We're owl exterminators (shadow_hive) wrote,
We're owl exterminators

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Pairing: Calvin Roffey/Rich Boucher
Rating: NC-17
POV: Rich
Prompt: Guro and Wildcard: tattoos
Warnings: Death, gore (though not as much as I planned)
Notes: The reference pic for Calvin's chest piece that I used is here. Well this fic came from a random idea I jotted down in the kink bingo notepad file (I can't rememeber when/where it came from though). I didn't know who to use as the killer though, until I figured 'use Rich' and then went from there. It stalled a little though at times when couldn't setle on what to do, but now I think it works. Just one main kink bingo fic to go!

It always interested me the tattoos guys get. What they choose to get inked can say a lot about them. Of course, what some things meant to a person wasn't always clear and, well, you couldn't always ask. Of course a few were fairly common ones, like stars and celtic patterns but even they were interesting because of the numbers, sizes and placement.

Like many other appreciators of art I wasn't merely content with looking. I had to own. Of course the first way it manifested itself was that I had some of my own, but that wasn't enough. I had, of course, had boyfriends and one night stands who were inked even before I got my own. But that wasn't enough either.

It took awhile to hit upon a solution, but then it seemed so obvious. It came to me just when I was browsing magazines in Smiths and then I saw tattoo magazines. Obviously this wasn't the first time I'd seen them, I had several at home already but flicking through the pages and looking at the pictures hit me on the idea that if I took pictures of the tattoos of the guys I fucked and displayed them that would be enough.

Alas, however that didn't work out. As good an idea as it was, it just didn't work. Getting pictures of them wasn't hard, but I just didn't have the right equipment or skills to do the right job. The lighting would be off or there'd be blurring or some shit that I'd not notice until I checked them later.

The first few I did that I liked enough I hung in my room. Well, I stuck print outs to the wall with blu tac. They didn't truly satisfy me though, not my real need. However, they did give me an idea.

It came as I was lying in bed. I was alone that night and lazily jerking off, the sheets kicked off the bed, my other hand running over my bare inked chest. My gaze caught one of the print outs, the back of a fellow Welshman wth the focus on his lizard tattoo. As I shifted a little to stretch myself out, I found myself glancing at my dresser. Atop it was a few things from when I'd gone traveling. Mostly little keepsakes of local momuments and a few pictures, but something in them made something click when I returned my gaze to the picture of the tattoo. Looking back, I'm fairly sure it's the picture of the Mona Lisa from when I'd visited Paris.

The point was, that while those things were representations of the thing, they weren't the real thing. The statuette of the leaning tower wasn't the actual building, nor was the picture of the Mona Lisa the painting. Like with them the picture wasn't the tattoo and that was the problem.

With the problem identified a solution was as well.

I smiled, running my hand over the nearest frame. The walls of my room were covered with them. Within each one was a piece of the art I so craved and each new piece was just so... satisfying. My dick twitched in appreciation at the one in the frame. It was the lizard, the one from the picture that helped set me off. It was one of the first I got. Not the first of course, it was too beautiful to fuck up. It was one of those that took pride of place due to it's influence.

I smiled and looked across the room at the rest. There were tattoos of all shapes and sizes and of all subjects from guns, celtic symbols to ghostly faces. Each frame was custom made by myself as, after all, you never knew what you'd get in advance. In the bottom right hand corner of each I'd decided to add a small card with details of the subject. It was only a few things, name, date of birth, when I'd claimed them and the placement of the tattoo. Alongside that information was a picture of their face.

Getting the tattoos was simple really. It went the same basic way. I'd go to a bar, see an attractive guy with some visible ink and bring them back home. I'd fuck them, and fuck hem hard. After all I still had that need. Sometimes it'd be accompanied by other things as well depending on how I felt. The process started the next day. I found it best to wait. After all if i did it at night it'd be both post sex and after a night drinking. It also meant I could get a better look at the guy and his ink, to decide if his stuff was worth keeping. Sometimes, upon closer inspection it wasn't. Other times it turned out his body was a veritable treasure trove of ink. The next day I'd remove the tattoos, a process which obviously cultimated in (or began with) the boy's death. I'd take every tattoo they'd have, displaying the ones I liked best here, in my room and the others elsewhere.

One of the first problems I had to overcome (after finding out exactly how best to preserve the ink) was the bodies and what to do with them. I was, thankfully, in a converted farmhouse at the edge of town so had quite a bit of land to easily hide bodies. But well. It seemed a little wasteful.

So I used the bodies for other uses as well, so that I disposed of as little as possible. It was like the how he Native Americans used the buffalo. They used as much of the body as possible. They used the skin, the meat, the tail, everything. But my main focus was, of course, the ink.

It was my focus on such ink that attracted me to the man that lay sprawled on my bed. I'd first saw him in a bar in Bridgend and what caught my notice was his inked neck that hinted at more beneath his black t-shirt. His arms were inked too I noticed but his neck was what held my attention most due to the promise of more. He caught my gaze his dark eyes looking at me from behind his glasses and I knew he'd seen me too. I'd felt he'd be easy to bring home from his appreciative glance over me and I was right.

