The smell of rotting flesh, blood both old and new, hung in the air, creating a most foul stench, accompanied by the picture of a mutilated animal, and a corpse in an alley. To most, it would have been considered... gross. To Logan, the smell was sweet, and the man... sweet, muscular thing he was, along with the animal... oh, those things were simply art, for a hungry artist.

Logan laid a hand on the man's shoulder, as if checking his work. Who was he kidding? He was beautiful. It was beautiful. Just like Keye... Just like Violet... he was such a fool for having let them go. Such a fool, and not even this man... this work of art, would please him as much as one of their beautiful, naked... perhaps bleeding, bodies. Why, that sounded so delicious... so... deliciously out of his grasp. Damn them for getting away.

Logan let his tongue escape from his lips, and slid it artfully across them, saliva colliding with blood. Beautiful, dripping, crimson liquid, that was not his, but instead, the poor victim's.

With a delicate hand, he grasped the man's strong jaw and lifted and held it, still surveying his work, with deadly calm eyes of icy blue menace. Then, he let his tongue drag across the still warm, smooth flesh of the man, biting down viciously wherever he pleased. He slipped his tongue into his victim's mouth, where his pale lips had parted (perhaps to scream), and took it upon himself to explore, with one arm on his back, to keep him from falling.

Oh, he was good, yes, but not as good as Logan needed and wanted. Not as good as that damn demon-man, Keye, and his little friend, Violet. They had escaped... and Keye had done so twice, not once, as the girl had, which made him furious. His pink, overworking tongue, tried to make its way down the poor man's throat, before it made its way back to Logan's mouth. This man, delicate and unbreakable at the same time, was not bad, but oh, he was simply not good enough. Not good enough for Logan in the least.

He let him go, and watched him fall into the alley, bloody and massacred. Lovely, in a word.

As for his pet, well... he didn't make it either. The cat lay, gutted, perhaps by a knife, and strangled, just as his master did. But, the difference was, the cat would fit into a trashcan, and the man wouldn't.

Not like he'd be missed, but... he had to be thrown into the sea, or somewhere else, and he'd prove to be a harder body to get rid of.

Logan sat on the heels of his shoes, arms crossed over his chest with a frown. He didn't know why, but these people were actually starting to bug him... starting to get on his nerves. They were different... just because they'd gotten away. None of his other victims had gotten away. So why'd he hesitate on killing them? It bothered him.

It was late at night. Later than Logan should've been out, and later than he was normally out, but he was just itching for another victim, and another body... it was simply an urge he couldn't explain.

The frown still creased his features, as he continued to stare at the victim. He was still in the clothes he had been sleeping in, which were his baggy, black cotton pants, and baggy gray shirt, which was also made of cotton. They were both plain, and made his small figure look presumably bigger than it actually was.

A lip ring marred two delicate lips, as did an eyebrow ring on one of his eyebrows, that were both knitted together in frustration at this point, and his black and white hair hung in his face. He made no attempt to push it away, as he didn't have to.

Well... better dispose of the cat now, then...

With a silent sigh, Logan picked up (what was left of) the bundle of mangled fur, to throw in in some trashbin of some sort...

...and returned fifteen some minutes later to find his victim lying there, still dead. Right where he left him.

What are you looking at? Logan thought with a sneer, crossing his arms over his chest again, as if to keepoff the cold.

Speak of the devil...

Keye was walking. To hell with Dr. Barclay, there was no way he was going to sleep tonight! He'd already tried (presumably for our dear professor's sake, though he'd never admit it) and had awoken barely an hour later from one of those bolt-upright-sweating-shaking dreams.
He'd been wandering the city ever since.
He too was still in what passed for pajamas: blue, baggy bottoms, an eye-smartingly orange wife-beater type thing and, unbuttoned, that plaid flannel shirt he'd so charitably tried to lend to Dr. Barclay.
He wasn't very observant during his nighttime wanderings, but one tends to notice one dark figure standing over another, prone one. That's suspicious, and it catches the eye. It's just that Keye's one of the few who actually peers into alleyways.
"Hey,"
There's that voice, that pleasantly hoarse low voice, this is the man that Logan followed home...
"Is everything okahghk holy shit!"
That guy was dead. Really dead. And it was that psycho kid with blood on his mouth. What had he gotten into now?
Keye froze.

...And he will appear.
But which one's the devil here?

He glanced over, taking in the man's appearance. Tall. Too tall. One of the things Logan only knew Keye had going for him. Indeed, he was the man he followed home, but what was he doing poking into Logan's business? It didn't matter.

Oh, what a beatiful little flower. Come play with me, will you not? "Hello, darling... long time no see." The last part was stressed a bit too much. Let's show Keye how angry he really is, shall we?

To his advantage, Keye froze. Logan took a threatening step forward, away from the corpse. The body could wait for later.

"Come to check up on me? How sweet." Low blow. Very low blow. And Logan's not feeling merciful today.

