Work Text:
“And what on Earth is that for?” Arthur Lester shifted restlessly in a lavish chair. He was draped all across it, his back leaning over one armrest and a leg slung over the other. Meanwhile, the other leg dangled off the seat, his foot grazing the floor. The immaculately pressed slacks complimented his smart leather shoes, yet his dress shirt fell tastefully open, revealing his bare chest of soft curls and scars scattered across wiry muscle. The soft glow of the dim lights in the room created a halo effect around his features.
None of this matched the scowl presently on Arthur’s face. He already was being roped into this against his better judgment, but this…
“People will like seeing you hold the dagger!” John insisted. He’s keeping the blade of Kayne’s gifted dagger wrapped in a cloth at the moment, but he is trying to perch Arthur’s arm on top of the back of the chair so he can eventually hold the dagger in a “flattering” way, whatever that means.
Arthur scoffed. “And why exactly are you helping him? Aren’t you my direct competition this round?”
Noel blew the smoke he’d just inhaled at a leisurely pace, enjoying the view and John’s endearing fussing more than he’d ever admit aloud. “John wanted help with the camera, doll,” he said, gesturing to the unwieldy black box on a tripod with his cigarette. “And besides, I can appreciate my opposition’s display of fine art.”
“Nothing about this is fine,” John grumbled, “Not when someone refuses to cooperate!” He finally gives up on rearranging Arthur’s limbs manually and presses the dagger’s handle into his palm, removing the cloth as he stalks away.
Now, Arthur’s pose had a little edge to it. The perfect image of languid lounging, competence without a care in the world, but with the slight thrill of danger. The metal of the dagger caught the light with a suggestive wink, and the sharp tip pointed down at Arthur’s own torso from its position on high. It dared one to imagine the damage a man like that was capable of.
Arthur cleared his throat. “It’s just… none of this feels particularly natural. How am I supposed to win any such poll if I’m not being myself?”
“Arthur, it’s not about being entirely yourself, it’s about showing off your best self,” John impatiently explained. “It’s like that thing Noel said.”
Noel glanced up from his spot behind the camera, distraction written on his face for just a moment. “Oh, you mean propaganda?” He chuckled. “Sure, John, that’s all Lester needs, a little direction so we can wrap this vote up nice and neat.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and shifted, much to John’s chagrin. “Well, is it going to take much longer? I feel ridiculous enough as it is, and I’d rather—”
“Hold your horses, doll. Get back into position and I’ll take the shot, alright?” Noel ducked under the camera’s cloth, ushering John behind him. Arthur sighed, but made an effort to look… cool? Dangerous? Laissez-faire? What was it John wanted him to go for again?
The telltale flash and whine of the camera sounded off, and Arthur wasted no time dropping his limbs back into a comfortable, normal seating position. John pestered Noel about it immediately.
“How does it look? Can I see it yet?”
“Both of youse, slow your roll! It’ll take some time for the picture to develop. We may as well get a few more shots in to make our time here worthwhile.” Noel started fiddling with the camera to get it ready again, John peering over his shoulder in curiosity.
Arthur dropped his head down to nearly between his knees, both to stretch his back from that pose and in mild frustration. He had both hands wrapped around the dagger now, pointing it at the ground while his forearms rested atop his legs. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do such a ludicrous pose again, holding Kayne’s dagger like that. What was John thinking?
As though his prayers had been answered, the door of their room began to creak open. Arthur’s head perked up first, his hearing sharpened by his time spent blind. The others hadn’t quite noticed yet, Noel explaining to John how the massive camera box worked.
Arthur’s shoulders went tense, grip tightening on the dagger as inhuman noises began to filter into the room. “Boys? Did either of you lock the front door?”
John looked up at him, then blinked. “Arthur, we’re in a fictional scenario to get a picture of you that won’t ever really exist for the sexyman poll. What are you talking about?”
“Wait, what do you mean the picture won’t even—well never mind that!” Arthur deftly got to his feet and positioned himself between the door and the men. Noel, catching wise to something being wrong, reached for his pistol.
Arthur hissed, “Not, not yet! We don’t know what we’re dealing with, we can’t just start firing.” Placing one careful foot in front of the other, he made it about halfway across the room to the door before there was a resounding thud from the other side, likely something carelessly knocked over.
Arthur braced himself, and willed the other men to stay behind him.
