Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Scott Hunter, Dark Kip Grady, Meet-Cute (???), Meet-Ugly (???), Hitchhiking, First Meetings, Attempted Murder, Murder Kink, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violent Thoughts, Stranger Danger 101

Language:

English

Collections:

Across the Skip-Vers(e)

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-11 Words: 2,975 Chapters: 1/1

Two Serial Killers Walk Into a Bar

Summary

Kip Grady is on a voyage of discovery, backpacking and hitchhiking his way across the United States. He’s read all the literature, of course, on the dangers of hitchhiking, but this is not something that he’s very concerned about. After all, Kip always makes sure that he’s packed everything he could conceivably need in his backpack. But when he’s picked up by handsome Scott Hunter, it turns out that he is not the only one with skeletons (literal and metaphorical) in the trunk of his vehicle.

or - the chances of two serial killers in a car are slim but never none.

Notes

So, I listened to Skip's serial killer foreplay, and this was born. Based on the serial killer hitchhiker joke.

The hitchhiker says, " I'm surprised you picked me up. I could've been a serial killer."

The driver responded, "The chance of two serial killers being in the same car is astronomical."

Obvious warnings for serial killers, referenced murder, and attempted murder - as well as non-consensual drugging and violent sexual fantasies (but they're both into that shit)

Phone charger. Wallet. Keys. Spare guitar string. Water bottle. Multi tool. Change of clothes, compressed into packing cubes. Camera. Drugs (mostly medicinal). Notebook. OS map. Stacks of postcards from various states. Flashlight. First aid kit.  Padlock. Lighter. Laptop (and charger). Toiletries. Disinfectant spray and wipes. Gloves. Passport. Driver’s license. Itinerary. Tracker.

Kip Grady had read what felt like an endless amount of backpacking blog posts and advice columns trying to work out what to bring and what to leave behind, in the care of his father back in New York. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that he had missed the mark in some places; he had honest to God wet dreams about the pillow in his bedroom back home, and had also seen that some people managed to fit fold away tents in their packing, which he wished that he had room for. He hadn’t, and sure he could have spent longer trying to come up with some practical solution to this, but that would have meant delaying his voyage onto the open road and Kip had yearned for the yawning sky above him and the remoteness of the most desolate and lonely patches of earth underneath his feet.

Elena had called it his white man midlife crisis and told him that he was probably going to end up on an episode of Dateline in the future. Kip was not very worried about this. He told Elena that there were a lot of people who went backpacking and did not get murdered - he saw it on social media all the time, actually - but this did not seem to console Elena very much, especially when she realised that Kip was about to hitchhike his way around the states. She’d begged him to book train tickets or a coach, but this had not been the travel that Kip had wanted. He’d wanted the fleeting connections, the brief possession of the lives of strangers, and privacy. He’d wanted the unrealistic romanticism of solo travel.

It was easier said than done - especially when the road was empty and Kip was stood by the side of it like an idiot, somewhere in rural Montana. It had been hours since he had seen the last car pass by, and they had not stopped for him when he’d stuck thumb out and tried to flag them down.

He was beginning to think that he was going to spend the rest of his life on the edge of that highway, or at least until he walked far enough to find some dodgy gas station, and that was not a particularly palatable thought, especially as dusk began to gather in, the shadows creeping longer and the cold prickling at his skin. It had been a warm day, but that meant that the night was cloudless and the chill was quick to set in. He drew his coat further around him, hitching his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulders. He beginning to wonder if he should pick a direction and start walking faster. He did not like the idea of being so exposed at night - to the elements, to strangers.

But the darkness made it easier to see when a swathe of white headlights cut across the road, approaching. Kip squinted and saw in the distance what looked like a battered old pick-up truck, tarpaulin covering the bed.

“Yes,” he muttered, sticking his thumb out. “Yes.”

