logan_icon.gif satoru_icon.gif

Scene Title Conviction
Synopsis Toru visits his boss, and they talk over vodka. They discuss the near future, the recent past, and— explore the present?
Date June 15, 2009

The Happy Dagger: Logan's Office

This place is office by name only - there certainly isn't a desk in sight, let alone a filing cabinet. It's decorated almost the same as any other room in terms of colours and decadence, with quality thrown in for good measure. The walls are painted a dark red with warmer golden trimmings, and layers of chiffon surround and cover the one window in the room so that only the lights of the outside world make hazy spots on the rich fabric. Hung upon the walls are paintings, likely expensive ones, depicting erotic scenarios and characters.

A couple of couches provide areas of comfort, some conventional, others more of the old Greco-Roman style designed to recline in rather than sit, and a small round coffee table with elaborate patterns etched into the wood boasts a perhaps ornamental hookah, although it's clearly seen use. The wooden floor is mostly covered by a large zebra striped rug, soft on bare feet and kept immaculate. An antique teatray is pushed into the corner, and holds a stunning array of fine liquor and crystal glasses. Next to it, an antique writing desk, although there's no chair near it and doesn't seem to hold anything, although the locked drawers may have purpose.

Despite it being called an office, this room seems more to cater to luxury and relaxation than business, although business occurs here regularly. Just not as much as pleasure.

For once, Toru actually waits until after the brothel has closed for the night before making one of his semi-occasional visits to the boss. This morning is slightly unusual in that he has also brought along a bottle of Grey Goose for companionship. Unopened, as of yet; he isn't quite so crass as to bring gifts of opened liquor.

The night had at least been a fairly uneventful one for business, and while he's as dissheveled as someone would be after spending several hours being jostled around by clientele and employees alike, but he does make a point of giving himself a quick once-over to ensure that he's presentable. As usual, however, once he does get to the door to Logan's office he hesitates for few moments, suddenly uncertain as to why he's actually there. It isn't like they're friends, and it isn't like he has feelings for the Englishman… but nonetheless, every so often he just feels the need to show up and have a chat. However strange and/or awkward.

After standing outside the office for a moment, eventually he raps lightly on the door. Just in case shop hasn't closed up yet in this part of the business.

An uneventful night could be cause for celebration, all things considered. Anything eventful that might occur, lately, has tended to end in blood shed, lost money and Mu-Qian's healing touch. Logan has enjoyed the quiet mostly in his lavish, allowing Viv to run things as best she can and the world to turn around him.

Or revolve. You know.

Toru's knock is responded to with the thump of two feet finding the ground, hesitation and then steps taken to open the door rather than just yell out an invitation. Upon opening the door, Logan has by now shed some of the formality of his attire as the night has drawn to a close, the cream-and-gold dress shirt untucked from slacks, no tie, jacket or waistcoat to be found aside from where they've been tossed over a wooden chair by the desk he never uses.

And is mildly surprised to see who it is, but at least it has him opening the door a little wider to show more than just a four inch slice of himself. He glances towards the watch strapped around his wrist, on the hand braced against the edge of the door. "You're not off your shift yet?" Logan asks, only seeing the bottle of vodka after the fact.

Toru shakes his head, and lifts the bottle a bit even after Logan notices it. Gesturing-like. "Yeah, yo. I know you don't like hangin' with the help when we're on the clock." Figuratively speaking, of course, unless there actually is a literal timeclock somewhere in the establishment. It's always a possibility.

And if this were anyone else, he would probably shove his way into the door, but employers get a bit more respect than that. "I figured I'd stop by for a chat, like. I mean, if that's cool." It may well be noted that while working, Toru tends to shed a few layers of clothing - down to just pants and a t-shirt of some sort. No long sleeves, in the event that skin exposure is necessary. The shirt, at least, is generally something tasteful and solid-colored. Or, at most, stripes. His fingerless gloves have been slipped on for the social call, however, and go down to his elbows.

