Primeval Fanfic: I Have Nothing To Offer But Blood
Title: I Have Nothing To Offer But Blood
Author: TalliW
Characters: Becker, Sarah Page, Abby Maitland, Connor Temple, James Lester, Nick Cutter, Blade
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Primeval is the property of Impossible Pictures. I write just for fun. So don't bother me.
Blade belongs to Fredbassett.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Fredbassett for beta-reading. I couldn't have done it without you.
AN: Inspired by the bloodplay prompt by the Prompt Meme in Denial I tried to find an answer to the question why the mortality rate on the Anomaly project is so high .;).
Becker froze in shock as the knife cut into his body and he struggled against the chains.
Everyone had warned him of the dangers of working in the ARC.
But he'd only shrugged at all the well-meaning people. Against the things he'd seen in war, the job as bodyguard to some crazy scientists would be a walk in the park.
Now the captain wished he'd known beforehand how crazy the people at the ARC really were.
He grunted as the blade drew another line into his skin and watched as the owner of the knife licked the blood from the weapon. His eyes were glittering as dangerous as the blade of his knife, which had given him his nickname.
The tongue, suddenly licking the upwelling blood from his skin, sent a shiver through his body and he heard Sarah snicker.
That lovely, dark-haired woman he had found interesting seemed rather scary now with her red lips painted with his blood.
"Cut a little deeper," an eager voice demanded and Becker turned his head aside to look at the friendly geek he'd always dismissed as harmless.
"Oh yeah, cut him deeper," the blond girl panted, excited, and walked closer to take a sample of the blood herself.
Becker gulped as the Professor, the man he'd been ordered to protect at all costs, stepped into his line of sight with a mug in his hand. The soldier suppressed the desire to chuckle madly as he read the well-known sentence on the mug: "I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat."
When he'd accepted the job he surely hadn't intended to offer his blood in the way it was now dripping of his side and slowly filling the mug.
The entrance of his boss, accurately clothed in a designer suit as usual, filled Becker with hopes of rescue until the man took a red-blue striped straw out of his jacket and asked the bystanders impassively: "Does he taste good?"
The slurping noises of the straw and the smacking of hungry mouths lulled him slowly into a silken slumber or perhaps it was just the loss of too much blood, now pouring off his body in streams.
Suddenly Becker knew why the casualty rate amongst the people working for the ARC was so incredibly high.
The next time he would certainly follow the advice of his friends ....