Fic: Your Biggest Fan
May. 17th, 2024 02:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolfish_willowFandom: The Silver Scream (Ice Nine Kills), Spree
Title: Your Biggest Fan
Rating: T
Genre/Pairing: Spencer Charnas/Kurt Kunkle
Characters: Kurt Kunkle, Spencer Charnas
Word Count: 1.6k
Summary: Kurt's first client the day he decides to enact "The Lesson" is someone he never would have expected.
Content Notes: Mentions of murder, poisoning, blood
Author's Notes: Written for Fandom Empire Monopoly 2024. I rolled "Wildcard" which said to create whatever comes into my mind, and somehow that was this incredibly niche crossover.
His palms are slick against the steering wheel. This is it; he’s finally doing this. “The Lesson” has officially begun and his first client is waiting on the curb up again, staring down at his phone so Kurt can’t make out his face. Not that he expects it to match what’s showing on the app. He’s not an idiot.
Glancing at his back seat, and the bottles of water stashed in the pouch on his passenger seat, Kurt’s heartbeat speeds up. He can’t let his worry bring him down. The bottles will work; there’s no way the poison in them won’t do the job. Getting his client to drink one might be a challenge, but if it doesn’t work with this first one, he’ll deal with that.
He pulls up to the curb after a quick check-in with the stream, smile firmly in place while he announces who he’s there to pick up. The door opens and the man slides onto the back seat with a lazy sort of grace before shutting it behind him.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind, got these…” Kurt pauses when he gets a clear look at the face of his first customer of the day in his rear view mirror. He’d seen the image on his Spree app and the name, too, of course he had. Not the first time someone thought they were being funny, using some famous person’s picture on their account. But, “You— you’re…”
Spencer Charnas— and it really is him, the hair, the jawline, those eyes, Kurt would recognize them covered in blood, he can sure as hell recognize them in the bright California sunlight— smirks and Kurt stops breathing. His lungs forget how to work. He’s so caught off guard that he can’t even remember his own username and he uses that almost more than his actual name these days in his attempt to garner more followers.
“Always down to meet a Psycho,” Spencer Charnas— Spencer Charnas is in his car, you guys, you guys— says, reaching out with his arm. Kurt’s body moves on instinct, still unable to take in an acceptable amount of oxygen but eager to bump fists with the man who inspired his entire reason for being out today. All of a sudden, he hopes he doesn’t get too much blood on himself later— he’s tempted not to wash his hand ever again. “Didn’t believe it, huh?”
Tongue locked to the roof of his mouth, Kurt shakes his head. It’s painful to take his eyes off of Spencer’s reflection in order to look back down at his phone, but he manages. And somehow, miraculously, he’s still sitting there, sprawled over the back seat when Kurt looks again, forcing his mouth to form the words he needs to confirm where they’re going.
“If you’re good to…” Spencer Charnas— seriously, he’ll never get over the fact that this is real, that Spencer Charnas is asking him something.
Kurt clears his throat, finally pulling away from the curb and heading in the direction of their destination. His usual spiel fails him; if it had been anyone else, anyone, he would be practically begging for a follow for follow, listing out all his socials in an attempt to beef up his follower count. But the words die before they hit his tongue.
“So,” Spencer says, drawing the word out. Kurt darts his gaze to the mirror and a jolt of electricity shoots up his spine when he meets the man’s eyes. One of Spencer’s hands lifts off the back of the seat, pointing up at the camera behind his head. “Lotta cameras in here. Thought you said you didn’t believe your phone.”
They’re for my uhh, protection, is the first thought that comes to mind, but Kurt can’t say that. This isn’t some rando he’s trying to deflect suspicion off of long enough to enact “The Lesson”.
“I didn’t— believe it, I mean— these were, they were up already, for a stream. I’m a— content creator, trying to. Trying to be.” Kurt swallows, eyes darting across the road, then to the camera on his right, then his left, and back to the road again.
“Oh yeah?” Spencer asks and he almost sounds genuinely interested which— that’s a first for Kurt; nobody is interested in his content. That’s half of why he created “The Lesson” in the first place. But Spencer Charnas is an actor, even if it’s only for his own music videos, on top of having to put on a show for all his fans. He’s probably faking it.
Still, that’s more than most people do.
“What are you working on now?”
