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There was a silence in the room William was not fond of. He had never been fond of silence, to be honest, but this one outright unnerved him. In the daytime, the place usually bustled with screaming children and likewise screaming parents, birthday parties, graduations, arcade games, old songs coming out of the mechanical mouths of the animatronics. At the moment, though, everything was still. It must have been around 2 AM, he thought. And for the hundredth time since the accident, the man found himself alone, with a bottle in one hand and a knife in the other.
Granted, so far the only damage he’d done to himself had concerned the bottle, but squirming under his skin was the desire to use that kitchen knife. To feel as it tore through flesh and bone and it took the life out of someone else.
Now, if William wanted to be honest with himself, he knew he did not care. It was more than difficult for him to care about anything besides himself, if not outright impossible. He did not hate any of his children; or, better still, he did not hate Michael, the only one left alive. Despite the fact that he had killed his own brother. William had come to the grim, blood-soaked conclusion that he envied him. For that one moment, when his older son had pushed his younger one inside Fredbear’s mouth, and the jaw had snapped shut on Dave’s head, William had wanted to be Michael. To feel the blood run down his skin, soak through his clothes. To smell the scent of it as it embedded itself in his memory. He wondered whether Michael had felt somewhat of an adrenaline rush for a few moments, before worry took over. William had been the first to act, with an agonizing scream worthy of a father who had just seen the life fly out of his child’s eyes. It was his role, and so far he’d played it extremely well.
And he did not outright want to kill David. But he did not mind it had happened.
William looked around himself and saw the shadows of happy children running around, of parents bending down to kiss them, hug them, tell them they were their lives. What a stupid thing. One’s life ended within oneself. Logically speaking, nobody could be someone else’s life, no matter how much they might have loved that other person. Could someone love that much? Had he never been made privy to that knowledge? Did it reside somewhere deep beneath his skin?
The man knew the answer very well. If he had been able to feel love, he would have felt it already. For his children, for his wife when she was still with him, for his own parents, for his childhood pets. But it had never happened. He had no idea what that felt like and, the piece having always been absent, he did not miss it.
Every once in a while, and it needs be said that now was one such moment, Will wondered about what might have been if he’d been able to feel anything below the surface of his soul. He glanced at the bottle, noticing he’d barely taken a sip since he’d grabbed it from the secret stash he and Henry kept in the supply closet, and set it on one of the tables. For one, fleeting moment, he heard his own voice ask him What the hell was wrong with him?, and he shook his head in response. Nobody had ever worried much, William had always been too good of an actor to arouse any suspicion. He saw what others did and how they acted, and he mimicked them. Easy peasy.
The man ran a hand through his hair and turned towards the stage. The accident had happened a few months ago. Though the number of patrons had been in decline since then, he knew it wouldn’t have been a problem. Worst case scenario, they would have closed Fredbear’s and moved on to something else. As long as they were together, William doubted they wouldn’t have had success. Henry was a master of his craft, and William liked to play the role of the happy, chirpy owner of a family restaurant, who routinely walked around the tables to make sure everything was going well and always spent some time talking to the children and occasionally giving them small toys or trinkets if there was something left in store. They would have shown the toy to their parents, and the next time the family was due for a meal outside of the house, they would have begged to go back to Fredbear’s.
“Because maybe the bunny will give me a toy again!”
Henry was always astonished at just how well that trick seemed to work.
The back door creaked open.
William turned quickly in the direction of the noise. They’d had a few break-ins, enough for the two to start talking about hiring a night guard, but it took no time to understand this was no thief. The humming and whistling, paired with a decisive wide stride and the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor immediately told him Henry was in the building. Problem is, why the hell was that? It was two in the damn morning, the man should have been home, asleep, in his oh-so-perfect home with his almost-perfect family.
A few minutes later the man strolled in the main dining area and consequently caught sight of William.