For a moment, he thought that the truck would keep on sailing past Kip, and that would be a sign that his plans were well ad truly rumbled. But then it began to slow, and slow, and at last pulled to a stop, hazards flickering in spite of the fact that there was no one else around.

Very responsible. Kip approved.

He moved nearer to the passenger side door, one hand raised, and the window began to roll down, allowing him to duck his head into the cab. He made sure that he had his most friendly and approachable smile on - no stranger danger or axe murderers here! Please give me a lift! - and…

Well, Kip was only a man after all.

Only a man, and the driver certainly was a man - a fine specimen of one too. Kip wasn’t a monk nor was he celibate - he liked to have fun, when he could - but he also wasn’t someone for whom sex was a must. He hadn’t had anything casual since leaving New York - but the man in the driver’s seat was making him reconsider all of that.

He was the typical all-American type, practically a poster boy for team spirit - he was wearing a New York Admirals hoodie, which Kip recognised because his dad had the same one - and he was the poster boy because he was hot. Dark hair and brooding eyes, a little bit of a stubble, a jawline that Kip wanted to cut himself to shreds on, and shoulders so broad that Kip could imagine him as some sculptor’s muse, the stature of Achilles or Atlas.

He smiled at Kip, a little too wide to be anything but slightly awkward and practiced, all gleaming white teeth. “Howdy,” he said. “Looking for a ride?”

Fucking a-dork-able.

Kip leaned into the cab to offer his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not looking for anywhere in particular - just somewhere off the side of this road. I’m Kip.”

“Scott,” returned the man, shaking Kip’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Kip.”

He said Kip’s name with great verve, popping the p. It made Kip smile.

Scott, on the other hand, did not let go of Kip’s hand for a very weighty moment; Kip got the impression that he was looking at Kip with just as much interest as Kip had looked at him with, eyes intense and unblinking, and a little wondering. He recognised the look from the men that went down on him in the bedroom - the interest, the curiosity, the desire - and he thought that Scott would probably look very good between his legs, which was a very unhinged thing to think about a nice man he had just met and who he wanted to offer him a favour.

“It’s short for Christopher,” said Kip. “It’s a very normal name.”

“It’s cute,” Scott assured him. Then smiled, somehow a little wider, which Kip did not think should be possible. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

Scott cleared his throat. “You’re in luck,” he said. “I’m heading in the direction you need and looking for the nearest motel. I don’t mind the company either.”

Kip let out a relieved exhale. At Scott’s prompting, he opened the door and clambered in, sticking his back between his feet. He clicked on the seatbelt.

“Thank God,” he said, laughing. “I thought I was going to die on the side of some random highway in Montana. My friend keeps telling me that I’m destined for an episode of Dateline and I was starting to believe her.”

Scott, obliging, laughed at his very weak attempt of a joke. “We can’t have that,” he said.”My promise to you is that I’ll make sure that you don’t die on the side of this road.”

“Aw shucks, you say the sweetest things.”

“You from New York?”

“Brooklyn born and raised, baby,” Kip crowed. He looked down at Scott’s Admirals hoodie. “You?”

“Latchkey kid from Rochester,” Scott confirmed, “but I travel for work, so I haven’t been back for a while.”

“No family or friends?”

“Just me.” Scott flashed him another one of those beaming smiles. It had a slightly dizzying effect on Kip, like he was trying to trying to read both iterations of a palimpsest. “I’m a lone ranger. Not many people want to stick around, you know.”

Kip frowned. “I can’t see that being true.”

Shrugging, Scott replied, “I travel a lot for work. Don’t stay in one place long. Keep odd hours and no regular schedule. I’m a little intense.”

“I don’t think I’d let that discourage me, if it was you,” Kip told him, and watched, pleased, as a dark flush stole across Scott’s face. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m a journalist,” said Scott. “On the ground investigative reporter. But I’m on sabbatical at the minute, trying to broaden my horizons and hone my skills and whatnot. How about you? What brings you to rural Montana?”