With that explanation and implicit request for permission given, he nods curiously towards the office, general demeanor asking, 'shall we?' But he does add another of his self-deprecatory, "I can piss off if you'd prefer," comments. In precisely those words.

Logan's fingers rap against the wooden frame in contemplative taps before he pushes the door open all the wider, letting it swing back on its hinged and trading the soft lighting of the lamps inside his room for the sharper, harder angles of light coming from the hallway Toru is lingering in. "Could do with a drink," he says, by way of permission, moving further inside and adding, "Shut the door on your way in."

The place isn't as immaculate as it usually is, but any messiness is kept mainly to the coffeetable's surface. Spilled tobacco leaf and, well, other leaf, an emptied wine glass and a few cigarette papers scattered haphazard from when he had last been entertaining someone in this room.

"Timely, that you should come by, I'd been hoping to have a word with you," Logan adds as he sits back down upon a divan, one leg curling up onto it in a half recline. His voice is dull, although that might simply be due to the hour and usually weariness, but he's also been elusive lately, mostly since the break in. He makes a gesture towards the tea tray. "Glass're over there."

Door is indeed shut as Toru enters, though he would have done that anyway, and he slips his shoes off before entering the office proper. Mildly unusual; not something he's ever actually done before. He strides in on socked feet, fairly used to the layout of the room by now, and is almost on his way to get glasses before Logan's comment leads to a minor twinge of nervousness.

In Toru's experience, it is not generally a good thing when the boss wants to have a word with you. Especially not after what the boy thinks of as having been a Major Disappointment on his part. He does try not to show his sudden anxiety, but there is some tension as he opens the bottle, pours a couple of glasses, and hands one over to Logan before sitting down himself on a couch opposite.

Once he's settled, Toru takes a few small sippies from his drink, holding it in both hands in between tastes; he isn't actually used to vodka. "So, uh, what's up, boss?"

Taking the glass from Toru with only a bat of an eye of acknowledgment, Logan shifts to recline on the couch, back against the curved up arm and soaking up the comfort to be gained from it. He takes a long, pulling sip from his glass, the burn of alcohol both tolerated and enjoyed and swallowed like broken glass. It always gets easier towards the end.

"I am not sure for how long I can stay on this island," he starts, eyeing his drink more than Toru. "And how long the Dagger can be maintained. But I have my sights set on the mainland where I should be able to get some protection, but not for some time yet."

One month, one year. Logan lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and he's not attempting to veil the despondence that remains obvious in posture and expression and to some degree, his tone of voice - all of which hard a guarded sort of Englishness to it, to be fair. "Anyway." His tone sharpens in business-like cheer as he continues. "Should I take my business of Staten, I would have a select few come with me. Feel like going on an adventure?"

"Wait, what?" That was pretty much the last thing Toru had expected to hear at this juncture. The opposite was expected; 'you done fucked up and now you're fired', was more where his mind wandered. "I mean - sure, I'll come along if you want. That's the job, right?" Sip. "But why're you is this about that Card guy?" He's gone and gotten so surprised he's forgetting to talk like a thug, even.

"You're not gonna let that dude scare you, are you?" Let's not mention that just a few days ago he himself had been freaking out about that very same thing, but he hadn't really expected it to have an effect on his fearless leader. "And we were just talking the other week about how much the mainland sucks, right? That Monroe guy and all that."

Sip. He takes a moment to calm down a bit, as well. "And cops. Fucking cops. Vice, man. I dunno about England or wherever, but brothels aren't really legal here." It is, at this point, that he finally realizes that the 'cheer' to this revelation didn't come until the end. Wait a second, back up. "—-Is this about that Card guy? I can go take care of him if you need me to. Like I did with Tucker, right?"

