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You're looking at the knives again. It's an impulse that you weren't quite lying about when you joined that first chat- though you hadn't really discussed your more private dealings with the rest of the group. Ronin knew, though- how could he not, when he saw you every day?
The first time he saw them, it was wordless. He didn't mention anything, his eyes glancing over the scars on your ankles and if, that night, he wanted your legs over your head? That was between the devil on your shoulder and his own silent wants. Maybe he was a little more kissy and... sweet... that time around. Most likely it was just your imagination, though.
It wasn't a frequent occurrence, since, usually, you would be going about your business and he would come home still in a blood frenzy. The adrenaline keeping him from total coherency while the you did all manner of worship and submission. It was like fucking high or drunk, and it was so easy to get caught up with him.
To lean into him and know that the blood on his face was for you. To kiss him and feel like for all the world, he had made his den so that you could nest in it, and it was good.
The second time he saw them, it was in such a state- far from the obviously sweet and silent reaction to them, he instead threw you onto the bed. Gripping your ankles and shoving down your socks before licking the scars like a dog. His prompts to explain yourself, husky and wild.
The way he asked you how to did it- where did these burn scars come from? You? A parent? A lover? Where you holding out on your capacity to dole out pain and being so selfish as to reserve it for solely your own body?
He wanted to see you carve into somebody else. To create your art in somebody else's shape. Surely you had ideas, you'd wanted to write a novel about serial killers for a reason, and the whole time your body was in the fine line of panicked and wanting.
Wanting... what? To show him? On who? It wasn't like you ever wanted to do so with him around. It wasn't like he would want to see that either. For all the sexually charged threats you make at eachother, neither of you ACTUALLY wants to harm the other. It's a game.
The act you would be doing to yourself in front of him? There was no game there. He wouldn't want to see it. You didn't want to do it.
There was no need to. The way he would tease you with knives and leave you strung out on the bed and how he loved you- You hadn't done it in the months he'd known you.
He didn't acknowledge it the third time- the third time, you showed him exactly your means and methods.
"Ronin, baby?" It was simple- it got his attention immediately as you stood at the doorframe, having let yourself in with the spare he gave you.
The tilt of his head as you took slow, intentional steps strafing towards the open kitchen. Your steps were light- you were no trained killer, no. But you were a child once. Your hand, sliding across the edge of the countertop- watching him, the way he placed with his piercing for a moment before he had to ask.
"Oh darlin'.... what sweet idea have you gotten in your pretty little head...?"
"Hmm... I wonder what?" You respond, you can't help the way your hand trembles as you, with such determined action. Pull one of your knives from your knife block in his den. A twitch of an eyebrow, and a brief moment of silliness.
The way you feel rather than intend to grin, letting out a giggle that you know from the look in his eyes has him captivated.
"Are you going to end me, darling?"
"Maybe I will, lover."
"Come and do it, then." There's a standstill. The world's funniest stalemate. "Still can't? Have you not rotted away enough yet?"
You take a deep breath, and though your hand isn't shaky, this time, your legs hesitate to carry you. 'It's going to be okay,' you remind yourself.
If there's anything more than you that he loves, it's corpses. Right?
"Loverboy."
"Yes, darling?"
There's only one thing that can motivate you to go through with this. It was a fairly simple concept.
"Truth... or dare?"
You watch him reel. "Truth." He'd grin, leaning to the side, all manner of accessories clinking together as his shoulders try to contain their excitement. You loosen your grip slightly, pinching the flat of the blade between your thumb and forefinger in familiarity.
"Do you think I could do it?"
"Oh, darling. I think you could do anything you really wanted to." There was a twinkle of excitement in his eyes, and you could feel a thrum in your chest that was an entirely self-imposed thought; you didn't want to disappoint him. "Truth... or dare...?" He drew out, teasing you.
You'd always wanted to do this. Never had a lover before that wouldn't call the police. Crying about how unsafe it was- about how you were becoming a danger. You weren't. You weren't a danger.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
"Dare."
He'd grin, leaning back. "Do it, then."
It was immediate. You turned on the flat of your foot and bolted for the door. No sound of shock came from him as he sat up right- aw, giving you time- and followed behind you. Opening the door was no large feat, neither was the way your bare feet hit the pavement.
The way you cackled.
The way he laughed far too close behind you as you ducked and dodged the Uptown muck. It was certainly an usual attempt to celebrate your one year, but God it was exhilarating. Doubled with the fact that you had no idea if he knew where you were leading him. Other than, geographically of course.
He knew these streets like the back of his hands. He'd probably walked down this same route before. Sliding and dodging people who would watch the two of you racing by.
Eventually, you stopped at a dead end, save for an unlocked door that led to a back room. It was for a building that had once been some kind of restaurant and now was a den for all sorts of types- but you were using it right now... to impress your boyfriend. Slipping through, you had a few seconds before said boyfriend made his way to join you.