“Backpacking,” said Kip. “My friends are calling it my white man midlife crisis, or my second voyage of self-discovery, or my weird issues of avoidance.”

“Are they right?” asked Scott, voice teasing.

“Probably,” Kip said. “I don’t really have an end destination. I’m just travelling wherever people will take me in the time I have before starting my degree. Although, there haven’t been as many strangers as nice as you. I’m really putting the hiking into hitchhiking.”

“You must have been walking for a while then, and it’s been so warm today to be standing out exposed,” said Scott. He leaned over to Kip’s side of the car, popping open the glove compartment and fishing out a slightly crumpled disposable plastic water bottle. He looked slightly apologetic as he handed it over. “Here. Have some water - important to stay hydrated after exercise. Sorry it’s stale - it’s been here a while. I just like to keep some on hand.”

Kip uncapped it and swallowed a few mouthfuls. It was, indeed, stale, but his throat was dry and it was a nice gesture. “Thanks,” he said. “Do you want a mouthful?”

“Nah,” said Scott. “I finished a bottle a while ago and I want to find somewhere with a bathroom before I drink anything else.”

Kip stashed it back in the glove compartment, clicking it shut.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

Elena.

hey u manage to find a lift tonight? send me registration pls

Kip’s fingers hovered over his keyboard. In the lane beside them, a white Toyota overtook them, merging in front. Kip sent its number plate over; Elena thumbs-upped the message.

“Everything cool?” Scott asked casually.

Kip blinked, and his jaw cracked in a yawn. “Yeah,” he said, settling down in his seat. “Just Elena saying goodnight.”

“Elena’s your friend, right?”

“Yeah. She worries about me. We grew up together. But, you know, I kind of want her to know that I’m not helpless on this trip, so she’s taking a step back.”

He yawned again. Amused, Scott glanced over at him. “You can grab a nap if you want.”

“I can’t sleep in cars. I get travel sick.”

But at some point, Kip must have fallen asleep, lulled by the rhythm of the truck moving underneath him, the soft shadows that enveloped the cabin, and the smooth, low tenor of Scott’s voice as he spoke about nothing in particular. It was a nice voice, and Kip thought, a little pathetically, especially considering that he had only just met the guy, that he would miss that voice when it came time for them to part. Especially since Kip didn’t sleep easily a lot of the time; what he wouldn’t give to record the sound of Scott speaking and use it as white noise. He must have been more exhausted than he thought he was. The drowsiness that stole over him as he listened to it was sudden and unexpected, but effective - Kip sunk into the syrupy embrace of oblivion, limbs heavy and mind sluggish.

It took him a while to wake up again.

His thoughts were moving at a snail’s pace, fragmentary and nonsensical. He was thinking about Elena. He was thinking about Luke, the Montana local who had been the last to offer Kip a ride, and how his eyes had widened when Kip had pressed their lips together and then trembled closed. He was thinking about Scott and his white teeth and his wide smile.

The first thing that he was really conscience of was that they were no longer moving, the truck’s engine idling beneath him. The radio had been switched off, and the cabin light switched on. Scott was still sat in the driver’s seat, and Kip could hear the evenness of his breathing, though his figure was blurred and indistinct with the remnants of drowsiness when Kip tilted his head over to look at him. Vaguely, Kip was aware of Scott turning his head to look back at him, straightening to attention when he became aware of Kip. There was an electric sort of tension thrumming between them, a nervousness that Kip didn’t know how to conceptualise.

The second thing he was conscious of was the fact that they were certainly not in a gas station parking lot or outside of a motel. Through the windshield, Kip could see only barren sparseness, a lack of anything, a totality of aloneness. It was just him and Scott. The skeletal shadow of a tree twisted claws into the cabin.

Kip suddenly felt much more awake than he had been before, struggling upright.

“Scott?” he asked. His voice was groggy, hoarse, and not wholly there.

