Perfection in the Eyes of a Killer
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,261
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,261
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter One
As Dagan hung his coat up, he recalled a saying; ‘home is where the heart is.’ He reached up and tugged at the band in his hair, dark brown locks that had previously been restricted into a ponytail spilling loose around his shoulders. Home. This wasn’t his home, this was a flat. Dagan didn’t really have a home given that he had to move around so much. That was fine by him; it could be argued that he had no heart, either. He rolled up his sleeves and sat down on the couch, relaxing as much as he could let himself do so. No, this wasn’t his home or his sanctuary. It was simply a place to sleep and unwind… but here, things were different. He was Richard, he didn’t kill people. He was almost normal.
Dagan turned on the television; surfing through the channels just like any normal man would after a hard day’s work. There was a knock at the door and, startled, he dropped the remote. When it hit the floor the batteries flew from the back and rolled under the couch. Cursing softly, Dagan bounced to his feet and glanced at the door, suddenly nervous. In the whole time he’d stayed here (two months, now) he’d had to answer that door twice. One had been a pizza delivery to the wrong door and the other had been the landlord asking for the month’s rent. Fear crawled up his backbone and he ruthlessly slammed a mental lid on it.
He took long, confident strides to the door, not letting the stupid, irrational fear get to him. Dagan opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on and stared out at his visitor. What he saw didn’t allay his fears. The man was young, attractive, self-assured, tall and smirking. Part of Dagan wanted to close the door in his face. “Hello?” he asked in a calm, flat manner.
“Hi there… Richard is it?” the man asked with a friendly smile. Dagan noticed that his teeth were very white and relaxed a little. If this man was here for Richard then there was probably no danger.
“Yes, can I help you?” Dagan asked woodenly. He didn’t reach up to undo the latch on the door, yet.
“Yes, I’m just here to check the water pressure.” Dagan’s eyes fell to the toolbox that the man was holding before flicking over the other’s clothing suspiciously; he wasn’t dressed like plumber. He wasn’t dressed smart, either, though. Just a t-shirt and jeans. Dagan decided that he was being paranoid and let the man in.
He watched as the man stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “Where’s the kitchen?”
“Oh, it’s just over there,” Dagan said, turning to point. When he turned back around he was staring down the barrel of a .45. Where others would have frozen, Dagan reacted, diving to the side. The gun didn’t go off and he didn’t spare a glance behind him, throwing himself behind the couch and out of sight’s way.
“Dagan,” the smooth voice said, making the recipient to it flinch; so this man knew his real name. His gun was in the bedroom; he didn’t carry it around the house with him. Fuck. He was seriously fucked. It would be nice if he could somehow get to the bedroom without getting shot… “Dagan!” His attention returned back to the man.
“…what?” he asked, suspiciously, sounding cool and unruffled… of which he was feeling neither.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Stand up, stay calm, and I promise you won’t be hurt. I’m just here for a little chat,” the man said.
“No way,” Dagan called out. “I am not falling for that. I stand up and you are going to shoot me,” he said, frowning, not that the other could see it. There was a muffled sound as the gun fired and a tiny hole appeared above his head. Ah. “Okay, I’m standing up,” he said, thoroughly convinced that the other would have already killed him if that were the intent.
Dagan stood slowly, keeping his hands in the air and eyeing his captor suspiciously. “What do you want?” he asked, licking his dry lips and shifting slightly. His lips were pressed into a thin line and there was a frown creasing his brow.
“I told you, just to talk,” the man said, then gestured with his gun to a chair. Getting the message, Dagan hesitated and then walked over to sit in it. He hated being told what to do, but he didn’t have much choice. “Hands behind your back,” he said, and Dagan obliged, his jaw tightening faintly.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the handcuffs when they appeared, his right eye twitching slightly as the stranger moved closer. Dagan nearly took the risk and lashed out when he felt cold steel against his wrists, but he forced himself to remain calm and didn’t react as the handcuffs were clicked closed. They were a little too tight for comfort, but he didn’t complain, just shifted in the chair, his eyes trained on the gun.
“Right,” the man said, putting the gun away. “My name’s Brent. I’m sorry for all this, but I’ve been assured that you’re a very dangerous man.” Dagan glared. “Yes… anyway, I have a proposition for you.”