Chapter Text
“Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!”
A metallic shrill rings through the room as the knife impacts the floor, bending the blade ever so slightly with the force it was thrown with. Spencer’s chest heaves. The camera on the floor cannot quite capture his face with his hair falling into his face, dripping with sweat. This has been the fifth time he’s forgotten his lines. Fifth time he’s torn this ‘corpse’ apart and forgotten his goddamn lines. Previous dummies are strewn across the room. Gooey fake blood covers Spencer’s clothes and hands. He stays there, taking shuddering, angry breaths, on his knees.
The door opens before Spencer can turn the camera off. He doesn’t look up. He continues to stare at the mangled ‘corpse’ in front of him. It had been such a good take, too. Shoes enter the frame as Ricky steps into the room. The camera can’t pick up more than above Ricky’s shins, but the incredulous tone in his voice is well received by the microphone.
“…What the hell are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Spencer still doesn’t look up. Ricky has never heard that tone out of him. Something…rotten. Dark in a way Ricky doesn’t want to explore.
Then he eyes the ‘corpse’ on the floor. Though the face has been shattered and torn, he can just barely make out the features through the blood. “What the fuck?” He crouches down, ever so slightly. “Is that supposed to be me? Are you seriously-?” His feet move in frame as he whirls around to look at the other failed corpses from previous takes. “I said I didn’t want to be in this shit. Do you know how fucking illegal this is? And you’re fucking killing me? Look, I get you’re pissed because I said no to your movie, but—“
Hands cage Ricky’s throat as Spencer springs to his feet. The grip is uneven from the fake blood with a texture Ricky recognizes, but not as blood. Spencer’s hands slide slightly as he tries to get a better grip. The camera can’t pick up the fiery rage in his eyes. The taller man tries to shove him off, but Spencer just snarls.
“And yet here you are…you wanted to be here after all~” Something wicked flashes in Spencer’s eyes and he bares his teeth, just shy of a smile. He yanks Ricky forward before turning and pushing him to the ground. Ricky’s head hits the concrete of the basement hard enough for the camera to pick up. Both men are back in frame now.
Ricky, with hands still around his throat, splutters, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“They’re not the same.” Spencer’s voice is a hiss, his eyes wide and hungry. “They don’t move the way you do. They’re so pliant, less noisy, less complaints. Let me move them however I want and don’t bitch about it hurting or about their tendons or some other shit. But you…” He squeezes his hands tighter around the other man’s throat, pressing a knee onto Ricky’s sternum. He laughs. “You….you wriggle. You squirm. You look up at me with those big pathetic eyes. You show fear. Sweet, sweet fear and confusion.” His breathing becomes increasingly ragged. “And you scream…oh you fucking scream…”
Ricky’s pulse threatens to bleed through Spencer’s fingers. Burst and coat his slick fingers with something real. In a vain attempt to escape, Ricky clasps his hands around Spencer’s and tries to push him off. His shoes squeak with what little friction they can find on the floor.
But Spencer only shushes him, applying more pressure to his jugulars. “Thought I was going to lose my mind without you here. You know how many times I’ve fucked up this shot? But now I have real flesh and blood. A real co-star to work with. You just saved me from the brink of insanity, so let me help you-“ He tightens his grip. “-come from the brink of overthinking.”
Ricky is seeing stars. His airway is only partially obstructed by his thumbs pressing down, but he can still barely get gasping breaths out. His anger falls out of him with his remaining oxygen. His eyes roll back slightly and his eyelids flutter. A soft, almost imperceptible moan leaves his lips. Spencer freezes, snapping to attention. His grip doesn’t waver. He waits in silence for Ricky to do it again as his legs slowly stop fighting the floor. When he does, Spencer grins. Truly and utterly unrepentant, he grins.
Muttering to himself, “I can work with this”, he lets go of Ricky’s throat, unceremoniously getting to his feet. “Chloroform, chloroform, chloroform….ah.”
Ricky takes several coughing breaths, still dizzy from the oxygen deprivation. He closes his eyes to hide from the lights in the room despite them being barely above a whisper of luminance, just enough to catch shapes on camera. The taller man starts to roll onto his side in an attempt to get up, his face towards the camera on the floor. Spencer notices the movement immediately and clicks his tongue. His shoes come back into frame.
He hoists up Ricky’s torso, his own face obscured from view. He presses a rag of chloroform to Ricky’s lips, watching those big brown eyes fly open on the viewfinder. Ricky stares directly into the camera as he renews his squirming efforts. But he’s still recovering from having his breath suppressed, and each gasp he needs for air inhales more of the chemical. Spencer chuckles, deep and low. He watches Ricky’s face with a sick fascination. To the camera, it’s just a faceless, muscular torso and tattooed arms manhandling an innocent, gasping victim whose eyelids are drooping more by the second. It’s such a good shot that Spencer almost swoons.
Eventually the eyelids drop entirely, and Ricky’s movements slow to a stop. His body is slumped against Spencer. Spencer watches him for a long moment as he tries to control his own ragged breathing. He removes one arm from Ricky’s throat, where he had had him in a chokehold, and pets Ricky’s sweat-slick hair, getting blood colored lubricant in the strands.
“You won’t be out long,” He whispers, nuzzling the top of Ricky’s head for a moment. “I was so fucking mad at you but now…now you’ve made everything magical. All I needed was to get into character.”
He tilts his head down enough to be in frame, his eyes wild and pupils blown. The other man looks so good like this: bloodied, limp, completely at his mercy. He takes Ricky’s chin into his fingers, tilting his head left and right for the camera. He chuckles. Oh how Ricky was born for this.