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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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"It wouldn't." Not in any way that would matter, anyway. He's been down this road before. He brings his hand up to his cheek, presses it against his cold skin. "I told you, they can't do anything to me."

"They will find some way. It is what they do." He worries, of course. His red-stained nails move over Brody's lips.

"I promise I won't do anything reckless. Or without asking you." His mouth parts so he can put one of his fingers in there, his teeth closing with a very slight amount of pressure against his fingertip.

"Yes. Tell me. What they say."

Lucas' lips twitch and he stops being quite so tense. His thumb wriggles.

"Mm." He sucks on it a little -- he can taste just a hint of blood, too old already for him to really want to eat, but a comforting, familiar taste all the same -- and then rolls it between his teeth.

His chin tilts as he watches Brody's lips.

"I would like to bring you to my home now."

He brings his head back, slowly, stops just when he lets him go. "Okay." He smiles quickly, nervously. It's still not okay, but he's the last person who can throw stones here -- killing people is part of what he is, too, now.

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