully hidden away from the rest of the world, fromtheir parents, from their friends, from Sidney (easy, given their non-existent sex life) and Tatum (a much more difficult task, given their very active one).
But they know each other well by now. What to do drive the other mad, to draw things out or end them swiftly, the limits they can push. Tonight, Billy plays dirty, employing a slow sort of torture as he works his way down Stu's body and into his pants, drags them down his hips inch by torturous inch, well aware that Stu can't do anything to stop him. He tosses them aside when he finally gets them off, then just sits there and waits, watches, as Stu starts to squirm in anticipation.
"God, you're such a dick," Stu protests, fists curling into and out of fists over his head.
Billy grins a wicked grin and sets to work. Teases. Not quite touching. A barely there brush of his lips on his stomach or on his hips or on the inside of his thighs. Everywhere except where Stu wants him. And he can't do anything about it. Normally Stu would have his hands tangled in Billy's hair, but not tonight. It's clear he desperately wants to, and Billy very much enjoys the sight of him fighting the restraints (and himself, in regards to the restraints) before he decides to take mercy on him at last.
Stu lets out a groan when the wet heat of Billy's mouth finally surrounds his cock, working over him with a practiced sort of ease. He pulls off long enough to drag the focus back to their accomplishments tonight, using his hand instead to keep Stu sufficiently worked up. "You did so good with Steve," he tells Stu, and the other boy seems to revel in the praise. "He never even knew what hit him," he says, before he takes Stu back into his mouth and lets the length of him slide down his throat as much as he can stand, his eyes lock with Stu's through his messy hair and Billy has to press down on Stu's hips to keep him from bucking into it too much.
"Fuck, Billy," Stu manages, his voice something like a punched-out whine, "Sometimes I think you're actually trying to kill me with shit like that."
"You should be so lucky," he counters, when his mouth is free again. He crawls off of Stu long enough to grab the nearly empty tube of lube out of the nightstand by the bed before he's back at it again. He spends a while repeatedly dragging Stu perilously close to the edge of release before backing off, leaving him frustrated and nearly insensible, until he's begging for more.
"Come on," he says, hips rocking into the barest of touches from Billy. "Please, please, please… just do something, Billy, anything… Please. Just… more."
Satisfied that he's gotten Stu sufficiently riled up, Billy slicks up his fingers and presses inside, works his way up to two a bit too quickly because he knows Stu likes a little pain and that he'll forget all about it when Billy crooks his fingers into his prostate. Sure enough, Stu bucks up off the bed on instinct, mumbles out a colorful string of curses when Billy holds him down and does it to him again and again.
Another moment and he works in a third finger while he takes Stu down his throat once more. But it proves to be too much this time. "I'm gonna-" Stu warns, but he's already coming. Billy doesn't care, doesn't pull off and the feel of him swallowing around Stu's dick draws his orgasm out even longer. "Shit. Sorry," he says when he regains the ability to coherently string words together, his blue eyes fixed on Billy's face – trails of spit and come on his chin, on his swollen lips – as Billy moves up the bed.
They fall into another enthusiastic kiss, this one deep and dirty and full of tongue and teeth.
But then there's a knife. The knife. Billy's knife.
He'd cleaned it, should have stowed it with the rest of their gear, but he'd kept it out. Just for this. God, he's been waiting for this – to see if Stu will let him cross this line, too, like he's already crossed so many others.
Stu doesn't flinch when the sharp point of it settles at his neck. No, he looks Billy dead in the eyes and tilts his head back so even more of his neck is exposed to it, vulnerable. Doesn't even hesitate. Shows no fear. They both know from experience how easy it is, how just the smallest bit of pressure from a blade this sharp can cut deep enough to kill and yet Stu trusts him with that power completely.
And maybe Stu's a fool for that, but he is resolutely Billy's fool.
"Are you gonna fuck her again before we kill her?" he asks, slowly dragging the tip of the blade down Stu's chest and then using it to slice up through the old t-shirt he's wearing, the fabric falling away to either side.