Quick breaths, like a large snout sniffing the air. A satisfied snarl, then the door burst wide open with an ear-splitting crack.
A monstrosity barreled toward the men on six sinewy legs. Its elongated, animalistic face roared and presented rows of blunt teeth, meant for grinding bone to dust. Every inch of coarse, patchy hair bristled as the beast charged.
Arthur leapt aside just enough to avoid being snatched in its jaws, then sunk the dagger into its back as it nearly passed him. It screamed, a grating squeal.
The creature body slammed Arthur to the ground, intent on trampling him under feet that resembled hooves. Arthur, to his credit, tried to roll away, but not before taking a blow to the stomach. It knocked the air from his lungs and cut through his shirt and skin.
John could distantly be heard calling out his name, but Arthur could barely concentrate on what he was saying. He staggered to his hands and knees, blood already blooming red across the stomach of his white shirt. He looked around frantically for anything that could help him, but the creature was already on top of him again.
This time, Arthur took the beast head on. He hooked one arm under its jaw, keeping it from getting leverage or clamping its teeth around him. With the other, he reached for the beast’s back, pianist fingers wrapping around the dagger’s handle and dragging it back out.
The monstrosity reared its head back in defiance and agony, and Arthur used this opportunity to strike. He plunged the dagger into the soft throat of the beast.
It gurgled, knocking its hard feet against the ground around Arthur spasmodically, searching for purchase. Arthur retracted the blade, only to drive it back into its underbelly.
He seized the moment, pushing the creature onto its back. He straddled it, breathing frenzied, every stab spraying more blood and viscera up onto his already ruined shirt and face. He will not allow this abominable thing to reach his men, he will not stand for it hurting them. Arthur lifted the dagger once more, and went to strike back down when he heard a loud, distinct click.
He glances up, only to be met with another flash. He reflexively squints, then glares at Noel from behind the camera.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Noel takes a drag, smiling smugly down at him. “What’s it look like, doll? I think we just got our best shots yet.”
John has a death grip on the chair in the back of the room, apparently having used it to take shelter. “B-but he’s a mess!” he complained.
Noel shrugged. “Isn’t that always when he looks his best?”
Arthur had just enough wherewithal to blush, then glanced down at the beast. It lay dead beneath him, already growing colder. Arthur shot back, “You know, a little help would have been nice.”
Noel put his hands up before him defensively. “Hey now, this is non-canon; even if you got really hurt, it’s not like it would’ve lasted or anything!”
John was already messing with the camera, pestering Noel about how the photos turned out. Noel sighed and tried explaining again how it didn’t work like that, and the photos would process all in due time.
Arthur had had it just about up to here. He felt sticky, sore, and entirely impatient. As he staggered to his feet, he said, “Will anyone tell me what I look like, and why this is apparently so interesting?”
The two men paused to look at him. John wordlessly stepped forward, appraising him with a golden gaze that made him freeze in place at its mesmerizing beauty. Arthur swallowed, always appreciating when John looked at him like that.
John sighed, as though reluctantly admitting to Noel’s point. He said, “Arthur, you’re drenched in blood, a mix of that creature’s and your own that’s impossible to separate. Your shirt is utterly wrecked, permanently stained and ripped open to reveal your lean, scratched up frame underneath. Your long, slender fingers are curled around the dagger’s handle with unusual grace for the violence you’re capable of. And your face speaks to fury born out of love, the drive to commit any unspeakable act for those you’ve sworn to protect.”
John paused for a moment, taking a moment to gather himself and breathe. “Arthur, you’re stunning.”
Arthur let out an involuntary laugh, his heart fluttering strangely. He feels he really shouldn’t be accepting compliments like that in a state like this.
“Aaand,” Noel interjected, “we have it all on the black-and-white now!” He whistled, then took another puff from the cigarette. “Quite a show you gave us, doll.”
The men all laugh a bit together now, processing what’s happened. John lends Arthur a hand to lead him around the gore on the ground and help him get cleaned up.
Arthur peers at John as he towels off his face. “What was that thing, anyhow?”
John growled. “I suspect an attempt at sabotage from your other competition, Kayne.”
“Sure, sabotage,” Noel drawled in his New York accent, taking in Arthur’s bloodied form one last time. “Let’s go with that.”
Artwork by @icarus-is-obssessed