"You're fast, darlin'." He calls, grinning madly, "I suppose I shoulda known you had a talent for outrunning the Devil."
Ronin's slow, taunting steps began to approach it, but before he could get any closer, the door swung open, and a thin man with silver ingredients, short hair fell from it. Arms and legs bound. Glasses, clattering on the ground and cracking from the impact.
Above him, you, tossing the chair you'd kept him on back into the restaurant kitchen with little to do. "Ugh..." the man mumbled, and you closed the door behind you as you tossed a bag to the ground.
You gave Ronin an effervescent smile, and he knew he didn't need your aorta in his hands to know that your hearts were beating in sync. Your eyes met him, and the man roused properly from his slumber.
"Hey lover- sorry he's not quite dead, yet. I figured you'd want a little bit of a show out of him first. I know I do." You keep your sanity to the best of your ability. You've been told what is right and what is wrong your whole life.
The man starts mumbling your name, "Where are you? Are you here?"
You can't help the way you stare at him, tempted to answer. But you hold back- it's better if he doesn't know who you are.
"Why ya lookin', pal?" Ronin asked, crouching over him.
"I- I don't have to answer you- who are you?"
You begin to open your bag, getting out a selection of tools. Ronin laughs, and you watch him play, digging the flat of his crowbar- wait shit when did that enter the equation- in between the man's ribcage and shoulder blade.
He paused, and you heard Ronin as he simply replied, "Can't ya' see an angel falls tonight? You're going to get to see a Birth..." He grins, "And I'm excited to see how this devil joins my special hell..."
You huff, lighting the candle and setting the kitchen knife on top of it. "A word of advice, Howard," the man shudders, "I would recommend staying as still as possible."
"What do you mean by that-"
"- Otherwise I may slip, and it will get Oh-so-much worse."
"Fuck, darling, you should speak to me like that... you've been holding out on me..."
You roll your eyes and pull out a pair of scissors from the bag, straddling the back of the man's legs and cutting open the back of his nice button-up shirt. Each shk of the scissors is as exhilarating and freeing as the last, and you can't help running your hand over the vast expanse of skin you've discovered.
"Oh god," whimpers the man, and Ronin digs his crowbar in just that little bit more. You look up at him, and he looks at you, his dark eyes and ecstatic grin all you need to convince you that you're doing good. You're doing the right thing. You're doing this thing in the way he likes.
He loves you.
You pick up the knife.
You flip it a few times in your hand, seriously debating if it would be more or less fun to use the blunt edge or the sharpened one. You hold it over the flame for a few more seconds, and then press the blunt edge into his spine.
The screams are immediate. You wouldn't say they're beautiful- they aren't music to your ears. They're loud, and obnoxious, and you can't wait for Ronin to silence him, come to think of it.
You burn a veritable tapestry of flowers and hell into the man. All belladonna and wilted passionflower- all thorns and blood flesh and you can smell him and he quiets and you eventually stop burning and just start cutting. Not that there's much you need to cut.
Eventually, Ronin grabs your hand, and you look into his eyes before anything. You slump off of the man- and you your shock, he's still breathing, just shaking and sobbing and mumbling desires for it to end. Ronin kicks him over, inciting a pained whine. He takes the blindfold off of the man, and his eyes dart all around and land on you.
Shock, horror, a lack of understanding.
"I've already got a romantic partner, Howard." Is all you whisper- his eyebrows furrow in rage and fury and Ronin cackles, his sharp, lovely cackle.
You tear open his button-up.
Running your hand over, you feel for his heartbeat. It's so hard and fast that it's easy to find. Easy to locate. You raise the knife, but find it hard to actually work up the nerve to do it. It's not like you have to kill him, right? Ronin would take care of it... right?
Staring at Ronin, uncertain if you're ready, he gets the message. "Oh, darlin'... don't want your first kill to be alone~?" He'd take your hand, hopping playfully to the other side of the man. Interlacing your fingers, kissing them, pressing his forehead up against yours. "Can't say I don't envy ya'."
Guiding your hands through his chest, putting an end to his miserable existence. Pulling Ronin into a kiss with the man's blood covering your hands and not caring since red mixes with red and your hands in his hair is so nice and you love him you love him you love him you love him.
And then you're home. In his arms, bloodied, and kissed, and loved.
"So what did inspire ya', lovely?" He would ask, his arms wrapped around you and pressing a gently kiss to a bloody corner of your neck.
"I figured you wouldn't like me demonstrating on myself."
"Huh." He'd pull away, rubbing your cheek. "That's... not untrue. I dunno how I would have reacted, had you started in on yourself, but I don't ever wanna find out."
He'd run his hand over your stomach, squishing whatever softness he could find. "You don't need to repent, darlin'... you ain't a sinner, you're a devil, too."