"No, it— "

Okay, maybe a little bit. Restlessly, Logan lets out a sigh, swirling around the clear liquid within the glass with a loose-wristed gesture of irritation. "It's called self-preservation. And making sure there's a way out if everything goes to hell. I'm not saying to jump on a boat tomorrow, or this week. Hell, even this month. Four men were killed last week, however, and there are friends I could be making across the river if I'd rather not see that happen again."

He knocks back a decent mouthful of vodka, shakes his head. "Staten Island isn't so unique, just easier. You still have the Flying Dragons running Chinatown, and god knows how much Linderman has under his hand." He offers a smile across at Toru, faint and weary. "Relax. The Dagger is my home, but I'd rather secure an entourage in advance. However, if you want to finish off Richard Cardinal, be my guest. If he isn't dying a slow, painful death somewhere by now."

"It kinda sounds like you know somethin's gonna happen, boss." Sip. Slow sigh. "I guess you'd know about keepin' stuff runnin', you are the one with the business and all." There's a small smile there as he looks over at Logan, shrugs, then abruptly breaks eye contact. "I guess I uh.. don't really know what's goin' on, huh?" Shaking his head, he tilts it back and gulps down the rest of his vodka with a few coughs.

"I mean I heard you hired a new guy and— did he find Cardinal for ya?" Doesn't even question that that must be how Logan knows the name. "But I didn't hear about any of that other stuff. I mean, I know about the Flying Dragons of course," and there he looks off to the side, an irritated expression on his face. He'd spit, if he wasn't indoors.

"— But I'unno this Linderman guy and I heard a little about dudes getting killed but I'unno what happened with that, neither. This kinda sounds like it has to do with what I came to talk to you about, though."

"I wouldn't be making plans if I didn't think something could happen." Logan shifts enough to pick up the largely untapped bottle of vodka, refilling his glass a generous amount, the liquid coming thick from the long neck of the bottle. "I hired someone for what he knows. He knew Cardinal's name, understands, it seems, whether or not he could be considered a real threat. Shook him from the shadows, as it were. The men that were killed— that was due to a break in. It doesn't matter."

Apparently, dead men don't. The butt of the vodka bottle makes a heavy sounding thud against the wood once its set down, and he thinks to push it nearer to Toru in offer. "You'll follow, that's all I cared to know," he says, easing back into the couch.

"What did you care to chat about?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's steady work, I ain't got that much reason not to go along. I still got a place in Chinatown even if I do spend mosta my time here." A 'just in case' provision of his own. And apparently he feels the need to explain his decision, despite Logan saying he heard what he needed to.

Nods are offered at appropriate times during Logan's own explanation, and as he listens, Toru does lean forward to pour himself some more drink; that done, he reclines in his own seat, drawing socked feet up against himself, cozy-like. He sips from his glass, new position making it a teensy bit awkward, and mulls his question around for a moment.

"Thing is, I mean I can tell you ain't in a great mood so I don't mean to twist the knife or anything, but I was kinda wondering why it is that, er. So many people seem to not like you." He drinks about half his glass after asking that, shakes his head quickly. "I mean with the business you're runnin' you'd think guys'd be happy to see ya around."

Not in a great mood? Surely not. However, no protest is made, even if he comes close to one, head angling at a tilt and eyes narrowing across at Satoru as he makes his meandering way around to the point. There's a certain silence, and surely employee will be bracing himself with the news that he's just committed some great offense as Logan considers a response—

"The people that don't like me are the ones who realise that when a threat is made on this island, it's seen through," he states. "At least by me. Few people are truly willing to carry out their convictions, not without some elaborate moral reason. I do it to keep my business running. To keep myself alive."

Another stinging sip of alcohol. "So I've hurt people, if they've gotten in my way. People who have the luxury of friends, and so it goes." The smile that accompanies the words is genuine. "I think they should just get used to it. What do they think this island is, anyway? There's no police, the government won't touch it. We make our own bloody law."