-“Will?”- he called to him, furrowing his brow. Though there were no lights on the light of the full moon ricocheted off the man’s lanky figure too well for Henry not to recognize him. The second thing he saw was the bottle. The third, the knife. -“What’s happening?”-
-“I could ask you the same, Hen.”- William tilted his head, genuinely curious. -“What’re you doin’ here?”-
-“I-… I couldn’t sleep.”-
-“So you thought coming to work would have been the best idea?”-
Henry chuckled, but did not step forward. -“You know I like to work on the animatronics when I can. You, on the other hand…”- he shifted his gaze on the blade, glistening in the moonlight.
William followed his eyes. -“Relax. I don’t wanna kill anyone.”- a pause, -“Not at the moment, at least.”-
-“Why’d you have it, then?”-
The man shook his head. He lifted the knife and turned it in his hand, watching his reflection in the metal. -“Don’t know.”-
-“You’re feeling good?”-
-“Why shouldn’t I?”-
-“Well-… I-… you know…”- he pointed towards the stage with his head. William squinted, and it took him a few moments before he understood what Henry was alluding to.
-“Oh, come on, Hen. ‘s been two months.”-
-“He was your son, William.”-
-“So?”- the word came out naturally, before he had the chance to think about it. He understood his error a moment too late. Even from that distance, he saw Henry’s eyes widen behind his glasses. The man took a deep breath.
-“The hell you mean, ‘so’? I-… I would die if something like this happened to Charlie! What do you mean, ‘So’?!”- he was screaming by the end of the sentence. William’s stillness, his slightly quirked eyebrows and his relaxed pose were unnerving.
Will studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he got up from the chair he was sitting on and took a step in Henry’s direction, knife held tightly in his right hand. -“You must know it, by now.”-
-“What?”-
-“About me. We’ve been working together for the better part of a decade, you must have seen it.”- he advanced, and as he did the man felt a surge run through him, ending in the fingers of his right hand. Henry started backing up, only half-remembering there might have been a stage a few steps behind him.
-“Will-…”- his tone was pleading, but no other words made it out of him.
-“You must have, Hen. The way my smile falls whenever I am not in public. The ‘emptiness in my eyes’, as my school teachers used to say. I am happy you feel like that about your own daughter, believe me-…”- the man raised the knife, pointing it directly at Henry, -“… but I could not care less about mine.”-
Henry felt the blood drain out of him as soon as his back hit the stage. He was cornered, like a rabbit running from a fox. -“Please, Will, put down the knife. I-… I am sorry, we can talk about this and-”-
-“Why did you get it, and I didn’t? Hmh?”- he screamed. -“You wanna know something? I am angry. Furious. Because you got a family and you have this intrinsic knowledge of how to love and I was left without any of it. Nothing!”-
-“You have a son!”-
-“And I don’t care! He could die tomorrow and the only thing I’d be worried about would be choosing the right tie for the funeral.”- he pushed the knife at Henry’s neck, now close enough to look straight into his eyes, -“How is it fair that you get to know what love is, and I don’t!?”-
Henry winced, both at the slight pain and the tone of William’s voice. Even if he’d wanted to blame it on the alcohol in the back of his mind, the man did not smell of it. The only thing he smelled was the menthol of a cigarette he suspected Will had been smoking a little while before he’d come in.
William was staring at him, breathing hard, knife shaking in his hand. He’d drawn an insignificant rivulet of blood from Henry’s neck, something about as serious as a shaving cut. But his eye was drawn to it for an instant. Then back to the man’s eyes.
-“Are you scared, Hen?”-
Henry nodded quickly, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes.
-“You think I could kill you?”-
The way the man shook his head spoke of his own uncertainty. It made Will chuckle. Cocking his head to the left, he kept his eyes trained on the other man’s. Slowly, he turned the knife so that the blade was pointed away from Henry’s skin and slowly ran it along his neck, from one side to the other, with a feather-light touch. Then, he pressed the end of it in, watching as a few specks of blood stained it dark red. He heard Henry’s sudden intake of breath, and wanted to laugh.
