For The Rats (One-Shots)

Cannibalistic Tendencies

A/N: Take care of your mental health, enjoy. As always, Sagex

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It had taken mere minutes for Chris to lure Ricky out of the van, alone. He'd simply leaned against Ricky's bunk where he was reading Corey Taylor's book, and asked in a low voice, "Hey, can I talk to you?"

The long-haired guitarist had obliged, his pale face cautious and concern-wrought. He followed the vocalist off the bus and shallowly into the woods, before asking where they were going.

"I think we're out of ear-shot man, spill," Ricky adds, glancing at his surroundings.

Chris shrugs lightly. "Look I don't know, I don't want anyone to see us.."

Ricky frowns. "You said you wanted to talk to me."

Chris nods. "I do, it's just.. unnerving you know?"

Ricky says nothing, biting his lip ring. He knew Chris could be a little anxious from time to time, and really he should try to roll with it. And besides, Chris was a man of his word. Or at least, he tried to be. If he said he wanted to talk, that's probably all it was. Maybe Ricky was the anxious one...

So Ricky moved deeper into the woods, trailing the tall man in front of him mindlessly, until he realized it was mindless and a crack of a stick beneath his feet brought him back to reality.

The moon cast an eerie glow through the dense canopy of trees, illuminating silver patches in the pattern of the leaves. Ricky glanced back over his shoulder, no longer seeing the busses or an exit through the desolate woods.

Unease filled the man with each step, the rustling leaves beneath their feet echoing his growing discomfort. He mustered the courage to speak up, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Chris, I don't think we should be out here," Ricky said, his eyes darting nervously around the shadowy surroundings. Chris turned to him, his piercing gaze filled with a mix of desire and malice.

"Shut up, Ricky," he hisses, lunging at the man.

Ricky recoils, thinking 'what the fuck' but Chris grabs Ricky's arm, forcefully shoving him backwards against a gnarled tree trunk. Ricky's back hits the wood with a thump, and he stumbles but manages not to fall. Before he can yell at his bandmate, Chris is leaning in with a sudden intensity, pinning Ricky's body against the rough bark and capturing his lips in a forceful, possessive kiss.

Ricky's eyes widen and he pushes Chris away, his hands finding the older man's chest.

"I'm not into that anymore, Chris," Ricky defies. "We can't keep doing this."

A flicker of anger flashes across Chris's face, his grip on Ricky's arms tightening.

"You don't get to decide that, Ricky," he growls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "You belong to me."

Ricky's heart began to pound in his chest as fear mingled with his fading affection for Chris. He knew he had to find a way out of this twisted situation, but the dark forest seemed to close in around them, trapping him in the darkness.

Chris has Ricky pinned against a tree, and he slowly releases one of Ricky's arms to reach into his pocket, flicking a blade open in the dead of night.

Chris presses the cold metal edge of the pocket knife against Ricky's neck, a shiver running down Ricky's spine as he swallows. Fear gripped him tightly, constricting his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. The moonlight danced through the trees, casting patchy shadows on their faces as if it were a scene from a horror movie.