Kurt turns, his whole entire body thrumming with the idea of explaining his stream. How would Spencer Charnas react to “The Lesson”, a plan that was inspired by Kurt’s memory of the singer’s murder trial. Would he be flattered? Disgusted? Would he care at all?
He wars with himself for a long time, too long, long enough for the silence to get awkward. Tempted as he is to blurt out the truth, Kurt doesn’t think he can handle being spurned by the one person in the whole world that he actually looks up to. But if he takes too much longer to answer, he won’t be able to recover at all, and he can’t have met his person and not take the opportunity to talk about something. Especially about his youtube channel— the most important thing in his life.
Glancing up at the mirror, worried that Spencer is going to be wearing a familiar expression of annoyance, Kurt’s blood runs cold at the sight of Spencer raising a bottle to his lips. One of the bottles from behind the passenger side seat.
Body reacting for the second time without thought or permission, Kurt twists around, the car swerving dangerously with a sharp screech of tires, smacking the bottle out of Spencer’s hand and into the footwell. Heart thundering in his ears, Kurt faces the road again with wide, wild eyes.
“You don’t want to drink that,” he says, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight that the skin of his knuckles threatens to tear open.
“I got that impression.” The confused annoyance on Spencer’s face smooths out, his eyes narrowing as he looks from the water pooling on the floor and back to Kurt again. His hand rests on the shoulder of Kurt’s seat, fingers slowly curling until they the material creases under them. “Any particular reason why?”
Equal parts embarrassed, scared, and turned on, the truth comes pouring out of Kurt's mouth in a mess of words. He can't tell if it makes sense on his own. Can't focus on much of anything except the look in Spencer's eyes and the heat emanating from the hand beside his shoulder.
Sweat beads and pools at the base of Kurt's neck. This is it. The moment of truth. Whatever reaction he's going to get? Is going to happen now and there's no taking it back.
Not that he particularly wants to. Even if Spencer takes it badly, Kurt can still bask in the knowledge that for however briefly, he was the subject of Spencer Charnas’ undivided attention. Even “The Lesson” itself might not be able to top that.
Nervous laughter bubbles up and out Kurt’s throat. “You should— you should see your face, he should, shouldn’t he, guys? Hell of a prank, huh—”
“But it wasn’t a prank, was it?” Spencer asks, voice as intense as the look in his eyes. The tips of his fingers brush up against the sleeve of Kurt’s blue shirt and Kurt can’t help but stare. “It’s okay, I’m like you.”
The words knock the wind right out of his lungs.
“They were right, you know? The cops, the lawyers, everybody.”
Kurt’s jaw hangs low, wide eyes caught in Spencer’s serious gaze. Is he going to be this man’s next victim? The thought plays on loop in his head. That’s one way to get famous— be murdered by the notorious Spencer Charnas. Get his name up in headlines like Nadia’s were when everyone thought her fiance was the one who murdered her.
The thought freezes at the touch of Spencer’s finger under his chin. His whole mind goes blank, his face slack in surprise, when his mouth is softly shut. First his hand, then his shoulder, now his face? Spencer Charnas could pull out a knife and murder him right now and Kurt would die happy.
“I would say poison isn’t my bag, but it wouldn’t be the whole truth. Killed my shrink with it, once. But I like it better up close, personal, I like to feel their blood warming my hands and watch them struggle to get away.”— Spencer moves so close his breath tickles across Kurt’s face and Kurt stops breathing— “Can’t get that with poison.”
“What’s your handle, again?” he asks, sitting back and holding his phone out in front of himself. Even though it feels like he’ll never remember how to breathe, Kurt answers. This must all be some weird dream or hallucination. Maybe he’s already dead.
His phone chirps, notifying him of a brand new follower.
He really must be dead.
“You saved my life today, Kurt,” Spencer says, eyes on the water bottle still sitting by his feet. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re cute.”
Is murder allowed in Heaven?
“I am?” he croaks, throat so dry that the poisoned water almost looks tempting.
Spencer smirks while he reaches for the door handle. “You’ve got a few more stops to make. I’ll find my way from here.”
“No, wait, I can—”
The back door shuts and Kurt’s heart falls into his stomach. But then knuckles rap at the passenger side window and he doesn’t waste a second before rolling it down. Spencer ducks his head inside, arms resting crossed against the bottom of the window.
“I’ll be watching,” he says with a wink that shoots straight down Kurt’s spine and to his dick. “I’m your new biggest fan.”