"What?" Stu says, too caught up in the moment to process what Billy's asking, hypnotized by the cool metal as it trails along his too hot skin. "Tatum? Fuck no," he declares. He seems to get what Billy's really asking though – will she see? "I'm yours now. All yours. Anything I can hide, anything that won't fuck up the plan, you can do."
Just what Billy wanted to hear. "Excellent."
He trails the blade of the knife over a spot just below the jut of Stu's hip bone, just barely cuts into skin, just barely draws blood. And then he's on it, sucking at the blood until the small wound stops bleeding a few seconds later, laving over the spot with his tongue.
"Shit," Stu breathes, his oversensitive dick giving an interested twitch at the sight.
Billy does it again, placing a purposeful second cut just beside the first. And then a third, a fourth, and a fifth. The five small cuts form a 'B' that Billy grins down at – it won't scar, it won't even last all that long, but it's enough for now, enough to get them through. After all, in less than 48 hours, he'll be giving Stu a much more permanent sort of mark, getting one of his own in return – scars they'll bear forever. Satisfied with his work he moves up Stu's body, steals a kiss that tastes faintly of iron.
"Enough," Stu says, when they break for air. "Enough teasing. If you don't fuck me right now…" he starts, trails off before he can come up with a suitable threat because Billy's off the bed again, quickly finally stripping out of his clothes – shirt tossed somewhere by the door, jeans and boxers shed where he stands – before he settles once again between Stu's splayed legs, reaches for the lube to slick himself this time. "C'mon, Billy," he pleads, squirming against the restraints again, asking for his freedom. "Enough."
Billy complies, not because Stu asked for it, but because he knows Stu will need his hands soon enough. He reaches up to release Stu's hands, works them free, tosses the belt aside.
Immediately, Stu winds his fingers into Billy's hair, hauls him down for an impassioned kiss that lasts until Billy wraps a hand around Stu's neck. No pressure, just there, a thumb moving over the skin of his collarbone.
"Ready?"
"Been ready, you fucker," he answers, touching whatever he can now that he has the opportunity, smirks at the full body shudder that rocks through Billy when he slides a hand over his achingly hard cock.
The hand on his neck tightens a little, a warning, as he pulls Stu's hand away. "Nope. Hands off," he warns, sure that he won't last long if he lets that continue and he intends to draw this celebration out as long as he possibly can – even if everything goes perfectly, he's sure it will be quite some time until they get a chance to do this again. Begrudgingly, Stu complies, settles his hands on Billy's hips instead as he lines up and then, finally, he's in.
"Fucking finally," Stu breathes, even as he winces a little at the stretch as Billy sinks in deeper. Once he's all in, he gives Stu a minute to adjust before he risks moving. When Stu doesn't protest, he rocks into him, a slow rhythm that rapidly picks up both speed and force until the headboard is striking a staccato beat against the wall.
When he's sure they're going to last, he lets his grip tighten on Stu's neck, pressing down with just enough pressure in just the right places to limit the flow of blood. This grip is entirely different than the one he'd had on Casey Becker's neck earlier this evening; that one had been meant to cause irreparable damage, too much pressure in all the wrong places, all the most dangerous places until the knife had done it's work. On Stu, he controls himself. He knows his limits, knows what not to do, where not to press – still dangerous, but then that's the way they like it. Still, it is a familiar game with familiar rules and one of Stu's hands locks over his, prepared to signal when he wants it to stop.
"Can't wait to see her face," Stu rasps at him, grinning up at him. Tighter. "She's gonna be so damn shocked when she puts it together too late for it to save her." Stu's breath hitches, his voice comes out a little rougher. Tighter. "When she sees what we can do together… You and me…" Tighter. Billy sees Stu's eyes start to lose focus a little and just a second later, Stu squeezes at his arm.
Billy lets up, lets Stu recover while still fucking into him, shifts his angle just enough to hit his prostate, lets his rhythm shift to something fast and reckless that Stu can't quite predict. "You and me," he whole-heartedly agrees. He's looking forward to that moment, too.