Keye was in mortal danger, and he knew it. His mouth obeyed his brain: even in the worst of situations, he had a flippant response.
"And long time before you see me again, darling."
His feet, however, refused his brain's request to accompany that little quip with motion.
He stood.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he clung to a tattered hope.
Hey, you with the teeth. You still need me. Come on.
...
And the demon was silent.

"Leaving so soon? I'm offended." Offended with his rudeness, maybe. Or just him in particular.

He took another menacing step forward, accompanied by two more, until there was almost no space left between them.

"Where's you friend, hm?" Friend, in Logan's way of putting things, means two things. One, it means Violet. Two, it means his demon. He doesn't forget things so easily. Especially things that scar.

If possible, he froze even more. His brain went into some kind of shock. There was nothing there. Fear was gone, but so was the ability to fight back or run away.

"I don't know." He said dully.
And that went for both friends.

"They've abandoned you, haven't they?" His voice was sickly sweet, and delicately soft. And if not for his personality, his drastic piercings and bleached hair, he might've been a nice kid.

Might've been. Wasn't now.

Keye might've noticed he had no weapons on him, but it didn't matter. He knew, pretty well, I think, that Logan didn't have to have a weapon to hurt.

And if Logan wants something, he gets it. Keye being the object of desire at this point.

He laid a gentle, frail hand on Keye. Something sure to make him move, maybe.

What did Logan want? For Keye to run away so he could chase him?
Keye whirled around and took off. He was fast and he didn't stop.
He'd forgotten, for the moment, about those invisible choking hands.

And Logan didn't even have to move his feet to chase after him. You see, Logan views this simply as a game. And if games aren't challenging, they're boring. And if they're boring, Logan doesn't bother with him. But unfortunately for Keye, he's a game that provides endless hours of entertainment.

And those choking hands have already started their work. Logan is just taunting him, if Keye cared to notice. "What's wrong? You're so jittery, butterfly." A butterfly he planned to break. Snap its wings right in half, regardless of what his wings were.

Keye didn't stop, not even then.
Not until his air got too short and he slid to his knees, his hands scraping bloodily into the pavement. And it was late, and no one would see, and he couldn't even unlock his jaws to release a scream.

It was looking like he'd have to move. Oh, how awful.

He took graceful strides toward Keye, and didn't bother to stop the hands. Not now. He could wait. He could suffer. That's for getting away, and it serves him damn well right.

"What's wrong, doll?" he sing-songed, and stepped into hearing range. Well, technically right at Keye's side.

Suffering he was indeed. His throat worked in desperation for oxygen; Keye didn't actually have much desire to live, but his body wouldn't stop fighting.
From his closed mouth came a little strangled sound of pain, altogether too small and delicate for such a tall man. Tears stung his eyes and he shook his head: that was as much begging as Logan was going to get.

But, you know what people who love to see other people suffering want more of? Suffering, that's right. And begging. But no matter how much he begged, it just wouldn't be enough. Poor Keye.

Still, he didn't let him go. Not yet... not yet.

Since Keye was so tall, Logan liked to see him on his knees. He liked it that way. He wrapped his arms around Keye, in a possessive sort of way, then he let the hands go. For now.

His lips parted, admitting a life-giving flood of air through his teeth...but those did not open. He was silent. Mute.
He was stiff in Logan's arms, but he didn't struggle. It was too late to struggle. The back parts of his mind had taken over, injecting him with immobile lead and the sour taste of fear.

"Afraid, butterfly?" He purred into Keye's ear, softly. Then, he tried to look through Keye's sunglasses to his eyes, but it was incredibly hard to do so. He made a moved to remove them, and throw them into the darkness. They hit the pavement with a clatter.

"You're not hiding anything behind those, you know."

He looked at the ground, his tear-filled iridescent eye gleaming an odd color in the dayglow darkness of the city night. The other was still bandaged.
Of course he was afraid,
And of course he was hiding things.
His mouth just wouldn't open to say so. The only sound was the tiniest of whimper-sobs, please don't hurt me.

He put a finger under his chin, as if forcing him to look up at him. He was. "Don't like me, china doll?" His words are soft... too soft. He's trying to screw Keye up. And he kisses him, on the lips.

Gravity proved too much for those tears, and they ran down his face as his one glazed eye was forced upwards, looking at Logan with unsettling innocence.
And then he proved that he was already quite screwed up, by kissing Logan back. He didn't want to, but he did.

And when he did, Logan only pushed farther, and let his tongue slide deeper and deeper into Keye's mouth. And suddenly, just broke off, pushing away. Things ran through his mind.

Did he feel guilty? Certainly not. He just wanted more than a kiss. Just... not here. Not in the street. He needed to get him into a house.

Keye could have taken the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach and run. Could have, but didn't. He stayed where he was, kneeling on the cold pavement, his arms hanging limply, his hands bleeding sluggishly without his concern.
A perfect...'china doll,' as Logan had so aptly put it.

Logan's lips twitched up, making his infamous insane smirk of his. "Lovely, Keye..." he purred again, "simply lovely." He glanced down at his bleeding hands. "I can fix those." Translation, 'I can fix those if you come with me somewhere. Your apartment, maybe.'

