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Lucas nearly pushes him through the door and then kisses his neck once it's closed, walking him toward the back wall, his hands ducking under fabric and a low rumble in his throat. The stains and flickering, greenish lighting has no discouraging effect and the throb of the music only makes him want to shake Brody against that shaking wall.

His teeth pull at his ear as he continues to mumble. "Ты красивая. Fuck you into nothingness, милая моя, шлюха моя-"

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His hand slides off of Brody's neck and his nails rack down his back, catching on his shirt on the way. The words are automatic as his thrusts briefly become brutal and sharp.

"ёбаный= love you--"

It is choked out along with the spasm that breaks through it and he exhales as he comes, yanking Brody back onto him one last time.

He makes a strange noise like he's pulling back on it halfway through, a sort of mewling cry, one hand curling as far as it will go before he'd have to manually close his fingers with the other hand. He should keep moving, but instead he's very still. So much for not thinking about it.

He breathes, perfectly still, frozen even while still half on his toes. Then his hands move up to either side of Brody's chest and simply stay there, holding him against his chest for whatever reason he needed to hold him at that moment.

That's the part he really likes -- being held. This close, he can feel his heart beating fast inside him, smell sweat and something else musky, almost get a handle on the warmth of his skin. But a dirty bathroom in some Brooklyn dive bar probably isn't the most ideal place to be doing this, not for very long, at least, where if someone walks in it'll go from intimate to Awkward Town immediately, so after a few moments he nudges Lucas with his head. Makes a small, questioning noise.

"Mm," he replies and presses a messy, incoherent kiss into Brody's hair before he pulls back out of him slowly. There's another sharp exhalation once that's done and he pulls his pants up but doesn't buckle them yet, falling sideways against the wall beside Brody with a weak thud. He is smiling while trying not to, and it looks very satisfied.

Bending over, he hauls his jeans back up -- it hurts and every time he moves his hips, he winces. He doesn't have a belt and his hands are too stiff to work the buttons, so he gives up on them, just keeping his hips still to keep his pants from just falling down. He leans forward with his torso to nip affectionately at his shoulder, one fang catching on Lucas' skin. The soreness is already catching up to him. "...ow."

"Come here."

Still smiling, he reaches down to fasten Brody's pants for him. "It hurts badly?"

"Not too bad." Brody leans against him, his head on his chest, listening for his heart to start to slow down. "Next time we'll come prepared." He used to, when he was alive -- he'd keep stuff on him all the time. That was a while ago.

"It will become often, in places like this." He seems to find this amusing and reaches up to pet Brody's hair.

"Hmmm. Was that a joke?" He rubs his head against his hand and makes a low noise like a purr. There are long pauses between when he speaks where he doesn't breathe at all, then an inhalation whenever he starts like punctuation. "Had a good time?"

"Yes," he says to both and uses his hand in Brody's hair to lift his chin and kiss him. He is aching and spent for many good reasons, of course it was a good time.

"You?"

"Good, I'm a corrupting influence." His mouth tastes like blood and little else, the usual. His face is dirty -- a bit of blood smeared across his lip, some dirt on his face from where it was pressed into the wall. The little cuts on his neck and hips have already closed. "Mm."

"This is not an answer." He points this out as his fingers gingerly touch a dirt stain on his cheek to see if there is a cut or bruise underneath.

Nothing on his face. The bruises on his neck are turning dark; in an hour or two they'll go light again and disappear. "Yes. I liked it."

Edited 2011-09-14 08:16 (UTC)

"Mm." That is evidently the right answer, because his smile appears again.

"I wish there was more with which I could repay you."

"You don't have to repay me for anything." The door opens and someone walks in -- maybe the same person who tried before, maybe not -- but all they see is two people, dressed, standing very close and talking. Nothing bad at all. Still, he kind of doesn't want to stand around and listen to some guy piss. "You wanna stay here a while or get outta here?"

"It is time to leave."

Lucas takes Brody's hand and walks decisively toward the door. It is only after he's reached it that he realizes he has assumed Brody will be accompanying him back to his bedroom. However, he is fairly sure that he'll be corrected if there are other plans.

It is when they have reached the street outside again that Lucas catches the eye of a twenty something man walking in the opposite direction and he stops abruptly in his tracks.

Probably he should go home and sleep, but he doesn't feel like it. It's not like needs like that are all that urgent, anyway, when you're dead, you have all the time in the world. Lying down would at least be nice. Cuddling. Maybe watching another movie.

He's walking slow because it's uncomfortable -- painful, a bit, but mostly uncomfortable -- and he has his head resting on Lucas' shoulder, not caring if anyone sees them and decides they're faggots and that they're gonna pick a fight over it.

He doesn't notice he's stopped immediately, takes a few steps before he feels the resistance and pauses, turning around to look at him. "Coming?"

He is tense as watches the man pass them, then speaks.

"I must do something first." He doesn't want to. He would like very much to watch another of Brody's films and savor his sore muscles, but every step that he lets that man take away from them causes his insides to twist painfully.

He doesn't understand. He frowns, his head cocking to one side as he looks at him. "Do what?"

Lucas turns his sickened and apologetic eyes toward the ground as he reaches into Brody's pocket and pulls out his knife.

He's never seen him like this, and doesn't know what it means. He can't smell or see anything out of the ordinary, no danger, nothing seems to have changed. "Lucas?"

Even if he could bring himself to be explicit, there are too many people there.

"I am sorry. I must- it will be quick. Stay."

Lucas steps backward and then turns, keeping the knife in his hand as he follows the man who had passed them at a rough and unsteady jog. The moment that he can see him again, walking quickly down the sidewalk toward an intersection with no light, the pain subsides.

He's suddenly anxious, gnawing on his fingernails as he waits. He doesn't want to just stand here, not when he doesn't know what's happening, although he's starting to suspect, from the way he ran off -- but Brody does what he's told, for the most part. He's a good boy.

He makes a low whining noise, like a dog, chewing his fingernail down to a stump.

He makes it quick, as promised. They walk into a dark spot between lights and neither walks out. Lucas leaves the body in a dumpster down a side street and puts his knife away after wiping it and his hands on his black shirt. It isn't enough. There is still red under his fingernails and in the creases of his palms and knuckles, in between each finger. He has hope that his bruises will cause people to assume it is his.

When he returns to Brody, he is walking quickly and frowning at the pavement, hands limp at his sides.

"Come." He barely pauses. He can't stay in this place any longer.