“You know that it’s dangerous to accept rides off strangers,” Scott said, lowly, as if he wasn’t really registering that Kip was trying to talk to him. He was looking at his hands, something silver glinting around his fingers - a ring? Yes, Kip thought it was a ring. “I could be a serial killer.”

“Hah. The chances of two serial killers being in the same car is astronomically low,” joked Kip. Then he saw that the ring on Scott’s hand was actually a knife. “Wait. Are you fucking serious?”

“I mean,” said Scott, “I’m very serious about what I do. I’m good at it, as well, and I’m afraid, Kip, that you are the means to ending my… let’s call it a slump. I’m sorry. I think you’re really nice, and I like you, but business is business.”

Kip thought his laugh probably sounded a little maniacal. Holy shit, Elena was right and he was going to end up on an episode of Dateline. Fuck. His dad was going to be worried sick. Elena had the wrong number plate. Jesus, the irony was killing him - that, and the fucking serial killer that had picked him up at the side of the road like in every cliché murder mystery ever. This could be how Kip died. It was so embarrassing.

His laugh trailed off into a giggle. “Did you drug me?”

“Just some sedatives in the water,” Scott assured him, but he was frowning, and the expression on his face was a little stiff. “I don’t appreciate that you find this amusing, you know. I take myself very seriously. The five hitchhikers before you would agree.”

Kip waved a hand. “Impressive,” he said, still giggling. “It’s just - hah! Ha, the chances of two serial killers being in the same car is astronomically low.”

“Wait,” said Scott.

Kip looked him up and down. “I read about your work,” he realised, and felt a little excited flurry in is stomach. “Wow. Wow. I have so many questions.”

“Wait,” said Scott. “Wait.”

“I mean,” Kip continued. “You’re methods are pretty different from mine, but the drugging - I hope you don’t mind I borrowed that from you? I’m pretty strong but it was an absolute game changer, let me tell you that.”

“Are you the hitchhiker guy who garrotes people in their cars?” asked Scott.

“Yeah!” said Kip, admittedly a little thrilled. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Course I have,” said Scott. “Was I your next victim?”

“Most likely,” Kip admitted. “I’m just trying to make the most of this trip, you know. Academia keeps me busy. I don’t know when I’m going to get the chance to, you know, travel again. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. You were going to try and kill me - Jesus, that’s hot,” said Scott, and he was talking like Kip had made some cute romantic gesture but also was looking at Kip like he wanted to peel away his skin and wear it like a coat, cover himself in the gore and viscera of everything that made Kip, and gulp down his blood like ambrosia.

Kip could feel an erection straining at the fabric of his pants. Scott’s eyes flickered to his crotch, and Kip registered the moment that he saw the very obvious nature of Kip’s desire.

“Do you still want to kill me?” Kip asked, breathily, and leaned forward, so close that he could feel the heat of Scott. He swayed a little; clearly, Scott had given him the good stuff.

Scott shook his head. “No,” he murmured, watching Kip’s lips. “No, I don’t want to kill you. I kind of want you to kill me, though. But to see what you look like covered in it. I want to see how you work. I bet you look cute.”

Kip rested his hand very obviously on Scott’s knee. Scott’s much larger hand curled around his wrist, sending sparks of electricity racing up his arm. “Why don’t you take me on a date, handsome? We find someone, take them somewhere… I’d like to see you work as well.”

Scott nodded eagerly. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that. I want to do that.”

There was nothing else for it.

Kip lunged forward.

He kissed him. Kissed him hard enough that Scott slammed back against the door of the cab, hands tangling into his dark hair. He tasted stale water at the back of his throat, slightly chemically - sedatives, he thought giddily. Scott had tried to kill him. And now Scott was kissing him back, one hand on Kip’s hip to pull him closer and another on Kip’s face, which made Kip so very aware of the fact that he wanted those massive hands around his throat, or around someone else’s throat.

Dateline indeed, Kip thought. He was pretty sure that he had just met his soulmate.