#outshur.

danny johnson has a particular set of skills, they truly shine whenever he is put on a trial. sometimes it goes exactly the way it should, drowned in blood, a bit of a sacrifice for Her. some kills for him, the thing is that he plays this game a little too well. and he enjoys it a little too much. it never gets boring.

it's the thing outside of the trials that recently has gotten a whole lot of fun. danny johnson's always been a loner, nothing or no one seems to be able to keep his attention for long enough to change that. and miles has certainly been this interesting addition to danny's life. he opens the door to his place, and if he guesses correctly miles is right where he left him. he opens the door with a bang-

( when he's in a bad mood and cannot stand the idea of miles intruding in his space he is quiet, silent simmering anger two seconds away from getting rid of him. today isn't one of those days. turns out miles can be fucking lucky. )

he doesn't bother with the mask, takes it off almost immediately. "honey, i'm home." if miles was asleep, danny wants him awake, he wants his attention on him. he's on the hunt for a different type of satisfaction, the type of itch that only one miles upshur can really scratch. he makes his way to the main bedroom, miles in his bed. and he leans on the door frame. "did you miss me?" he doesn't give a shit about the honest answer to that question, blood stains the frame when he lifts from it. "i brought you something." danny grins, like he knows it's going to piss miles off. he won't find it as amusing or funny as he does, that's for sure.

danny puts the knife away, as he finds himself checking the pictures of the four bodies from the latest trial. it's not often that he is allowed to clean house, but this time it was. proud of his work, the fog enveloped him dropping him in the middle of his street. he walks, almost in autopilot. everything muscle memory, this is his space, his territory, everything is as he left it.

the adrenaline does not leave his body immediately. he has to develop these, and he opens the front door. (a door with no need for a key, it only opens to him.) it's then that the usual darkness and quiet that fills his little house isn't present. now this has to be fun. he keeps the mask on (usually he takes it off at this point.) he keeps his steps light, walks without making a sound. the rush of the thrill returns, he puts his camera away, and he is making his way to the little room he calls his office.

what a sight. there's broken glass from the window, his very neat folders on each of the pieces of meat he has the pleasure of repetitively stabbing are scattered on the floor. someone's decided to pay him a visit. thankfully, danny's bloodlust is never truly satisfied and he doesn't mind blood on the carpet. when he stands on the entry to the room he tilts his head. it's miles. the gift that keeps on giving. "miles, miles, miles." danny half scolds him. recognizes just how many times he's broken into homes, and miles did it to him. it awakens something in him. "didn't they tell you? breaking into people's homes is not very nice." he takes the mask off now, it feels personal now. danny remembers a time when he snuck his way into miles's place. that something stirs. he has so many questions. he stabs the table, leaving the bloody knife there before he crosses his arms, leaning back on the table looking at him with intensity. "looking for something?" he muses, everything he touches is stained with blood.

jed olsen is new to the office. and jed olsen is the nice type of guy to ask what to bring to the office party, hell, he's the type of guy to ask if he can help plan it. and well if he wants things to run smoothly danny johnson as jed olsen is the best damn party planner anyone in this stupid town has ever seen.

he's running on autopilot, the only saving grace is the alcohol. alcohol makes being here some what bareable, it takes the edge off. makes it so he isn't just fantasizing on how he would go about gutting each and every last one of them. he simply smiles, his cheeks now a soft tone of rosey. he asks people what they are doing for christmas, if they are going on trips, driving to see family. all the mundane shit that boring morons placate themselves with.

( there's a nice couple on the corner of the street that danny has kept an eye on. nothing like the christmas spirit adorning someone's gaze before he gets to stab it out of their eye sockets. simple. cheerful even. )

he plays the part too well. the nice, barely shy guy, he's everything anyone could want. everyone is drunk and decorum is barely hanging on by a thread. danny doesn't notice the mistletoe above him, the one stupid dave tied by a string using a stick to move it about the party on cheryl's suggestion. that bitch needs to die. light eyes with a smile he turns to look at @outshur, who happens to be next to him.

( what he knows, on the account of sarah who can't keep her trap shut is that miles is the only other gay guy around. and people are fucking annoying about it. like because now they have two gay guys on the same department which like danny couldn't give any less of a shit about. but to them, it's like the best new thing. like why aren't you all over each other. )

and before he can process this shit, there's a small crowd, dave setting it up above them with much enthusiasm like it's funny. and jed just chuckles. stumbles his way to fully look at miles and give him a well i guess it's our turn with half a shrug "gotta give the people what they want, right?" and miles isn't like. ugly to look at. he'd look much handsome spitting blood while danny was half a knife deep in him and not about to kiss him. in front of the rest of the office. he leans in then, sort of giving miles a chance to move if he wanted, with the full intention of kissing him properly.

