Chapter Text
It’s on a quiet night spent laying on a hillside stargazing when Cellbit changes the course of their relationship with a simple statement.
“I’m hungry,” Cellbit says matter-of-factly, staring up at the night sky.
Pac glances over at him, catching a twinkle of something other than the stars in his eyes.
It’s been a long time since the prison, since the island. He wonders, every now and then, what it must be like to recover from something like that.
Pac did, of course. It took time and a lot of patience, but Pac has come to terms with what happened to him. Cellbit, however, must’ve had it rough, he thinks.
He should probably be afraid at a statement like that. Pac trusts Cellbit, though, so instead he asks, “Got a craving for anything in particular?”
Cellbit meets his gaze, facial expression carefully schooled into neutrality. It would probably fool someone else, but Pac knows him too well. He can see the cracks in the façade, the doubt, the hunger. Something flutters in his chest at the veiled fierceness in Cellbit’s eyes.
After a long pause, Cellbit replies, “Not for anything I can have.”
Pac leans in to kiss him, to tell Cellbit that he can have as much of him as he wants, but Cellbit backs away.
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Pac frowns, but respects his space and rolls onto his back again. Awkward silence hangs between them, so Pac quickly blurts out the first thing he can think of the break it.
“What if you ate one of the dead bodies left behind after someone respawns? Would that work?” he suggests, glancing at his partner out of the corner of his eye.
“Even if I wanted to do that, it’s still, like, super illegal, I think,” Cellbit replies, sighing.
Pac suddenly has a very, very bad idea. “What if it was me?”
Cellbit is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Think about it, man! It’s, like, consensual if you eat me, y’know?”
“You can’t be serious.”
Pac stares at him, deadly serious as he says, “Think about it.”
Cellbit stares back with equal, if not greater, intensity. “What I think is that you’ve finally lost it, Pac.”
“Cellbit, seriously, this is, like, very humane; it’s the most humane way to engage in cannibalism, probably. You’ve got a willing participant, a server that doesn’t let him die, an infinite supply of bodies, and all the consent you could ever need.”
He looks contemplative, though hesitant. As he goes to reject the idea again, though, his belly growls in protest. Cellbit blushes prettily as Pac laughs, curling up closer to him.
“Look, Cellbit, it’s not like you haven’t eaten part of me before,” Pac says, laughter dying down. “Just pretend this is no different.”
“I’m beginning to think you might be a bad influence on me,” Cellbit replies with a laugh, kissing Pac on the cheek. “Let’s go back to my place, the others are at the Favela for tonight.”
They walk back, hand in hand. They laugh and joke, but there’s an unmistakable tenseness hanging in the air between them. It’s thick and leaves a metallic taste in Pac’s mouth, one he knows is not real but imagines all the same.
They enter Cellbit’s basement without much fuss, Roier passed out in his room and no one else around to question them.
“So, uh, how’re we going to do this?” Pac asks nervously, eyeing the knife Cellbit is flipping around in his hand.
“Hm… I could lay out a tarp, maybe? That could still get messy though…” he mutters half to himself as he ponders the possible scenarios.
Pac feels a little queasy thinking about how to prevent his blood from staining everything it touches, if he’s honest with himself, but Cellbit looks gorgeous like this. His gaze sharp and calculating, analyzing their options and outcomes, it makes Pac’s heart skip a couple beats.
“We could use the bathtub, maybe? Then it can all, uh, go down the drain,” Pac proposes.
Cellbit grins widely, throwing up the knife in the air before catching it and pointing it at Pac. “Brilliant idea!”
Pac beams at the praise, very purposefully ignoring the way his gut lurched when the knife pointed at him. Despite his best efforts, Cellbit narrows his eyes in concern.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Pac? I—“
“I do,” Pac hurriedly says, cutting him off. “I’m fine with it, seriously. If it—if it helps you, then I want to do it.”
Cellbit eyes him for a second and then nods, gesturing for him to follow as he turns and heads towards the guest bathroom. The world seems to narrow as Pac trails behind him, his potential escape routes dwindling by the second.
Pac stares at the tub that will soon be his tomb and can’t withhold a shudder. Its plain white porcelain gleams innocently back at him, its curved basin awaiting him with its cool embrace.
If Cellbit catches it, he says nothing, focusing instead on laying down some towels in case any viscera spurts out of the tub.
“Shit, what about my clothes?” Pac asks, realizing they’ll surely be ruined, if not by the knife then by the blood soon to follow.
Cellbit turns to look at him with a smirk. “Who said anything about clothes?”
He closes the distance between them and places his hands on Pac’s hips. Pac blushes fiercely as Cellbit begins lifting the hem of his hoodie, moving to take it off. He allows it to happen, raising his arms as he catches his bright red face in the mirror.
Cellbit slips the blue fabric off with practiced ease, his knuckles glancing upon Pac’s skin as he does so. His chest now exposed, Cellbit takes a moment to trace his fingers along his collarbones and top surgery scars. His nails traipse down his belly until they reach the button of his pants, where they deftly slip it out of the loop and pull the zipper down.
Pac can feel his whole body flushing as Cellbit kneels and shimmies his pants down. He’s practically eye level with his crotch, Pac forcing himself to look away as he tugs down his boxers.
“Wow, your transition’s really come a long way since the prison, huh?” Cellbit asks coyly, glancing up to take in Pac’s embarrassment.
“Uh, y-yeah,” he stammers out, desperately trying to act cool.
Cellbit snickers as he guides Pac’s feet out of his bottoms, then folds them and his hoodie and sets them in a stack to the side. Reaching up, Cellbit unbuckles the straps keeping Pac’s prosthetic leg in place and removes it gently. Standing back up, he laces his arms around Pac’s lower back and gazes down at him with affection.
“You ready?” Cellbit whispers, his voice edged with something hungry. His eyes rove over Pac’s face, taking in every ounce of fear and desire.
“Wh-what about your clothes?”
“Half my clothing has blood spatters on it, no one’ll notice a thing, darling.”
Something churns in Pac’s stomach at the old pet name. He swallows it down, his throat tasting of bile.
“Unless,” Cellbit starts, gaze sharpening, “you want me to strip down?”
“That’s, um, that’s okay,” Pac stutters. He doesn’t think he could handle Cellbit being naked, not on top of everything else.
“Climb into the tub, then, if you’d be so kind.”
Cellbit sounding more and more like his old self by the second, Pac shakily steps into the tub and settles inside. It fits him perfectly as he lays down, not dissimilar enough from a casket for it to ease Pac’s mind.
Hiking a leg up, Cellbit straddles the tub, knife in hand. Pac, torn between fear and lust, stares up at him silently, watching every movement closely.
He feels, now more than ever, like a cornered prey animal. Trembling, eyes wide, he stares up at Cellbit, who is coolly analyzing him. Probably to find the easiest place to stab him, Pac imagines.
He could lash out, could turn Cellbit’s knife against him and escape. He lays there instead, trying to even out his breathing as he ignores every instinct telling him to run.
“Okay, Pac,” Cellbit says, “I’ll ask you one more time: are you certain this is what you want?”
Lost for words, Pac forces himself to nod.
Cellbit leans down, taking Pac’s face in one hand and kissing him deeply.
“Thank you,” he says quietly as he drives the knife into Pac’s heart.