-“You do think that, don’t you?”- he returned the sharp edge of the knife flush against the man’s skin, pushing just enough to make him feel it without actually cutting through. -“Well, I could. I very, very well could.”- a slight smile appeared on his lips. He leaned in closer, and whispered in Henry’s ear:
-“I can.”-
For the next few seconds, Henry’s heavy breathing was all that could be heard around them. William gently laid down the knife on the stage behind the man’s back, just out of his reach, and leaned forward. Henry was trapped between his arms, cornered in the cage formed by William’s body and the wooden stage behind him. Then, he felt the man’s mouth on his neck, kissing it softly where he’d cut him just a minute before. For a moment Henry was so taken aback he genuinely forgot how to breathe. William’s tongue poked out of his lips, tracing the drops of blood down his skin and lapping it up like a vampire. He stopped for a moment and moved to the other side, repeating the same motions, alternating soft kisses and bites and the way Will’s beard brushed against Henry’s skin tore the lightest of whimpers from his throat. William stopped, turned slightly towards him and whispered:
-“You like that?”-
Henry’s heart was going a thousand miles an hour and his eyes were squeezed shut.
-“The hell are you doing, Will?”-
-“Playing.”- his laugh was throaty and raspy, perhaps a tad bit lower than before. -“You want me to stop?”-
Yes should have made it out of Henry’s mouth in no time. In theory. -“You’re gonna kill me if I tell you to?”-
-“No, no, no. Don’t worry. I’m gonna go and leave you to your…beloved animatronics.”- he stated, glancing in the direction of the workshop.
-“You sound like-… like you’re jealous of ‘em.”-
-“Can you blame me?”- he returned his mouth to Henry’s neck, while his left hand started travelling softly up and down the man’s spine. -“The way you work on them…”- a kiss, -“… the way you touch them…”- a bite, answered by a barely-contained moan, -“…how nimble and gentle your fingers are when they brush against metal and wires…”- another kiss, more lingering than the last one, -“… it drives me mad with jealousy, Hen.”- it was as he said it that much to his own surprise William realized it was totally, completely true. He felt Henry buck into his touch, a low grunt rising from his throat. A moment later, the man’s mouth fell open and his head tipped backwards, hands gripping the edge of the stage hard enough his knuckles were going white.
With a smile, William went on, mouth working on Henry’s neck. As soon as his hands slithered under Henry’s shirt, he heard a curse in the man’s broken voice.
-“No curse words, Hen. We’re in a children’s restaurant.”-
Henry snorted. -“Fuck you.”-
-“Would you like that, mh?”- William lowered one of his hands to the man’s jeans, cupping the bulge growing between his legs. -“How about the opposite?”- he asked, squeezing his hand around it. The man outright whined, loudly enough for his voice to echo around the room. -“Would you mind?”-
Henry found enough strength of will to shake his head.
-“Then turn around.”-
Guided by William’s own hands, the other man followed his command in the blink of an eye. As soon as he was facing away from Will the slightest bit of lucidity returned to him, but it was not enough for him to stop. He knew what was happening was wild to say the least, but he’d be damned if it didn’t also send a rush of adrenaline through him at every beat. Yes, William had been threatening to kill him up until a few minutes ago. Yes, there was something deeply wrong with that man. But as he bent down on the stage, hands splayed in front of him, Henry considered there might have been something wrong with him, too.
If that was the case, he would have thought about it later. Now, he would have done just about anything to get off, one way or another. If the way in question was being fucked by William, then all the better.
-“You’re very pretty like this, Henry.”- he heard Will unbuckle his belt, and his heart skipped a few beats. A moment later, his jeans were unceremoniously pulled down together with his underwear, just enough to expose his ass to William. The man chuckled, slapping his cheeks lightly. -“Spread your legs a bit, darling.”-
Henry obliged and pushed his face down on the wood, trying not to think about the fact that the stage hadn’t been cleaned in God knows how long. He felt one of Will’s hands land on him again, this time a bit faster, and another cry made it out of him almost completely involuntarily. His dick throbbed, unfortunately still partially constrained in his jeans.
William pulled himself free, giving himself a few lazy strokes before he decided his next move.
