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Ben smashes the tv screen against the fancy ass jet table again and again; shards of glass going everywhere. They crunch under his feet as he stalks towards the back of the plane.
”Just stay out of the way so you don’t get hurt,” he says to Amelia as he passes. She trembles on the spot; jerking out a terrified nod. She hadn’t needed to act the part, just like she’d said. Ben swipes the tears away from under his eyes with his jacket sleeve; jaw clenching with anger. An old friend at this point.
He storms to the back and finds McCone lounging against the wall; like a long streak of piss with nowhere to be in a hurry. Loitering around as if people aren’t getting beat down by goons for even thinking of stopping for five seconds right there on the Network’s front lawn.
”You!” He snarls; grabbing McCone by the front of his grey turtleneck sweater. “Did you do it, huh, well did you, you fucking asshole?”
”Do what?” McCone barely even reacts, as infuriating off camera as he is on. Even with his aviators on, Ben can tell he’s looking down at him. Resisting the urge to sneer, like Ben is shit of his big fucking clown-ass shoe.
Ben shakes him; shoving him hard against the wall. The metal rattles under McCone’s weight. “Did you kill my fucking wife and daughter?!”
McCone has the audacity to laugh. Ben bares his teeth; screaming with rage. Grabs McCone’s knife (destiny, yeah right), and holds the blade to the hunter’s throat. McCone swallows on purpose; a thin line of blood beads against his skin. “It doesn’t matter if I did or didn’t, you won’t believe me anyway.”
Ben growls; pressing the knife deeper. McCone inhales sharply, but doesn’t push him away. This close Ben can see the other man’s pupils widen behind the lenses of his aviators. “Are you - Are you fucking getting off on this?” he asks incredulously.
McCone flashes a grin; arching his neck, daring Ben to slice. To cut deep and spill blood. “Show isn’t live yet. Have to find some way to stay entertained.”
”You’re fucking deranged.”
”You’re the one holding a knife to an unarmed man’s throat.”
Ben scoffs. “As if you’re unarmed. You don’t need a weapon to be dangerous.”
”A compliment?” McCone quirks his head; miming a kiss and a wink. “How kind of you. What would your wife say, hmm? Flirting with another man. Shouldn’t you be busy flirting with death?”
Ben punches McCone in the ribs. “Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to talk about my wife!”
McCone chuckles lowly; licking over his teeth. “What shall we talk about then? The weather? Feels a bit thundery from where I’m standing.”
”I should just kill you to get you to stop. fucking. talking.”
”And yet, your hand hasn’t even twitched. Maybe you like it. Maybe you like having me in this position.” McCone runs his gaze over Ben’s tear-stained and flushed face. “Maybe you like pressing yourself against me.”
Ben yanks McCone close, to shove him back against the wall again knocking the breath from his lungs. “I’m not the one who’s fucking hard.”
He can feel the other man’s erection against his hip.
”Pity,” McCone murmurs. “Could’ve had some last minute fun before we go back to trying to kill each other.”
”I’d rather die than touch you.”
McCone grins; sharp as the very knife Ben is holding to his neck. “Oh don’t worry, that will be arranged. And you don’t have to touch me.” He then reaches for Ben’s pants; tugging them open before Ben can react. Shoves his hand under the waistband of his briefs and palms his cock. Ben’s knees almost buckle from the shock of someone else touching him. Someone who’s not Sheila. Someone who has tried to kill him more than the acceptable number of times (which is fucking zero, by the way).
He squeezes Ben’s cock; dry, gun-calloused palm stroking up and down. Ben is mortified to feel himself hardening.
”Welcome to the game,” McCone smirks; thumbing at the spongy tip. Ben swallows thickly; trying to get his arm to move. To slice McCone’s fucking throat and end this.
”Get the f-fuck off me,” Ben stutters; hips bucking up into the tight grip of McCone’s fist. He’s so tired and hanging on by a thread, his body is betraying him just for one little bit of pleasure. It makes him feel sick.
”You want this to stop, you’re the one with the knife.” McCone pumps his cock until he’s straining against his briefs. Precum dribbling from his slit. He undoes his own tac pants and pulls his cock free. Like the rest of him it’s big and long. McCone grasps both hard lengths in his large paw of a hand and squeezes. “You want some lube, you might want to spit.”
Ben’s mouth feels horribly dry. “I—“
McCone tuts, rolling his eyes. Grabs Ben’s hand not currently holding the knife and spits in his palm. Forces him to grasp both their erections, smearing the saliva around. He stares Ben in the eye as he jerks them off hard and rough. Embarrassingly, the precum leaking from Ben’s cock helps slick the way.
”Not long until showtime,” McCone rasps. “Might want to come before then, otherwise you’ll die with blue balls.”
”I don’t know why I don’t just stab you in the throat right fucking now.”
”Performance issues?” McCone croons mockingly. “It happens.”
Ben tries to ignore the feel of McCone’s hand and his cock hot and throbbing pressed against his own, but he’s starved for affection. Touch that isn’t pain. Every signal is confused and Ben just wants this whole fucking game show to end.
McCone drags his nail over his slit and presses down on the pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft. Ben’s orgasm takes him by surprise. Sticky cum spurts out of him covering them both in ropes of thick white. McCone shudders out a gasp as he comes too; milking them both of every last trembling drop.
“Time’s up,” McCone says; tucking himself away, paying the knife no attention at all. Like he doesn’t even consider Ben a threat. Ben sinks the knife into the wall of the jet with a roar of frustration and redresses.
”I will fucking kill you,” he growls over his shoulder at McCone as he stomps away back to where the other hunters are, deciding to get rid of them first. S’all about ratings after all, right? “That’s a promise.”
McCone just barks out a laugh; dragging the flat of his tongue over his fingers to lick them clean. “Looking forward to it, Richards. If you’re going to use the knife, remember, the pointy end actually cuts things.”
Ben ignores him. Walking away more determined than ever to destroy everything and everyone involved in this godforsaken hell show.