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Midnight is the only time when the streets are this quiet.
Gavin’s currently walking home from a late night at work. If he’d thought it through, he would have asked his friend Geoff to stay late and wait for him. But the disadvantage to not having your license is that you sometimes have to walk places.
The only enjoyment he gets out of it is how quiet and calming it is.
Compared to the hustle and bustle of day, everything is so silent and peaceful during this time. No children playing loudly or car horns frantically being pressed. It’s calm and relaxing to just get away from everything for a few moments and not have to worry about interacting with somebody.
It wasn’t exactly something he’d planned. More like forgetting to ask Geoff for a ride home from work and then realizing that he was stranded at a practically empty office. Everybody else was still busy and he didn’t want to bother anybody by calling and asking for a ride.
Besides, he only lives about a twenty minute walk away.
He wraps his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm and curses himself for forgetting to take a jacket of some kind. Would have been a lot smarter, but there are plenty of things he could have done to avoid having to walk home. Whining about it in his head isn’t going to make his journey any shorter, and he doesn’t exactly fancy the idea of calling up one of his friends to get a ride.
When he was a teenager, walking alone at night used to scare him, but eventually he’d grown out of the paranoid thoughts that horror movies planted in his head. Besides, he doesn’t have anything to fear anyways.
He’s about halfway home when the car pulls up to him.
Luckily there’s a streetlight overhead, so he’s actually able to see the driver when they roll down their window. He has curly reddish brown hair and is wearing glasses but it’s hard to make out anything else about his appearance in the limited light.
Gavin can’t help but smile and it’s only when he notices that the boy doesn’t return it that he drops the amused expression and instead focuses on the scene in front of him.
"Hey, need a lift?"
He raises an eyebrow, “Um, sure? I mean, if you’re offering. I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way or anything.”
"Nah, it’s fine. I was just driving on my way home when I’d seen you walking. Figured I’d help you out. You aren’t exactly in a great part of town."
Gavin doesn’t think it over as long as he really should. What the man said was true, it’s a fairly sketchy neighborhood and it isn’t exactly known for it’s crime-free status.
He acts as though he’s thinking about it though, putting his hand up to his chin as though weighing the possibilities.
"Do you want a ride or not, buddy?"
'It's a win-win situation for me,' Gavin thinks to himself, ‘Either he’s actually offering me an innocent ride home, or he’s a manic serial killer and I get to have some fun.’ Either option beats having to walk home all by himself.
"Okay, sure," he nods, flashing an innocent smile as he climbs into the car.
It’s quiet when the car begins to move again, and Gavin’s never been one to enjoy the quiet.
"Do you normally pick up hitchhikers off the side of the road?"
"Sometimes. When the occasion calls."
"Hm," Gavin hums, "Well, thanks for picking me up, honestly. Who knows what could have happened. One second it’s all peaceful and nice. Then the next I could have gotten jumped and attacked."
"That would have been a shame."
Gavin takes his lack of responses as a request for him to shut up, but he doesn’t really want to. He wants to talk and find out anything he can about this guy.
"So, what’s your name?" is a good place to start.
"Michael."
Gavin murmurs the name a few times to himself, enjoying how it rolls off his tongue and ends up sounding whiny when said with his accent.
"Well, Michael, I’m Gavin. Gavin Free.”
The man doesn’t respond, but Gavin is content to just look out the windows or around the car. It’s so dark that barely anything is visible except for Michael himself, so he focuses on that. And it pays off because a tiny wedding ring catches his eye. It shines brightly every time they drive underneath a streetlight, making it’s presence known and practically begging to be noticed.
"Nice rock," Gavin comments lightly as he watches the fingers gripped tightly onto the steering wheel, "You married?"
"Yup."
"Lucky lady. Ever have an affair?"
"No."
"Shame."
Michael doesn’t respond, but Gavin doesn’t care.
He’s just come to a conclusion that makes him want to bounce around in his seat excitedly. But he refrains, because that would break character and might end up ruining the fun.
"I didn’t tell you where I live."
That’s all it really takes because within the next few seconds, a gun is pressed to the side of his head.
Michael hadn’t looked away from the road during this, practically a professional at these things at this point. And Gavin just smirks, happy to know that he’s been proven right.