-“I’ll go easy on you, sweetheart.”- he whispered, pressing the tip of his cock against Henry’s entrance, settling his left hand on the man’s hip for better stability. The way Henry pushed against him as soon as he felt him would have made him go mad if he hadn’t been so focused. With a low moan, Will started pushing himself inside, slowly as he could. Though he expected some complaint from Henry, the man was still slightly disappointed when he heard a sigh that was decidedly not of pleasure. Against his better instincts William stopped, giving Hen a few moments to catch his breath. He ran his other hand on Henry’s back, under his shirt.
-“Good. Good. Deep breaths.”- his fingers grazed the man’s skin, his sides, his belly, everywhere he could reach without having to bend forward. As he did, he proceeded, desperately trying to pace himself. -“Good-… ah-… fuck-…”-
Even through the pain, Henry found he couldn’t help but being fucking turned on. The way William was speaking to him, low and soothing, the way his fingers would not stop touching him, he way he was being manhandled were enough to make him leak through his jeans. He tried to breathe deeply a few times, at first only with his nose and then through his mouth. The man didn’t know how much time elapsed before he felt William’s chest flush to his back, a soft kiss landing in between his shoulder blades. -“So fucking good…”-
-“Yes-…”- it wasn’t an answer to anything, but Henry felt like saying it anyway. William was praising him in a way that made him heady.
Almost as slowly as he’d pushed in the man started pulling back out, never stopping both the touches and the praises. It still stung, and it still did not matter. Henry couldn’t even keep himself from pushing against William once the man was out of him.
-“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”-
He mumbled something, though he himself wouldn’t have been able to say what. All he knew was that before ten seconds had gone by William was pushing back inside, this time slightly faster. He repeated the routine a few times. In, and out. In, and out. Henry was positive he was going mad with want.
After a few minutes of that exquisitely unbearable rhythm, William actually started moving fast enough he had to anchor both of his hands at Henry’s sides. With each thrust he tore a louder and louder moan from both him and the other man, screaming Henry’s nickname, showering him with any praise he could think of, and positively wrecking him.
On his part, the other man felt both in heaven and in hell at the same time. Will’s cock filled him in the most astoundingly arousing way he’d ever felt, but from his position he couldn’t touch himself and he doubted William would have had the mind to do so, even if he’d asked him. His hands desperately searched for purchase on the smooth surface of the stage, eventually landing on the knife. Without a second thought, Henry grabbed it and wedged it down in between two wooden boards, wrapping both hands around the handle. To hell if it broke. His arousal kept growing and growing and growing until he surged forward with little to no warning, screaming something in between a name and a curse as his come trickled down his underwear and jeans, leaving him nothing short of breathless.
It took Will embarrassingly little to reach the man. He’d been hard since he’d first pointed the knife at Henry and though the situation had escalated quickly, his body had been good enough to keep up with it. Will pushed himself as deep as he could inside Henry, burying his face in the man’s shirt as he cried out, voice ricocheting off the walls of the entire restaurant. He lay there, panting, for a few moments, before thinking better of it and pulling himself out of his business partner.
He buttoned himself back up, did his buckle and leaned on the stage beside Henry, whom for the moment had not even considered changing his position. His breaths were still shallow when he spoke:
-“That wasn’t half bad.”-
-“No.”- Henry agreed with a pant, -“God, it wasn’t.”-
William couldn’t help the smile. -“Feel like doing it again sometime?”-
-“We-… we shouldn’t…”-
-“Has that ever stopped either of us?”- the man leaned towards Henry, until he was face to face with him. -“You’re almost as fucked up as me, darling. Don’t forget that.”- he chuckled, left a slight kiss on the tip of his nose and walked away. He was almost outside the restaurant when Henry heard him scream:
-“Take the knife out of the stage, please!”-
-“Fuck you!”- he rebuked, finally gathering enough decorum to pull his pants back up.
-“I’m sure you will, Hen.”- William’s laughter echoed across the halls, -“Sure you will.”-