Stu hooks a leg around him, pulls him in deeper, urges Billy to move faster, harder still. "You could never be hers," Stu decisively declares before the hand tightens on his neck again, starting the game anew.
Billy listens, doesn't know where this is coming from because this isn't the direction Stu usually goes in when he gets like this. Usually it's much less coherent, just cursing and begging and rambling until Billy finds some way to shut him up, some better use for his mouth. Rare as they are, these weirdly serious conversations don't typically happen when he's buried inside the other boy, but rather after, in the comedown, both of them on the edges of sleep – it had been one of those moments when they'd planned their first murder, when Billy had told Stu of his motives, when they'd worked out their grand plans.
Stu signals again and Billy lets go, lets him talk, "Like she'd ever let you do this shit to her, like she'd ever let you do anything of the things you do to me."
He's not wrong. She'd flashed him earlier and that had been the most action he'd seen from her all year. He'd been on top of her for a minute, but even then all he could think about was this – Stu under him, over him, however tonight ended up. The knife, the blood, his hand wrapped around Stu's neck. The two of them joined together like they were meant to be that way.
Like Sidney would know the first fucking thing about that.
An idea hits him, then. A perfect idea. "Can I kiss you?"
Stu manages a laugh at the absurdity of this request given their present situation, "Oh, now you're asking me permission for shit? Bit late for that, buddy."
Billy rolls his eyes, switches to these punishing, shallow, slow little movements, barely moving at all, but unendingly grazing over Stu's prostate in a way that drives him wild. "No, you fuckhead," he snaps. "In front of Sid. When we tell her."
He watches Stu's eyes go dark at the mere idea. "Are you kidding me? If it wouldn't mess up the plan, I would let you fuck me in front of her. Let her fucking see how it's done, let her fucking see what she's been missing all this time. Let her see that you're mine, all mine, now, like this." His voice is wrecked and is even more so when Billy grabs at his throat again, "She doesn't deserve you, man, she never has. She'd never be yours, not like-"
"…Like you are?" he asks the other boy, his hold on Stu's neck firmly enough now that it's clear he's on the edges of what he can take, pushing his limits. Just barely still conscious. "You are. You're mine," he promises, his voice a low and dangerous whisper. He kisses Stu soundly, swallowing up all the little noises he's dragging out of him as he edges closer and closer to another release. He lets off the pressure even though Stu hasn't signaled yet, done with the game. "You'll always be mine." His presses down hard on the mark he left on Stu's hip and that seems to be the thing that sends Stu over the edge for the second time, without even being touched. Combined with the dizzying effects of their game and a well-timed brush against his prostate and he's coming hard between them, mumbling a quiet litany of 'Billy' and 'fuck' and 'yours' while Billy keeps going, riding out the waves until Stu's done and left clinging to him.
Billy doesn't last much longer after that, spills deep inside of the other boy just a moment later. He pulls out, drapes himself over Stu's boneless body, the both of them heaving for breath and coated in a sheen of sweat as they recover.
Stu gets there first, coaxes Billy off of him enough that he can sit up and shed the ruins of his shirt. He uses it to clean them both up enough that they might fathomably be able to sleep without waking up glued together. That done, he's quick to settle back against the bed. "C'mere," he says, pulling Billy back down with him. He takes advantage of Billy's sated state to flip them, then, letting the weight of his body settle over Billy's, well aware that Billy always seems to like the pressure, the contact. Arms and legs tangle together, Stu's face presses into Billy's neck. He, too, seems to be resisting the urge to leave marks.
"Mine, huh?" Billy asks, the two of them trading lazy, unhurried kisses in the come down.
"Please," Stu counters. "Like that's news to you."
Billy concedes the point, though he doesn't think he'll ever tire of hearing Stu say it.
"We should sleep," Stu suggests. They don't have long before they have to be up for school and today is not a day they want to be late for. Surely by now coverage of the murders will be all over the news – and thus all over the school in the morning. On top of that, they'll be busy – they still have a hostage tied up in the basement. They still have a thousand little details to keep track of for the plan, things to set up, contingencies to make…
But for now it can wait.
For now, the Woodsboro Murderers rest.