And it is a bloody law. "I'm not moralising, anyway, and they will. But in the end, everyone has their reasons to not like me, and I don't like them anyway. Got plenty of people who do."

The explanation garners a mild rolling of the eyes from Satoru, though at the content rather than the person detailing it. And certainly the pause did have him worrying, but we won't reference that. No, instead— "I probably shoulda figured it was something retarded like that. Like that Cardinal guy, goes on about how terrible you are and tells me I need to get off the island if I can't handle harpoons getting shot at me. And he doesn't like you 'cause you make good on your word?"

He shakes his head, sighs, sips his drink. "I mean, maybe he's right about the harpoon thing— " which would be somewhat ridiculous, "— but he gotta practice what he preaches if that's the case. I mean shit, what, people expect you to be all nice? We're friggin' criminals. This ain't like."

Partially-full glass is waved about idly, as Toru searches for the word he wants to use. He manages not to spill any in the process. "— Well whatever, we ain't high society. Not a friggin' tea party or nothin. Like you said, we make the laws, if people can't follow 'em they need to go somewhere they can handle shit."

The subtle smile Logan had given spreads into something wider, more amused and a little hazy from the liberal sips of alcohol he's enjoying. "Exactly," he near purrs, before bringing up his glass to knock back once more, second drink of straight vodka gone and percolating in his bloodstream. He doesn't immediately go for a third, eyes shutting for a moment to enjoy the chemical effects drinking gives.

And for Toru's efforts, his own pleasant buzz heightens a fraction, something a little deeper than simple alcohol, but very similar. "I'm used to places that are run the way I run things," Logan finally offers. "Which isn't supposed to be an excuse, it's just what I know. Staten Island— there are more Staten Islands in the world, wherever you go. Just ones that aren't quite so lucky."

Sliding down further in his seat, to the point where he is just about lying on his back, Toru rests his glass on his chest - still holding it, of course - and stares up at the ceiling for a long moment. "I mean, it's nice and all not havin' to worry about the cops, y'know? I never really did the thug stuff before here so I'm used to not havin' to watch out for popos. And tell ya the truth, I like it more when you have me go out and enforce shit insteada just hangin' out here and bouncing."

Carefully, he picks up his glass and, opening his mouth, pours the remainder in. And stifles a laugh that threatens to force it right back out before he swallows it. Rolling onto his side, the glass is set on the floor, and Toru lets his arm dangle as he looks over to Logan. "I ain't got no problem with that or nothin', it's just getting to bone people's a better time. How about.." The voice starts to slur, and he points at Logan slowly, hand falling to the floor again. "How about I go bring a girl up 'ere and bone 'er up? That'd be fun."

A short hyena chuckle is Logan's response, before lanky legs are swung back over the side of the divan so he might go for the refill after all, glass meeting glass in a loud clink. "Unfortunately," and apparently, mid-word emphasis is a staple of inebriation for the Englishman, "security's tightened since the last break-in, so you're going to have to do a bit more've that, aren't you."

A swig of vodka is consumed, eyelashes batting along with the harsh taste, the glass lowered and rotated with longer fingers. "Hurts 'em, doesn't it?" he asks, as if perhaps this were an important concern, before he shrugs, tips the glass in a gesture that doesn't have spirit spilling everywhere, somehow; "Yeah, why not. Wouldn't want you getting bored or nothing."

"Hurts like friggin'.. it itches mostly." Vague sort of gesture. "I mean I'm assumin' it feels the same for everyone else as me. Hurts. Burny, sorta." Toru sets to scratching his arm almost as if he had indeed just used his ability on himself, but eventually just lets his hands drop again. Rolling over onto his stomach, he pushes himself up a bit, then pauses, lowering himself again. "— Yer makin' funna me, aren'tcha?" Hrmph. And thus he rolls back onto his back, drapes one arm over his chest, the other still hanging over the edge of his sofa.

