Who Chris and Poor Bartender #1 What Two guesses. Chris is jealous, Bartender is making him feel as such Where California When Sunday evening Rating R.
A leopard couldn’t change its spots.
Chris hated philosophical metaphor bullshit, but that one seemed to fit. Prowling into the bar, eyes scanning the crowd (witnesses, his mind provided), his body moved as a predator looking for prey-a very particular prey, one chosen well before going on the hunt, well before Chris carefully slipped out of Toby’s house that evening. He had went to the library first, enquiring after his ‘room mate’, Toby, who had lost his wallet and really needed it back, and if he ever went anywhere else after the library that Chris could look. Not that he gave his real name.
After some questioning, he ended up at the bar, dark eyes searching him out, looking for the man who Toby had dared to come to instead of Chris for comfort, for help. When he finally settled his gaze on the bartender, a rush of anger, triumph, rage and excitement surged through his veins in hot, burning waves. He hadn’t done this for almost a year (did Schillinger count? The Aryans?) and his skin seemed to tingle with the anticipation for that he was about to do. Approaching the bar, Chris looked the part he had to play to get the job done, his eyes warm, face open and body relaxed as he slid onto the stool.
“Scotch, on the rocks,” He looked the man over with a slight grin, “And stay nearby. Keep them coming.” The bait.
Smiling just as Chris imagined he would, the bartender poured the drink and slid it across the bar to Chris, nodding, “Having a rough day?” He sounded truly concerned, and Chris fought a snarl-no wonder Toby liked this man, the pandering pansy.
But he kept to his course, a tired smile playing at his lips, “You could say that again,” He shook his head and downed half his drink with a shake of his head, “But isn’t that always the case with them?” Further coaxing.
A knowing smile grew on the bartender’s face, and the man nodded, “Women,” He supplied helpfully, and Chris made a noise of agreement, “Oh, I know how that goes,” The bartender glanced down the bar, checking to see his time could be spent with Chris. Shame there wasn’t more pressing customers, or he might have made it through the night, “I got some time and at least one good ear to lend,” He had attractive features, but he was all too weak to attract Chris. Toby however, Chris thought, probably found some appeal to the man’s boyish charm; his childish grin-He wouldn’t be grinning for much longer.
Finishing the scotch, Chris nodded, “Get me another, and I’ll tell you.”
It was two hours, five scotches and a whiskey shot later before Chris and the bartender, who believed Chris to be a man fed up with women due to his girlfriend cheating on him, were leaving the bar through the back door. Tim (the bartender gave his name after three drinks) had gotten off his shirt and shared two of those scotches and the shot with Chris (who gave the name of Pete, thinking it best not to give his own first name and amused by the idea of using that name) and after a bit of flirting, had agreed to leave with Chris, who no had his arm around the man’s waist to keep him steady. Noting how odd it was for a bartender to be an easy drunk, Chris lead them down the street, to ‘his place’. However, they were only streets over, stumbling along, when-with one of his endearingly mischievous grins-he tugged them both into a side alley to shove Tim up against the wall, laughing to try and hide the malice in the act. He had a thrill over the excitement in the bartender’s eyes, the arousal, and how he was stealing this from Toby-How dare the man, after all Chris did for him, go to this queer? Chris wouldn’t allow himself to be mocked in such a way. And since he couldn’t kill Toby (he loved Toby) this man had to die to rid him of the humiliation of being cuckolded by a guy.
Their lips met in a heated kiss, tongues battling, and Chris felt himself getting aroused, though it had nothing to do with the body under his squirming in a pleasing way. His erection was not for the touches, the efforts of the other man to push his hands up under Chris’ shirt; no, the arousal was for darker reasons.
“Hey,” Chris spoke against the man’s lips, huffing a little laugh as Tim tried to kiss him, ignoring his soft entreaty for his attention, his hand going to the man’s chest to shove him back against the wall, “Hey.”
“Yeah?” The man was panting softly, grinning as he licked his lips. He seemed innocent in his aroused amusement, and Chris was sure it was something Toby liked. Sweet in his sexual acts, the opposite of Chris more often than not. A wave of hatred threatened to bubble up in Chris at this thought, of Toby preferring the man over him, and his hand on the man’s chest pressed him against the wall a bit harder, even as his face seemed to be ever the charming man, grinning with Tim.
“Hey, you ever heard of a guy, Beecher? Tobias, sometimes goes by Toby?” The hand on Tim’s chest rubbed slightly as Chris bent his head to kiss at the man’s neck, trying to coax out the truth with his touches.
The man arched into Chris’ hand, smiling a bit, “Tobias? Sure, yeah-you know him?” That was enough to condemn the man right there in Chris’ eyes, but the man went on, “Nice guy, Tobias,” Not a particularly damning statement-in fact, it hardly implied anything at all, besides Tobias maybe speaking to him once, for a normal person, but for a man who had Chris’ dislike and suspicion already, it was the nail in the coffin.
“Oh yeah?” Chris’ hand on Tim’s chest moved upwards to cup his neck, his other hand sliding up into the man’s hair as he kissed him again, getting the man focused on that as both hands found themselves buried in Tim’s hair, Chris’ body leaning against Tim’s lower body, “Yeah, real nice,” He purred, kissing along to the man’s ear, chuckling, “You know, Tim, I come from a place where a person can’t have much, can’t keep much, you know, without someone taking it away,” The man seemed to be trying to pay attention, but the way Chris was rolling his hips was obviously making it hard for the man to give his full attention, “So you got to fight to keep what’s yours yours, you know?” Chris’ breathing was picking up, echoing the pants of the bartender, hands in the man’s hair tightening, getting a better grip, “And you know what I fought for, Tim, what I still fight for?” He paused, his hips still moving, teeth grazing the man’s ear, getting a gasp-all for show-before he leaned back to meet the man’s gaze, to show him a glimpse of what he was truly dealing with, the darkness in his eyes a stark contrast to the aroused brightness of the bartender’s, which began to dim with confusion as Chris stared him down, whispering one word before what he had came to do set into motion.
Chris’ hands on the man’s head tightened, arms flexed, twisted, and a loud crack sounded throughout the alley as Tim the bartender’s life drained from his eyes and his body slumped against Chris’. The look of confusion or surprise the man whore on his face over the word ‘Toby’ being the last thing he heard slipped away as he slid to the ground, lifeless at Chris’ feet.
And as the leopard hauled away his prey to hide it from the other predators, so did Chris hide his kill, and an hour later, nursing a bottle of whiskey he had picked up after his efforts, he was finished-it was finished-and a high and a hatred surged through his veins, making his hands shake slightly with his excitement. Stumbling along, Chris had many ideas bouncing in his head about what next, but it didn’t take long before he decided he couldn’t settle enough to go home to Toby. The man would know right away what had happened if Chris showed up like he was, so he took a second option, when wanting company, and headed for New York.