And Gavin’s timing was near perfect because he parks the car a few moments later, on the side of an empty road. Only the dim streetlights to illuminate the fact that they’re next to a forest.
"I want you to get out of the car. Don’t make a single sound. If you do, I’ll shoot you. If you try to run, I’ll shoot you."
He does as instructed, not saying a word. Just letting Michael do his thing. Enjoying the sound of his voice when he feels totally in control of a situation like this. Maybe it’s odd to admire a murderers voice, but what else is there to pay attention to at the moment besides the gun digging into his temple?
"You have a nice voice, Michael," he finally says.
"I’ll beat your fucking nose in."
"If you’re going to punch me in the nose, at least come in from the left of my face. That way it might get straightened a little."
Michael leads him into the woods, not stumbling over the ground or his own two feet every few steps like Gavin is.
"It’s kind of crooked because when I was younger, I fell on it. Just tripped out the back door onto my nose. I think it was broken, but we never went to get it checked out so it just healed like that," he rambles aimlessly.
"You talk far too much," Michael mutters before throwing him to the hard ground.
Gavin lets out a gasp when he hits the forest floor, but only because the impact shocks him. Pain isn’t exactly a problem for him because he knows it’s only temporary, but Michael hasn’t actually done anything yet. He’d been expecting to be roughed around at least a little by this point.
"You’re kind of interesting, Michael."
"Shut up before I strangle you to death."
"Aren’t you going to do that anyway?"
"Maybe. Still considering all my options."
Gavin sits up a little and rests his weight on his elbows.
"May I suggest the knife?" he smirks, knowing that he’s really pissing off Michael at this point. "I mean, it’ll make things a bloody mess, literally, but isn’t it more fun?"
His theory proves to be correct because even though it’s dark out, he can see Michael seething and shaking with frustration. “Why can’t you just be a quiet little victim and shut the fuck up when I tell you to?”
"Where’s the fun in that?"
"I don’t know? A chance at living?”
"Have you ever let somebody go just because they stayed quiet?"
"No, but at least they beg. Or try to get away. Or something," he rolls his eyes.
Gavin tries not to smile as he begins inching his way backwards, slowly shuffling away from Michael. Not in hopes of actually escaping, but just to see how long it’ll take him to notice.
A sharp rock rubs uncomfortably against his back, but he doesn’t pay any attention to it. He keeps his amused focus on Michael, who is currently digging through what looks to be an old back-pack.
He lets out a delighted gasp when Michael finally notices him and grabs him roughly by the leg. He’s pulled back to his original location in front of the murderer so harshly that he winces.
"Stay. There." he glares, stating the words with such menace that Gavin shudders.
He goes back to looking through his bag, probably for the knife that had been suggested, and Gavin spends this time admiring the boy in the moonlight shining through the trees.
The moons at just the right angle where it hits Michael’s hair just right and gives it more of a reddish tone. His eyes are still dark and focused. His clothing was so straight and clean earlier when they were in the car, but now there’s patches of dirt on his jeans and his clothing will probably be soaked with blood. That’ll be a bitch to get out, but it isn’t something that Gavin’s going to bother thinking about. Maybe he’s only pointing it out to himself now because focusing on the tiny details like this is amusing to him.
He wishes that the light was shining on his face, then he could pick out the freckles that grace Michael’s cheeks.
He just wants to keep the boy talking. Michael’s voice right now is so much different than in the car. Earlier he was passive and dull. As though he was honestly just kind-hearted enough to pick up a hitch hiker and give them a ride. But right now his voice is rough, dominating, and desperate to get his way by being as brash as possible.
Gavin likes it.
"Michael, you’re beautiful," he comments playfully.
The man shakes his head slightly in exasperation but it otherwise goes ignored.
After a few seconds Michael finally pulls out a knife from his bag. The blade reflects the light from the moon and Gavin takes a moment to think about how it’s going to be ruined with his blood in a few moments.
"Pretty lil’ thing, ain’t it?" Gavin muses, watching the knife with interest. There’s just something so beautifully innocent about things that can be used in such vile ways. What one person could be using to cut something as simple as vegetables, another is about to use to tear open Gavin’s skin and murder him in cold blood.