The words, other than his name and 'lovely' hit his mind and bounced right off. No comprehension. He continued to sit there.
If he was led, he'd go.

This would prove interesting. Logan gave Keye a little tug on the wrist, though it wasn't violent. He'd save that for later... "Come on."

Obedient, Keye stood. His wrist hung slack in Logan's grip. He was no danger anymore...as the demon was feeding off his pain, it felt no need to intervene.

Later, when he was free, all those screams would come out. God help whoever witnessed that.

"Where's your apartment, sweet pea?" He tugged again, just as gently. Sweet pea china doll, butterfly... he wondered why all those meaningless names weren't getting to him. Not like he minded.

The pet names were just reinforcing Keye's obedience, but he wasn't about to think for himself. He stumbled forward a couple steps when Logan tugged, but made no move to go anywhere on his own.

"Mm. Well, we'll just have to settle for any old house then, love." He gently pulled Keye's wrist, leading him to where he was planning to go. And he knew the perfect place. The house of that single man. He knew he was single because he stalked him for several days, and found out he lived alone. Then he'd killed him in the alleyway, several days later.

Keye followed. Not a word passed his lips; those words were somewhere inside, boiling. The muscles in his jaw twitched with what he wanted to say, No, no, no, no, no! but his mouth didn't open.
His facial expression didn't change with his inner conflict. He remained silent and innocent-looking.

After a few minutes of Logan's murmuring to Keye, they were ther. He opened the door, and stepped inside, pulling Keye in as well, like he were some kind of pet. But, oh, you don't know how much Logan thought Keye actually was his pet.

"Make yourself at home." Oh, now he's just playing with him. How mean.

He shut the door, and it closed with only slight protest.

Finally, Keye pried his teeth apart. His expression remained just as blank as before, his eyes just as empty.
"No."
Even the voice held little urgency.
"No, I don't want to."

"Oh, come on doll, I won't hurt you..." he trailed off, with a vague little smirk, "much."

Now that he had what he wanted within his grasp, he still didn't want to kill him. No, not kill him... just play with him a little bit. And we all know how twisted Logan's definition of 'play' is.

One of his invisible hands touched Keye's shoulder, and he let go of his wrist, letting it drop as it pleased. "Clothes, Keye?" What an odd question.

An odd question indeed. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, beyond the blankness, and even beyond the screaming, Keye wondered: Yeah, clothes. What about them?
The blank self understood, though, and began to take them off.

It was strange, but Logan certainly wouldn't protest. Of course not. Why should he protest? He wandered off into the bathroom for just a minute, not trusting his little doll, as the invisible hand stayed on Keye's shoulder... and came back out of the bathroom moments later without his shirt, and all the blood washed off him.

If Keye noticed, where his demon attacked him on his shoulders and near his neck, there were still marks. And on his face... that mark was still visible, too, if only faintly.

"Want to play, doll?" If he says no, or nothing at all, to Logan, the answer will still be yes.

"No."
His head bowed in submission.
"No, I don't want to."
He didn't want to, so he went away. He found a quiet spot on a hilltop in the back of his head, and he sat there and made a chain of flowers, and didn't feel anything at all.
His current expression might remind one of a catatonic mental patient.

"Aww, c'mon, it'll be fun." The word 'fun' wasn't stressed angrily, but instead... what Logan considered playfully.

He strode over to him quietly, and wrapped a bare, slender arm around Keye's waist. Damn him for being so tall.

OOC:
We will now have a brief intermission.
We will assume that nonconsensual sex is taking place behind the curtain.

(We shall, and it shall be so.)

Still in the house. Well, at least Logan was still in the house. He left Keye in a different room, and he was simply gazing out the window, thinking. He could care less what Keye did at this point. He'd got his revenge, and left cuts on Keye... everywhere. Things that might scar, and things that might not. But, the fact was, he'd been pehaps too violent to him... bloodied him up more than he usually did with a victim. He took what he wanted from him, and it was good enough for now. For now... words he'd never used with a victim before. Words he never planned to use with a victim anymore, either. Keye was different... he had some sort of beauty that ade him impossible to kill... something that made Logan have to sit up on a bed, look out the window, and think. He hadn't thought about anything in ages, he'd just done what he thought was right. And although this might not have been right, it was lovely.

Logan flicked a lock of hair out of his eyes, and with a frustated sigh, looked back at the door. The entry of the bedroom. Did he feel bad about Keye? Did he feel... guilty?

Hell no, it was just... different, is all. Different, and that was all there was to it.

His pretty face twisted into a frown.He shouldn't hve let Keye live, after all.

Sick and shaking, Keye went quietly to the front hall, where he'd left his clothes. He discovered that they were too difficult, and settled for wrapping his white trench tightly around himself.
White for now, but little red spots and lines were soaking their way into it.
Keye was still numb, most of his consciousness still hiding somewhere...but something told him he needed help, so he opened the front door and he left.
He hardly had the strength to move at all (part of it was apathy, and part physical hurt) but he didn't stop his slow, stumbling walk until he could no longer see that terrible house and that pale, thoughtful face at the window.