Title: Your Biggest Fan
Rating: T
Genre/Pairing: Spencer Charnas/Kurt Kunkle
Characters: Kurt Kunkle, Spencer Charnas
Word Count: 1.6k
Summary: Kurt's first client the day he decides to enact "The Lesson" is someone he never would have expected.
Content Notes: Mentions of murder, poisoning, blood
Author's Notes: Written for Fandom Empire Monopoly 2024. I rolled "Wildcard" which said to create whatever comes into my mind, and somehow that was this incredibly niche crossover.
His palms are slick against the steering wheel. This is it; he’s finally doing this. “The Lesson” has officially begun and his first client is waiting on the curb up again, staring down at his phone so Kurt can’t make out his face. Not that he expects it to match what’s showing on the app. He’s not an idiot.
Glancing at his back seat, and the bottles of water stashed in the pouch on his passenger seat, Kurt’s heartbeat speeds up. He can’t let his worry bring him down. The bottles will work; there’s no way the poison in them won’t do the job. Getting his client to drink one might be a challenge, but if it doesn’t work with this first one, he’ll deal with that.
He pulls up to the curb after a quick check-in with the stream, smile firmly in place while he announces who he’s there to pick up. The door opens and the man slides onto the back seat with a lazy sort of grace before shutting it behind him.
“Hey, hope you don’t mind, got these…” Kurt pauses when he gets a clear look at the face of his first customer of the day in his rear view mirror. He’d seen the image on his Spree app and the name, too, of course he had. Not the first time someone thought they were being funny, using some famous person’s picture on their account. But, “You— you’re…”
Spencer Charnas— and it really is him, the hair, the jawline, those eyes, Kurt would recognize them covered in blood, he can sure as hell recognize them in the bright California sunlight— smirks and Kurt stops breathing. His lungs forget how to work. He’s so caught off guard that he can’t even remember his own username and he uses that almost more than his actual name these days in his attempt to garner more followers.
“Always down to meet a Psycho,” Spencer Charnas— Spencer Charnas is in his car, you guys, you guys— says, reaching out with his arm. Kurt’s body moves on instinct, still unable to take in an acceptable amount of oxygen but eager to bump fists with the man who inspired his entire reason for being out today. All of a sudden, he hopes he doesn’t get too much blood on himself later— he’s tempted not to wash his hand ever again. “Didn’t believe it, huh?”
Tongue locked to the roof of his mouth, Kurt shakes his head. It’s painful to take his eyes off of Spencer’s reflection in order to look back down at his phone, but he manages. And somehow, miraculously, he’s still sitting there, sprawled over the back seat when Kurt looks again, forcing his mouth to form the words he needs to confirm where they’re going.
“If you’re good to…” Spencer Charnas— seriously, he’ll never get over the fact that this is real, that Spencer Charnas is asking him something.
Kurt clears his throat, finally pulling away from the curb and heading in the direction of their destination. His usual spiel fails him; if it had been anyone else, anyone, he would be practically begging for a follow for follow, listing out all his socials in an attempt to beef up his follower count. But the words die before they hit his tongue.
“So,” Spencer says, drawing the word out. Kurt darts his gaze to the mirror and a jolt of electricity shoots up his spine when he meets the man’s eyes. One of Spencer’s hands lifts off the back of the seat, pointing up at the camera behind his head. “Lotta cameras in here. Thought you said you didn’t believe your phone.”
They’re for my uhh, protection, is the first thought that comes to mind, but Kurt can’t say that. This isn’t some rando he’s trying to deflect suspicion off of long enough to enact “The Lesson”.
“I didn’t— believe it, I mean— these were, they were up already, for a stream. I’m a— content creator, trying to. Trying to be.” Kurt swallows, eyes darting across the road, then to the camera on his right, then his left, and back to the road again.
“Oh yeah?” Spencer asks and he almost sounds genuinely interested which— that’s a first for Kurt; nobody is interested in his content. That’s half of why he created “The Lesson” in the first place. But Spencer Charnas is an actor, even if it’s only for his own music videos, on top of having to put on a show for all his fans. He’s probably faking it.
Still, that’s more than most people do.
“What are you working on now?”
