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Start off ficlet for Are You There God, It's Oz Drabble Tree, located at oz_wishing_well.
Chris recognizes them the minute he lays eyes on them. Even if he doesn't know their names, never met them before, or will ever see them again unless it's in the tangled sheets of musty motel rooms with the light of neon signs flickering through the blinds.
Pretty golden boys, shining eyes and smooth skin, dressed down to go slumming, but out of place anyway. Too clean, too neat, their leather jackets unmarred by the wear and tear of what happens to clothes when you live your life in them.
They leave their frat houses, their girlfriends, their safe places behind, looking for excitement, looking for an experience they can carefully edit later when they tell the story to their friends in bored tones, leaving out the part where they lost their wallet, their car keys, and their cherry to a man.
On a good night, Chris will walk up to the pool table and lay his money down, let them win a few rounds. He'll make sure his new friend buys all the drinks, and plenty of them, before he cleans them out. Afterwards, he'll take them out to the alley, push them against the wall, rub their dicks through soft denim and it's, "I can't-- " and "I don't-- " and "I'm not-- " but in the end they always beg for it.
On a bad night, Chris isn't as honey smooth. He lets them get a glimpse: his teeth, his eyes, he lets them see what's coming for them if they're not smart enough to run.
None of them ever run.
For them, it's a room and a bed. He takes them places they never expected to go, and faster than they ever wanted. He'll peel them open, show them things about themselves they'll spend the rest of their lives trying to forget. They'll see themselves reflected in his eyes, then they'll see what's behind his eyes, and they whimper for him to stop even as they spread themselves wide, offering up more.
On the really bad nights, it's stained sheets, the trunk of his car, and a shovel. It's a long drive through the ass end of night, headlights guiding him to the woods, a flashlight leading him on the final leg of the journey to somewhere quiet, undisturbed.
It's the only way a really bad night can end. It's like they know it, too. Like it wasn't chance that made them walk through the doors of a dive where they didn't belong.
Chris recognizes them every time. He thinks that maybe they recognize him, too.
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