"I thought I told you to shut up."
"Well, I can’t help it," Gavin practically whines, the playful smile still on his face.
He isn’t scared of the death. He’s been through it enough times to know how it goes.
His clumsy nature and reckless behavior tends to put him in situations where his life is in danger. But he doesn’t actually bother to weasel his way out of them once he’s in. He knows he’ll come back. Always has and probably always will.
Michael climbs on top of him, sat on his chest with his knees dug into the ground at Gavin’s sides. He can feel the rocks and hard ground digging uncomfortably into his kneecaps. He can’t bring himself to actually care about it and switch into a less painful position though. He’s too focused on how pretty the knife looks when pressed hard against Gavin’s throat.
Gavin’s arms are pressed to his sides, and the weight makes it almost impossible for him to move at all. But he isn’t complaining, in fact, he’s rather comfortable like this and even smirks.
"Aren’t you going to at least shag me first?"
His question goes ignored and Michael just moves the blade away from his neck, bringing it up to decorate his cheeks with tiny cuts. Just deep enough to draw blood. Gavin winces, but doesn’t say anything. Michael just admires the red that dribbles down the side of his face.
Despite his cheek turning into a bloody mess, Gavin grins through the pain. He’s had some particularly painful deaths before, and this is nothing compared to previous ones. At least this one is fun. Teasing the boy above him is too amusing to give up.
It’s only when the knife is pulled from his face that Gavin knows his time is up. But he can’t help himself from sliding in one more remark.
"See you soon."
Michael rolls his eyes at Gavin’s attempt at humor before thrusting the knife unforgivingly into his throat and ending his consistent chatter once and for all.
The feeling of life draining from the body beneath him is indescribable. Michael just wants to sit here forever and bask in the feel of a fresh murder. It’s relaxing in an odd way. Calming. But he’s done this enough times to not question the effect it has on him.
All he knows is that it’s like an addiction that is constantly crying out to be fed.
There’s a few moments of weak and gaspy breaths before it finally slows down and the air is filled with silence.
Michael finally allows himself to breathe loudly, no longer trying to keep the air pure with Gavin’s last moments. He lets out a loud content sigh before resting his head back and enjoying the peace.
When he reaches up to subconsciously wipe his nose, the blood decorating his fingers doesn’t exactly bother him.
He’s used to it.
*
Two days later
Michael Jones can enjoy the quiet.
He’s never felt the uneasiness or paranoia that some people claim to know when they’re all alone in a silent room. In fact, he rather enjoys his alone time.
That’s one of the reasons why he’s currently just sitting on his couch. The television across the room is turned off, and the only light that is on is the one from the lamp beside him.
It’s three o’clock in the morning, a time where mostly every single person in the family-friendly neighborhood is sleeping. But, Michael’s never exactly enjoyed a cycle of rest. Maybe it was the constant stream of nightmares that would plague him as soon as he drifted into unconsciousness, but he liked to imagine he had more control of his thoughts and dreams than that. He liked to be in control of everything, which is he’s slightly fidgeting right now.
He’s a man of all-or-nothings. He either completely hates something, or is well known for it.
But he also hates being a man of habit.
He tries to focus on these annoying contradictions, because another thing he despises is when something doesn’t make sense. He’s learned to live with that one over the past few years though.
Michael’s only snapped out of his thoughts when his silence is disturbed by three gentle raps on the front door.
No panic or alarm within them, acting as though it’s normal to knock on somebody’s door at this hour of night.
He lets out a loud huff and grips the arm of his couch in agitation before getting up. His eyes are filled with nothing but frustration as he walks the short distance from the living room to the front porch, but he practically stomps the entire way there.
The front door to the house has a large window on it, but the glass is non-transparent. Luckily the porch light is turned on, so he’s able to pick out the fuzzy colors behind it.
Their skin is slightly tanned, and they have brown hair. Anything other than that is too fuzzy for Michael to make out, but the silhouette of the person is familiar.
The person knocks again, the same three knocks as last time.
Michael wants to scream out in anger at their impatience but he knows there isn’t a point.
Instead he just opens up the door and his breath catches in his throat from the sight behind it.
