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Every other day the news had reported on the incidents spreading fear throughout the city, the infamous
JRD Killer.
Brian had heard the name countless times, whether on the tellie, at work, while spending time with his friends. The whole city had jumped on the back of this mysterious man that the police have yet to gather almost any information on; nothing more than the signature he would leave carved into the men he would kill, leaving the bleeding bodies in the alleys of popular gay clubs around London.
The screen crackled to black as Brian switched off the television, another report on JRD’s most recent murder. Serial killers were not common at a time like this, crime had been exceptionally low as of late which only further fueled the fire of attention towards these killings. With a tired sigh, Brian raised his mug to his lips, drinking down his tea that had gone cold.
It was early in the afternoon, and all that Brian wished to do on a day like this was sit on his sofa and relax. The bones in his back popped one by one, causing a rumble of satisfaction deep in Brian’s chest.
Ah, the joys of laziness.
Like a cat, he stretched back on the sofa, lying in the blanket he had curled around him.
An image of JRD had formed in Brian’s mind.
Young, handsome, long brown hair and a soft yet angled face. Those strong hands would grip Brian with a force so powerful he could feel the grip in every vein in his body, but the pain was so good. Biting hard into his neck, JRD would lap blood from Brian’s soft pale skin, and with his hunting knife he would carve his signature; John.
Snapping from this sick fantasy, Brian sat himself up quickly running fingers through long curly hair and breathing heavily. God,
what was wrong with him?
He had fantasized about his bloody neighbor, imagining that he was the JRD Killer. Clammy hands slid against his cheeks as he questioned his daydream with disgust.
But could he really be disgusted? Brian had always known he was a masochist, and upon the thought of his attractive neighbor hurting him, cutting him,
killing him
, it made him tremble with fear and arousal. With less reluctance, he let himself drift back into fantasy.
JRD, John, the killer, both hands tight around his neck, squeezing the life out of him in a pleasured fit of lust and violence. Brian squirmed under his touch, writhing from lack of oxygen, but gaining the blissful sense of lightheadedness.
In reality, Brian had slipped a hand under the loose waistband of his pajama pants, massaging his hardening cock through his underwear. The smallest moan slipped from between his lips as his fingertips became moist with the drip of precome which dared to release from his slit, staining the white cloth barrier.
Fast, only caring for his own gratification, John dropped his trousers and shoved Brian to his knees in front of him, hard cock bouncing in his face as it slapped against John’s stomach. His mouth fell open, awaiting the pressure and overwhelming taste of John’s cock, loving the feeling of the dominant man fucking down his throat with no ascending movements; just straight to aggressive, deep thrusts.
His fingers reached beneath his underwear, finally getting skin on skin contact with his achingly hard cock, caressing lightly at the tip, gathering precome before sliding down to create a tight fist around himself. He stroked with passion, biting the meat of his other hand to hold back pathetic whimpers and wants, needing the force, the assertiveness of it all.
The hot, moist tightness of Brian’s mouth was so fully good, loud wet and sinful sounds as John relentlessly thrusted into his mouth. John’s cock tasted like heat, sweat, bitter skin, but Brian needed it like it was something known to everyone. Humans need food and oxygen. Plants need sunlight and water. Brian needs the taste of John’s cock over his tongue.
His breaths became choked as John chased his orgasm, the thick member blocking his breathing and making his eyes roll back and his mind glaze over. Sharp fingernails grazed the skin of Brian’s scalp, pulling back and grabbing handfuls of long curled hair. Brian moaned deeply at the arousal his hair being pulled had caused, and his noises reverberated over the length of John’s cock. He groaned, pulling as tight as he could, and fucked deep into Brian’s throat, coming fast and hard into Brian’s mouth in long, thick spurts.
The shock of his own orgasm had Brian gasping alone on his sofa. He ran his hand over his cock a few more times, the last strokes causing painfully wonderful overstimulation, and drawing the last of his come over his fist. He prodded his fingertip at the mess coming from his slit, sighing in the post-orgasmic haze, and blissful feeling of milking himself dry.
With little care for the well being of his own reality, Brian wiped a sticky hand along the cushion below him, a lazy attempt at cleaning up after himself. He would worry about that later. For now, he needed to face is disturbing fantasy. The scenes he had imagined flashed before him again and he groaned, the familiar feeling of after-guilt flooding his face in a cool heat.
Did he really fantasize over his neighbor? His neighbor being a serial killer? His neighbor using him, hurting him, wishing that he would be killed by him? God, it was bloody horrendous, but Brian couldn’t deny that it turned him on more than anything he had ever experienced. He lay on his back, slack and tired, staring up at the ceiling and then down to the wall which separates his and John’s flats.
What was John up to now? Was he watching the tellie, eating lunch, listening with one ear against the wall to his pathetic neighbor coming into his fist to the thought of being fucked in the mouth by he himself? Fuck, Brian couldn’t stop himself anymore.
He turned the television back on, only to find the local news still reporting on the JRD Killer. The broadcaster reported that a body was found chopped in pieces in the sewer behind Brian’s own building, and after further DNA examination, was found to be the King’s Lynn boy, reportedly killed and hastily disposed of by the JRD Killer himself. After lowering the volume, Brian sat dazed, mind blown with the realisation that he had saw a boy eerily familiar to the King’s Lynn one, walk into John’s flat only a few months prior.
Through the wall, Brian’s ears picked up a muttered curse, and the sound of John pacing, rummaging through his flat and becoming increasingly panicked, with the sounds of the same news channel to Brian’s on his own tellie. The knot in Brian’s stomach twitched and twisted, pulsating so hard that he could hardly think.
This was going to be interesting.