I gazed down at him, runnng my hands over his chest marvelling at it. His chest piece was the largest I'd ever seen, running from his neck all the way down to his crotch. It was of a burning church, with bats and a full moon at his neck. My dick ached at the sight and he smiled eyes gazing at me from behind his glasses. I got between his spread legs, lining myself up with his opening. While I'd been lost in thought he'd been fingering himself readying his hole for me. I grabbed the lube from the sheets beside him and spread some over my dick, wanting to be inside him as quickly as possible. I tossed the lube to the floor, then gripped his hips and met his gaze. We shared a single, lust filled look and then I sank into him.

I pushed into him fully, licking my lips at the sight of him moaning, his hands gripping the sheets. Ater several thrusts of my hips, I ran my hands down his slim legs as we both groaned. I pushed them up, so that his knees were pressed against his chest so I could pound into him better. I licked my lips and I thrust into him, moving my hands from his legs to his chest, tracing my fingers over his ink. Fuck it was so hot. I mean it wasn't just the size of it, it was the quality too, the detail. The flames, the bats, the features of the moon. I licked my lips again, slamming into him his dick twitching against the lower bat. "Touch yourself." I growled the words and he nodded, his long black hair swaying from the movement.

I watched, transfixed, as he adjusted himself so he could grasp his dick. I found myself slowing my thrusts just to watch. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and started to stroke himself. His eyes met mine, the same hot lust filled look meeting my gaze again from behind his dark rimmed glasses.

The sight set me off again and I resumed pounding him in a fury. I watched, grip still tight on his legs, as he stroked himself faster. His fist pumping his cock made me ache and it amazed me I was lasting as long as I was, especially with his ass twitching around me too. I growled as I fucked him, his head tipping back and his eyes lidding from the force. He was quieter then I, letting out just a few breathy moans and the occassional utterance of fuck. He gasped, his hips thrusting him, his slim body arching off the bed as he came the fluid splattering across his ink.

The sight alone would have made ut the feel of hs insides tightening around me also set me off. I came inside him moments after he did, digging my nails into his skin the marks alongside previous ones which were fading. I stayed within him a few moments, then pulled out, watchng him scoot up the bed and unfold himself, a smile playing across his lips. "You were amazing."

"So were you." I returned his smile, climbing onto the bed, leaning down and swiping my tongue over his cum covered tattoo. He squirmed a little, running his fingers through my hair, but leaving me to it. I kept licking after I'd got it all, my tongue travelling up his body towards his neck. I lapped the moon for a few moment, then shifted up and kissed him, hot and wet. it was sloppy, post orgasmic kisses always were, but that was part of what made them so hot.

"So." He whispered, breath hot against my lips. "What now?"

I smiled, shifting back and reaching for the bedside table, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing the scapel I found there. His eyes darted to my hand and he swallowed, his adams apple bobbing behind his ink. "Ah."

I nodded and smiled, the scapel shinging as it caught the light. "Yeah, it's time don't you think?"

He chuckled and nodded, shifting a little beneath me. "Yeah, you're right."

I got of the bed and he accompanied me heading to the latest victim, his wrists and ankles shackled to the spare bed. He was different to most boys I bought here in that he was American, but that made no difference really. His name was Ashley Purdy and the ink of his that had caught my attention was the word 'outlaw' tattooed across his belly. He had sleeves too and stars across his back which I noticed when I fucked him, but that was the main one. He looked at us, his eyes wide with fear and I chuckled, shaking my head. "Don't even try struggling, I injected you with a sedative to stop that." I could see him try anyway and I chuckled, handing he scapel to Calvin. "How about you make a start?"

He flashed me a grin and got between Ashley's spread legs, starting to sink the blade into his skin, blood rising to the surface as he began making a broad incision.

The night I met Calvin, I fully expected to have him like this the next day. I couldn't wait to have that ink spread out and framed, hanging above my bed in pride of place. But there was something about him, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was when I went through his jeans just after fucking him that I found it. There was he usual stuff, keys, a wallet, a phone, but then there was something else as well. A syringe. I frowned a little and then he was on me. Apparently, he'd feigned sleep to lull me into a false sense of security. We fought, which wasn't as one sided as i would have expected, but after a struggle I ended up on top, the syringe well out of reach. I, of course, demanded an explanation.

It turned out that he was like me. He killed and had intended to make me his latest victim. I laughed, because, well. Him kill me? I'd pulled him up by the hair and dragged him from the room I screwed boys to my actual bedroom and he gasped at the sight of the ink on my walls, realising I had bought him here to do what he'd planned to do to me. Of course I was left with a choice. I could do what I was going to do in the first place and keep this whole incident as an amusing anecdote. Or...

Obviously I went with the alternative.

I licked my lips at the sight of him, his arms splattered in blood as he continued his work.I moved around the bed for a better view, my cock stiffening again as he sliced through Ashley's skin, seperating the ink from his body. Seeing him like that reminded me of what something I thought that night when I decided to spare him. Every lonely monster needs a companion. Not that I realised I was lonely until after I had him in my bed with me. Now I wondered how I'd lived without him.
Tags: calvin roffey, calvin roffey/rich boucher, fic, funeral for a friend, kink bingo, rich boucher, slash, the smoking hearts
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