Gavin is standing there, alive and well. Wearing the same clothing as the last time Michael had seen him but they’re so stained with dried blood that it’s almost impossible to pick out the green color of his T-shirt.
His cheeks are free from any of the scratches that Michael inflicted upon them, and his throat is clear of the previous wounds. His skin is still just as injury and blood free as it was when he’d gotten picked up off the side of the road.
While Michael gives him the quick once over, he doesn’t miss the grin on the man’s face or the gleam in his eyes. As though he’s playfully proud of himself for an idiotic accomplishment.
"What?" Gavin smirks, "No welcome back hug?"
Michael just glares at him, “It’s about fucking time you got back. Jesus Christ, I’ve been worried sick, you asshole.”
"Oh, pish posh," he waves off as he steps into the house, "Let me in. It’s goddamn freezing outside."
Gavin gives him a quick peck on the cheek as he enters, which Michael allows despite the fact that he’s still extremely annoyed. But he decides not to say anything else yet, not wanting to seem even more like the stereotypical, worried spouse than he already does (and is.)
"Barbara have any trouble with the kids last night?"
"Nah, says they were angels. But we both know she just spoils them rotten with gifts and candy so that they’ll behave and consider her the best aunt."
Gavin snickers and begins taking off his shoes, “They asleep?”
"Yeah, been down for a while now."
"You didn’t keep them up to wait for me?"
"It’s three in the morning, of course not. They wouldn’t stop asking about you all day though, which reminds me. Where the hell were you?"
Gavin feels like he’s guilty of something when he meets Michael’s eyes. It isn’t very often that his husband will raise a brow like that at him, but when he does it usually means he’s in trouble.
He attempts to shrug off the question with the truth, “Decided to pop in to Geoff’s for a little before coming back here.”
"Ah," Michael nods, but there’s a glint in his eyes that shows he’s still not pleased with Gavin’s tardiness, "Well call next time. I was worried."
"Yeah," Gavin rolls his eyes with amusement, "I could have been dead in a ditch somewhere for all you know."
"Oooh," he mocks, "Don’t tease me."
They’re both aware of the fact that it’s where Michael’s dumped Gavin’s body only just the previous night, but sometimes it’s fun to the beat the charade for a little longer.
Gavin presses a firm kiss to the side of his mouth and gives another smirk, “Why are you so tense?”
Michael tries to soften his glare. It isn’t fair to blame Gavin after all. “I don’t know, I was just nervous something happened to you.”
"Nervous?" he whispers, and they slowly begin to walk up the stairs. The children are only sleeping in the other room, and sometimes the creaking is enough to wake up the light sleepers.
Michael shakes his head, annoyed that he even tried to voice his thoughts. It’s stupid and doesn’t make much sense, but then again, a lot of things in their relationship doesn’t make sense.
"It’s dumb, forget about it."
"Out of every ridiculous thing that comes out of my mouth on a daily basis, you believe that what you’re thinking is even dumber?"
"Point taken."
They reach their bedroom and step inside. Gavin flicks the light switch and the entire room becomes visible. It almost hurts their eyes after walking through the dark hallway, but they’re content with the fact that they no longer have to whisper in fear of waking up their children.
"So," Gavin grins as he jumps onto the bed, "What is it?"
"Change your clothes, moron. You’re still covered in blood and I don’t even want to risk you staining our bed with it."
"It’s all dried anyways."
"I don’t care."
He rolls his eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head, and Michael throws him a clean one from the closet. “You’re so bossy.”
"You love it."
"Just a little," he muses with a happy hum as he leans back against the pillows. "Now, stop changing the subject and tell me what’s up."
Michael lets out a sigh, knowing that his husband is never going to shut up until he talks about it. “I don’t know. It just scares me when you take a long time to come back.”
"Why?"
"Because what if there comes a day that you never come back?" he murmurs and sits onto the edge of the bed, "What if all of this ends and you’re gone forever."
"It hasn’t happened yet."
He rolls his eyes, “I know. I’m saying what if it does.”
Gavin stares at him for a few moments before smiling again, “You’re worried that one day you’ll actually kill me? That I won’t come back and finally be dead forever?”
"Yes."