waylon had let himself get carried away, they’ve been on this little trip of theirs for far too long. and that's what it felt like, like a trip not like his new life. but kissing and sleeping and saving and protecting does something to one's brain. it. lights up a switch and waylon can't swim to turn it back down.

he giggles something nervously, like he knows he mistepped somewhere in the social interaction manual. but he clears his throat, and is honest when he says. "after we are done, miles, when there's no more murkoff left. and everyone's gone, or dead, or fired, or you get the idea. after that. we won't have to be on the run, not like this anyways. i was thinking about. like. what are we going to do then." we as in together, because that's what they are. they've made it this far. it doesn't dawn on him that miles may not have thought about this as much as he has. so brown eyes just linger on miles, trying to read his expression. trying to figure anything from there on out. hopeful, riding on the edge of crushing.

blood loss does a real number on someone's brain.

waylon's brain, in particular, did not need anything more to be doing badly. everything feels too light, and yet the air in this place is heavy. they're in the middle of somewhere, nowhere, actually and all waylon can register is miles helping him, up, up, up. his head feels light, but his limbs feel heavy. sometimes dying in this place felt. well it felt like sleeping. he doesn't want to die. he holds onto miles, it feels a little bit pointless.

(when things get like this, he gets reminded then of all the times he's almost died. the ones the remember the most. he can feel it. his throat stings a little. the skin feels sore.)

"it usually doesn't...go this badly, so don't. don't kick my ass." waylon tries to joke, he can barely get it out. it's hard to play stealth when you get found fast, he kept the clown busy long enough, they're so close to momentary freedom. his bandages are bleeding through, he needs something stronger to heal him, his head is dizzy still with those purple fumes. this trial seems particularly endless, waylon isn't too keen on miles helping him. miles should be running, getting away. he tries not to wince. and he tugs on miles, just to get him to stop, for a bit, just slightly. they're not going to get anywhere in time. "i'm just slowing you down. we don't have anything to patch me up." he takes a breath. "-you can just. leave me here." and it's not even to be annoying. it's just to be practical. he's said it before. it's fine. it's fine. it's okay.

so this isn't the most romantic place. the woods are endless, the nature in them twisted and empty. the night eternal, the world just miserable in the darkness. waylon would have never thought this would be the backdrop for what he is experiencing now.

they are far away from the camp, they take these walks. and waylon feels almost relieved that there is someone like miles to settle in with, to talk with, about everything about nothing. the closest he feels to normal. then.

then.

miles manages to throw a curve ball, the tension between them slowly building. it always did, waylon feels some type of way.

(it reminds him of love, the ghost of it, it's not only lust it's more so this complicated sensation in his chest, hot and heavy. he hadn't thought too much about miles, the shape of his nose, his hair, before, and now he clouds his thoughts. it isn't suffocating, it's nice and-)

he pulls him closer by the hips and it cuts waylon off, whatever he was thinking about whatever he was going to say he swallows, pupils blown out and his hands instinctively settle on his shoulders, close enough to kiss. he's hip to hip with him, and everytime miles reaches out and touches him, he feels alive. like shit is worth it. "miles." he's says it soft, like a question. what else is miles trying to get away with. (anything, waylon thinks. he could get away with anything.)

ever since the trial started danny could feel something different in the air.

it's nice to see that the entity can still surprise him after all this time. touching even. it's how he finds a one miles upshur, across from him. the run down sign. the neon sign reflects off him and it makes danny tilt his head, smiling behind the mask. oh you shouldn't have. it's interesting then to be recognized. "miles." he speaks in a familiar tone. like someone that isn't danny johnson would refer to an old acquantaince. like he is capable of being fond. all the others have their guys, someone picked up around the same time. danny didn't have to be picked up, he just came along for the ride. he isn't picky.

( no one here knows that much about him, what they know they've told each other. no one knows of his masterpiece intimately, close and in the way that it should be acknowledged. but miles is here now and that only means that he finally has someone who bared witness. someone who knows. he knows. )

"this old number?" he holds the edge of his gown, lifting it up with his free hand. "-it's just missing a little blood, it ties it together." he shakes his knife on his other hand, and it's electric, the rush of excitement. the one thing he couldn't have, the one thing he seemingly felt too rash and risky, he could only dream of the sight of miles' warm blood splattering across the shitty carpet in the house he had been renting staining all those stupid papers, he had wondered how would he go about it then. had fantasized about it. now the junkyard wasn't the ideal set for this first encounter. but he can't complain. christmas came early for him.

he wants @outshur to be scared, he wants to hear him scream. but for now he just takes him in, looks a little shaken, unkempt different from how he had last left him. he waits for him to move first. grips the hunter's knife just a little tighter. "missed me?" it's meant to be a taunt, and he can't hide the giddyness even with the gruff of his voice but he asks the question regardless.