Kurt turns, his whole entire body thrumming with the idea of explaining his stream. How would Spencer Charnas react to “The Lesson”, a plan that was inspired by Kurt’s memory of the singer’s murder trial. Would he be flattered? Disgusted? Would he care at all?
He wars with himself for a long time, too long, long enough for the silence to get awkward. Tempted as he is to blurt out the truth, Kurt doesn’t think he can handle being spurned by the one person in the whole world that he actually looks up to. But if he takes too much longer to answer, he won’t be able to recover at all, and he can’t have met his person and not take the opportunity to talk about something. Especially about his youtube channel— the most important thing in his life.
Glancing up at the mirror, worried that Spencer is going to be wearing a familiar expression of annoyance, Kurt’s blood runs cold at the sight of Spencer raising a bottle to his lips. One of the bottles from behind the passenger side seat.
Body reacting for the second time without thought or permission, Kurt twists around, the car swerving dangerously with a sharp screech of tires, smacking the bottle out of Spencer’s hand and into the footwell. Heart thundering in his ears, Kurt faces the road again with wide, wild eyes.
“You don’t want to drink that,” he says, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight that the skin of his knuckles threatens to tear open.
“I got that impression.” The confused annoyance on Spencer’s face smooths out, his eyes narrowing as he looks from the water pooling on the floor and back to Kurt again. His hand rests on the shoulder of Kurt’s seat, fingers slowly curling until they the material creases under them. “Any particular reason why?”
Equal parts embarrassed, scared, and turned on, the truth comes pouring out of Kurt's mouth in a mess of words. He can't tell if it makes sense on his own. Can't focus on much of anything except the look in Spencer's eyes and the heat emanating from the hand beside his shoulder.
Sweat beads and pools at the base of Kurt's neck. This is it. The moment of truth. Whatever reaction he's going to get? Is going to happen now and there's no taking it back.
Not that he particularly wants to. Even if Spencer takes it badly, Kurt can still bask in the knowledge that for however briefly, he was the subject of Spencer Charnas’ undivided attention. Even “The Lesson” itself might not be able to top that.
Nervous laughter bubbles up and out Kurt’s throat. “You should— you should see your face, he should, shouldn’t he, guys? Hell of a prank, huh—”
“But it wasn’t a prank, was it?” Spencer asks, voice as intense as the look in his eyes. The tips of his fingers brush up against the sleeve of Kurt’s blue shirt and Kurt can’t help but stare. “It’s okay, I’m like you.”
The words knock the wind right out of his lungs.
“They were right, you know? The cops, the lawyers, everybody.”
Kurt’s jaw hangs low, wide eyes caught in Spencer’s serious gaze. Is he going to be this man’s next victim? The thought plays on loop in his head. That’s one way to get famous— be murdered by the notorious Spencer Charnas. Get his name up in headlines like Nadia’s were when everyone thought her fiance was the one who murdered her.
The thought freezes at the touch of Spencer’s finger under his chin. His whole mind goes blank, his face slack in surprise, when his mouth is softly shut. First his hand, then his shoulder, now his face? Spencer Charnas could pull out a knife and murder him right now and Kurt would die happy.
“I would say poison isn’t my bag, but it wouldn’t be the whole truth. Killed my shrink with it, once. But I like it better up close, personal, I like to feel their blood warming my hands and watch them struggle to get away.”— Spencer moves so close his breath tickles across Kurt’s face and Kurt stops breathing— “Can’t get that with poison.”
“What’s your handle, again?” he asks, sitting back and holding his phone out in front of himself. Even though it feels like he’ll never remember how to breathe, Kurt answers. This must all be some weird dream or hallucination. Maybe he’s already dead.
His phone chirps, notifying him of a brand new follower.
He really must be dead.
“You saved my life today, Kurt,” Spencer says, eyes on the water bottle still sitting by his feet. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re cute.”
Is murder allowed in Heaven?
“I am?” he croaks, throat so dry that the poisoned water almost looks tempting.
Spencer smirks while he reaches for the door handle. “You’ve got a few more stops to make. I’ll find my way from here.”
“No, wait, I can—”
The back door shuts and Kurt’s heart falls into his stomach. But then knuckles rap at the passenger side window and he doesn’t waste a second before rolling it down. Spencer ducks his head inside, arms resting crossed against the bottom of the window.
“I’ll be watching,” he says with a wink that shoots straight down Kurt’s spine and to his dick. “I’m your new biggest fan.”