[Fic] and we could be dying angel style (Original Work)
- Fandom: Original Work
- Pairing: Librarian Serial Killer/Utterly Besotted Literal Monster (M/M)
- Tags: Mutually Obsessed Serial Killers, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Human/Monster Romance, Murder
- Word-Count: 1083
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2024-01-08
- Disclaimer: Does not apply! This is my own original work :D
Notes:
- For kvfg.
Title from Dreaming Wide Awake by Poets of the Fall.
Work Text:
"Oh," the monster says, heart fluttering. He's a young thing, all told, born of blood and blood and blood, and he has been walking this city since it was only a collection of cold habitats barely fit for human life. It is a city, now, prim and proper, and it has things like libraries, and librarians, and of such things the monster finds a deep fascination.
The corpse by the monster's feet was not killed by the monster. This, the monster thinks, must be the most beautiful murder it has ever seen, for the monster witnessed it from start to finish; the way Loen (his favorite librarian in his favorite library) led the foolish human into deeper and darker and lonelier alleys, until at last they reached a dead end. Then, there in the darkness and among the dirt, Loen killed the man.
The dead stranger now lies at the monster's feet, and he doesn't know what to do. It is the most beautiful murder the monster has ever seen, and he aches. Wants, so deeply, and so overwhelmingly, his mind spinning out a whole tale of Loen maybe, possibly, just possibly, killing him. Oh, he thinks, how pretty his blood would be when it stained Loen's dainty, long fingers, his sharp nails and his pink lips. Would Loen smile, the monster wonders, like Loen smiled when the man died at his feet?
It was so pretty. And the monster has been so alone, for so long.
Aching in the dark, walking unwelcoming iron streets, feeding on the blood and bone of humans who only ever fear him. For so long, the monster has known no kind touch, until the librarian took his hand and lead him through the deep reaches of the library, the steel shelves reaching meters above. The monster, hulking and bulky at nearly three meters height, stands tall in the darkness while the librarian---"Call me Loen, dear," he murmurs to the monster---scours a shelf for just the right book.
At night, the monster puts on his reading glasses and turns on the reading lamp, an ancient, faintly rusted thing that barely manages to spark any light to life at all, and he settles in his home-built armchair and reads the book Loen gave him.
The monster does not leave Loen's victim behind---could not possibly do such a thing. He gathers the large man in his arms and wanders through the night, meandering slowly and slowly to his destination, the abandoned warehouse that houses his stock of food. Eating humans has become less and less a staple of his diet; it was necessary, once, when only humans lived on the planet, but with generations animals have been bread and engineered and the monster has found things that fit his tastes far more. He likes snakes especially so, and the cows that have been made to thrive in the climate is a particular delicacy.
Dumping the body, the monster sets about to harvest the organs. Selling those the monster can afford to build a proper bookshelf, and maybe once he has a better bed, too, he'll have the courage to invite Loen over for a visit. Oh, how he wants Loen to like his home, to love it; he wants only for Loen to stay. Just for a while. Just so he can have a chance to show his devotion, the love burned into his bones that aches in the sunlight and more beneath the moons and the stars and the streetlights.
"There," he murmurs when the corpse has been properly disposed of, and it's morning now, the whole night spend dealing with Loen's victim. The monster hums, satisfied, and leaves for the library.
He finished another book before he went on his customary search for Loen. It's not stalking, because Loen is rarely where the monster expects him to be, always a hunt to catch a whiff of his scent and narrow down his location.
The library doors open at his approach and the monster carries himself inward, attempts to make himself smaller and more palatable to human eyes, ensuring his coat is properly on and his hat hasn't fallen off in his speed to arrive. Loen is manning one of the counters on the third floor, as he always does, dressed in a warm sweater that hangs over his hands, his eyes cold as he speaks to a random human, the red hair just long enough to curl behind his ears. The monster's hand itch; to touch, to take, to consume.
Loen manages to make the human go away, and the monster crosses the final distance. "Hello," the monster croaks, blushing, and Loen smiles up at him, his eyes warm and inviting, his lips plush.
"Hello, my dear," Loen says, tilting his head and brushing his hair back behind his ear. The monster's chest is one aching mess, and when Loen adds, "Looking for more recommendations again?" the monster is so full of precious, precious air he can barely speak. His mind goes blank for a moment---Loen has often that effect on him---but he manages to nod and so Loen leads the way to another corner of the library.
"Lovely night, wasn't it?" Loen says after they've perused the books for a few minutes, alone, and the monster hums in agreement, bending down to read the title of the book Loen holds up for him. He shakes his head---the cover isn't appealing---and Loen merely huffs a soft laugh, holding out another book. This one takes some more time to examine for the curved title font is nearly unreadable, but at last he shakes his head once more.
"I think this night shall be ever lovelier, still," Loen remarks, then, and the monster blinks. Yes, he thinks, so does he. For any chance to see Loen is a lovely moment, indeed.
Loen smiles, warmly, and he pats the monster's arm before he leaves to continue with his work. The monster watches him go, heart aching, and he stares at he book in his hand, gripping it carefully so it doesn't break. Already, anticipation curls through him, for Loen has been killing almost every night for a month now, the monster cleaning up every corpse, warmth curling through his chest at every display of skill and rage and amusement.
Loen, the monster thinks, is a wonder.
And oh, how he aches.
Just a touch, he thinks. Tonight, he won't merely watch.
Just a touch.