Killer whistles as he makes his way down the hall, flipping the knife in his hand over and over in a myriad of different patterns. He’s on a high, tense in a battle-ready sort of way, soul pounding with excitement. Every time he thinks of what he just overheard, his cock twitches in his shorts. He grins wider.
The brothers were probably still in the foyer, straightening themselves up. He’d have stayed to see things to completion but, heh, in a way they’d definitely already finished. Though the boss had featured pretty heavily in his private time theatre, Killer wasn’t going to complain about Dream guest starring in it. With filthy moaning like that, it was basically inevitable. Killer was going to be touching himself to the memory of that begging for weeks.
Unfortunately, Nightmare had been pretty clear about wanting any voyeurs immediately gone at the end, so Killer had made his exit quick. That doesn’t mean he’s any less wound up though; doesn’t mean he’s not still looking for a little relief. In fact, that's exactly why he goes searching for his favourite recreational activity partner.
He kicks open Cross’s door with the flat of his left sole, putting his full weight in under the doorknob and jabbing at it with his knife for good measure. Killer doesn’t actually know if it’s locked but… better safe than sorry right? Regardless, it opens under the abuse, and Killer strolls in like nothing’s out of the ordinary.
“Yo, Cross—you wanna fuck?”
The skeleton in question is kneeling on his bed with his skull between two pillows. “Get the hell out of my room.”
Killer twirls his knife along his phalanges with a grin.
“Sounds like a yes to me.” He kicks the door shut behind him. Not that he’d be opposed to having his own audience watch he and Cross fuck, but he’s pretty sure Dream and Nightmare are going to be spending their time cleaning up. Plus, Cross is a cagey bastard, so Killer is more likely to tempt him if he feels less… exposed.
Cross doesn’t say anything. Even from here, Killer can see him trembling with arousal, a persistent and unsatisfied discomfiture in his bones. The top of Cross’s skull is dotted with sweat. He’s trying to ignore his need to the best of his abilities with little success, and Killer can almost smell just how far gone he is.
That’s ok. Killer has always been a helpful guy, and Cross looks like he could use a, heh, hand.
For now, he ignores the heat in his own pelvis and shuffles forward, making sure his footsteps are loud. The tension in Cross’s shoulders increases the closer Killer approaches, eyelights following his every move. No doubt Cross can see the challenge in his easy grin. His wariness seems to spike as Killer leisurely closes the distance between them, and his sockets narrow in warning.
Cute.
Killer pulls up alongside the bed and pokes him in the shoulder. Cross’s glare sharpens with annoyance as he flinches away. Killer snickers.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Fuck you,” Cross bites out. It does nothing to mask the strain in his voice. So utterly needy and precisely what Killer is looking for. He plans to blow off some steam, and if he plays his cards right, he’ll have Cross moaning beneath him shortly.
“That’s literally the whole reason I came in here, dude,” Killer says, putting one knee up on the mattress. Slow and steady isn’t really his style, but he’ll play the game Cross's way if it gets him what he wants. “I’m horny. Fuck me.”