"Love," Gavin’s gaze softens and he looks touched, "That’s something you would have dreamed about when we first met.”
Michael wants to smack him for not taking this seriously enough. He’s been worrying about this shit for a while now. “Don’t turn this into some kind of romantic declaration of how much I care about you. We’re married now. We aren’t just a killer and victim that get to live out the same murder over and over again anymore.”
"Well, technically we are-"
"Shut up. I’m just saying that… Obviously we love each other and obviously we want to be with one another forever-"
"Obviously," Gavin says with a small smile that tells Michael that maybe he still isn’t taking this subject seriously enough for his liking. Almost like he finds the concern and worry to be amusing and adorable.
"I don’t want your permanent death to be because of me."
"But it won’t be. I trust you."
“I don’t trust myself. What if there’s some kind of logical explanation behind the reason why you always come back. What if there’s a limited amount of times that it can happen and one day you’ll just be dead forever?”
"You need to stop worrying so much. Nothing is going to happen. We’re fine.I’m fine.”
"I wouldn’t consider us to be fine. I stabbed you in the throat last night and threw your body in a ditch. That isn’t fine.”
"Oh, please. Any married couple would pay millions for the opportunity to kill their spouse and have no negative consequences."
"But that’s different. Those marriages usually end in a nasty divorce or somebody actually getting hurt. Me murdering you doesn’t permanently hurt you."
Gavin shrugs, “Hurts my feelings sometimes.”
"Oh yeah," Michael mutters sarcastically, "Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings after you push me down the stairs for your own entertainment.”
"You say that, but I push you down the stairs and you retaliate by slitting my throat with a kitchen knife."
"Shut up, you know what I mean."
"Actually I don’t. You just said so yourself that your murdering has no negative affect on our marriage because I always come back. There hasn’t been any signs of me never coming back yet. I don’t know why you’re stressing out over something so unimportant."
"Because you are important, dumbass.”
"I’m not going to leave you, Michael. Heaven knows you’ve tried enough times to get rid of me, but I always come back, don’t I?"
Michael looks away, unsure of if he wants to fully place his truth in his husbands words. Gavin just smiles softly at his reluctance and crawls closer to him.
"Remember what I told you after we’d first met?"
"No," he lies.
Gavin just grins, “I told you that you were stuck with me forever, whether you wanted to be or not.”
"Well now I want it. I want it more than anything, and I’m terrified that you’re going to somehow become unstuck and then I’m going to be left all alone."
"You’d still have the kids. They seem rather fond of you," he jokes, wrapping his arms around his boy and swinging a leg over so that he’s sitting in his lap.
"They’re quite fond of you too, which is another reason why I’m worried. I don’t want them to be down a father just because of our weird fucking habits."
"More like your weird habits. You’re the murdering blood-obsessed psychopath, not me.”
"But you’re the one that gets off on it."
"Touche," he smiles and connects their foreheads, just wanting to be closer, "Just stop worrying so much. Please? We both know there’s nothing we can do about it. You’re just going to continue doing it anyways."
"Don’t say it like that."
"Sorry that I’m not glorifying you’re overwhelming desire to rip open my flesh and see my insides spill out," he murmurs against the boy’s neck. The soft moan that leaves Michael’s mouth makes Gavin smirk. "Do you ever miss murdering random civilians?"
"Sometimes, but getting to kill you whenever I want really takes off the edge."
"Am I really that satisfying to kill?"
"Have you ever heard the shit that comes out of your mouth?"
Gavin chuckles before grinding down on him teasingly, relishing in the beautiful reaction noises that Michael makes.
The pleasure that pools in his stomach makes him forget all about their previous discussion, and he’s content to drop the subject for now. He’s much more fond of tangling his fingers in Gavin’s hair anyways.
He connects his lips to Gavin’s throat, eager to suck a new love bite onto the delicate skin that is no longer tainted with the beautiful blood filled gashes that adorned them before. When he finally pulls away, he admires the bruise and it only makes him more desperate to make a mark that will be less innocent and romantic.
Gavin smirks when he sees that entranced look in his husband’s eyes, familiar enough with it to know what it means.
"Are you going to kill me afterwards?"
"It’s the best part."