A Chance Encounter (Chris Hemsworth X OMC)

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He could have killed him any time if he'd wanted to. He'd killed many times before and would do so again. For him it wasn't so much a want as it was a need. A need to kill. But killing went beyond even that for him. The killing- the ultimate, irrevocable act of taking life- was just a very small part of what he needed to do.

Stalking his victim was the most fun. Learning their habits, their routines. By the time he was ready to kill, he knew more about the victim than they may have known about themselves. His victims never realized until it was too late that he'd been watching them for a very, very long time.

But before the kill, he'd introduce himself. He'd appear just the way he wanted to- handsome, confident. He'd appear to be the "perfect man" for them. Which depended on the information he gathered. He found that he always fit the bill for the men he killed. His targets were exclusively gay men who enjoyed the company of an alpha male. He would exploit their desires and preferences, gradually gaining their trust.

Then, when the victim felt most secure, he would kill them. He'd get them alone and defenseless. Then he'd experience that orgasmic euphoria that came when he watched the awareness of betrayal, the fear, the denial, and finally the frightened acceptance as the light left their eyes forever.

Staging a suicide was easy given that his targets were gay men. The suicide rate was higher for this population, which never prompted a lot of investigation. And he moved a lot.

Sitting alone in his truck, he watched Wyatt Hudson's apartment building. He'd been casing Wyatt for a several months now. Watching him go about his day. It seemed like he was a person who lived and died by a routine since his show had been cancelled. Only recently had he deviated from the it. He'd gone out of town.

The neighborhood Wyatt lived in was busy enough that no one really noticed him. The anonymity was a friend to him and he spent many nights hiding in plain sight with a pair of binoculars in his hands. Watching Wyatt. Learning him.

After a few months of observing him, he'd decided to act. He'd gotten a membership at the same gym and approached him, making sure to turn on all of the charm. It hadn't worked. Rather than be taken in by his charms, Wyatt had come off nervous and evasive. It was a new thing for him. No one had ever reacted like that.

It pissed him off. The temptation to follow Wyatt home and go ahead and kill him had been so strong. Luckily, he'd been able to restrain himself. He decided this was a good turn of events. Even if he was pissed enough to kill, he knew that delayed gratification was what made it so satisfying.

Headlights on the road alerted him and he watched from his dark truck as an SUV pulled up to the apartment building. An older woman got out and promptly moved along the walkway he had already committed to memory. He recognized her from the pictures Wyatt kept around his apartment. A friend. A fellow actress. She used a key to enter the apartment and he watched through the window as she fed Wyatt's cat.

When she got back into her car and left, he waited several moments before stepping out of the truck and slowly, quietly approaching the apartment. He boldly walked to the door and took a key from his pocket- one he'd made a while back when he'd first entered the apartment by picking a lock.

His cock hardened as he recalled that night. Wyatt had been fast asleep in the late hours of the night. He'd picked the lock so easily and stepped into the apartment. He wandered about, stopping at Wyatt's bedroom for a few moments. He'd watched him sleep, tempted to approach him and wrap his hands around his throat.

Instead, he'd quickly located the spare key and left. The following day he'd had a duplicate made, then returned the spare key the following night.

Since that night, he'd entered Wyatt's apartment many times, familiarizing himself with the layout. Wyatt's cat, Opal, was a skittish creature that would often silently scurry off and hide from him. He didn't imagine she'd be any trouble.

Sometimes he'd stay in Wyatt's apartment, hiding in the crawl space and waiting for Wyatt to go to sleep. Then he'd creep out and watch him. And plan.

He stood in the apartment now, searching for evidence of Wyatt's absence. Anger coursed through him just knowing he had no clue where Wyatt had gone. He prided himself on always knowing his victims just as much as he did his ability to lure them in. The fact that he'd failed on both fronts just fueled the rage.

When Wyatt came back, he'd be waiting.