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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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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.

Brody smells blood. His expression changes, although it's hard to say what exactly is going on there now. It looks sad.

He does pause, looking past him in the direction he came from. He should do something about that, he knows he should, but there's nothing he can do. He bites his lip, then turns around and follows him.

He returns to the Room the way they came and does not slow down until the door is closed behind them. Then he hesitates and turns his head toward Brody if not his eyes.

"... Apologies."

He looks at him for a bit, then reaches up to pull his head up so he looks him in the eye. "It's not your fault." He says that with absolute conviction. It's not his fault.

Lucas knows this isn't true. He was not coerced into signing the contract. He didn't even read it. And now, he is sorry for being a murderer, he is sorry that it makes him wrong and disturbing, he is sorry that he can not control it, and he is sorry that it interrupts their time together and ruins the good mood they had shared.

It is a pleasant surprise that Brody can touch him still. As befits the moment, it's a pleasure that is followed quickly by guilt.

"It is wrong. Yes?"

He takes one of Lucas' hands -- it smells really good, he wants to rub his face all over it, which. Is an urge he can suppress for now -- and threads his fingers with his own. "I don't know. It's complicated." He's never been good at that right-or-wrong thing, in spite or maybe because of what he is, just what has to be done and what doesn't. He thinks about it for a bit.

"Do you want a way out?"

Lucas frowns and strokes a thumb across the back of Brody's hand.

"This is not possible."

"Sure it is. Most things are. Do you want it?"

His hesitation has everything to do with, first, the too-little-too-late understanding that demons give nothing away for free, and second, the memory that at least once this helped Brody to eat.

He had promised, though. He would continue, they both would. So then there was only the concern about the price.

"It is not worth it to put you in danger."

"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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