"I mean like I said it ain't a big deal or nothin', I mean it's what I pretty much asked for the job for, I didn't really figure you'd send me out to do stuff like Tucker. 'S just cool now I know about that kinda thing." Hand waved idly, he then rests the back of his wrist over his eyes, grunting. "Plenty other people make funna me, boss, you don't gotta do it too."

There's a quiet, velvety chuckle from Logan's direction this time, muffled towards the end as he takes another sip, and then a warm, enwrapping silence descends, seems to fit comfortably beneath the effects of alcohol, before Logan's voice pierces it again.

"Do you like it, then?"

Curious in tone, prodding. The pimp remains sitting, elbows on his knees and back curved in poor but comfortable posture. "What you do, when you do it to others? I mean, other'n kicks of being a tough guy, I suppose, but the actual act. Is it enjoyable?"

"I'unno what you mean, what do I do." Toru sounds mildly annoyed at the wording, but the irritation fades away soon enough. "I mean.. it's just, it's cool. Nobody else c'n do it and it's an awesome.. thing. It's awesome," he amends his previous statement. Turns his head to look over to Logan, but remains lying on his back, sock-feet folded up against himself.

"I mean I'm pretty sure there ain't anybody can say 'look, some asshole turned my hand to fuckin' bone' and be talkin' about anybody else. I kinda used to feel weird 'bout usin' it 'cause I couldn't turn it back and I dunno what'd happen if someone went to the cops 'cause I'm the only person can do it, though. But since I can fix it now I ain't worried." Digging around with his draped hand, he seeks out his empty glass, and tilts it back into his mouth just in case he missed a drop or two; too lazy to just pour more.

"Plus it makes people feel dumb for lookin' at me and figurin' I'm nothin'. Fuck you, I'll bone your ass up." All said quite calmly, of course.

"You have a way with words," Logan says, pointedly, but almost good natured. He lists to the side, coming to lean against the arm of the couch. "Has anyone ever told you that? 's the thing. Everyone thinks what they can do makes them so very… unique. Special. Powerful. 's fun, watching it— seeing what happens when it's taken away. Not always 'cause they're inprotected suddenly, but for the simple fact it's— "

A wave of his glass. "It's just gone, so what's left?" And Logan disappears the last of his third glass, mutters a curse once he does and decidedly puts the glass back down. No touching.

Toru does almost take that remark in a bad way, but he's otherwise in a good mood, and so lets it slide with only a brief expression of distaste. "'m not dumb," he protests, half-heartedly. "Jus' lazy. Didn' finish school, y'know? I coulda. Just didn' care." Shrugging, he lets out a long breath.

"…'d I tell you 'bout Moab? They take yer powers away there." He doesn't remember how much he'd actually told his boss, and that isn't necessarily because of the booze. It isn't a topic he likes to reminisce about. But nonetheless, his chin is lifted, and injection-site scar is gestured to. "That's the worst part. Nobody like.. I mean TV and shit, people in prison are all riled, but over in Moab pretty much everyone w's always really down. It just…" Closing his eyes, Toru rolls back onto his side, facing Logan but at the same time not really looking at him. "…it's like losin' an arm or somethin'. Not just 'cause yer not special, it.. it's just part of you's gone."

That manages to spark some intrigue in Logan, the pimp's eyes narrowing across at Satoru. "They do that now, do they?" he says, looking towards the injection scar on the younger man's throat. "Fuck. World keeps spinnin' this fast and— " It's an incomplete thought, waving the sentence away. "Suppose— castration's the only thing they can do with a prisonload of super human criminals. Fortunate for you they haven't quite worked it out yet. How to tame us."

"Every day they come in and hold you down and give you a fucking shot, and it's just worse if you fight. Put you in solitary and you think it won't be that bad but it is and.." Fists are clenched as Toru's voice picks up speed, slowly rising in volume as well. "And the food sucks and everyone's a downer and I won't go back." He punches the sofa, and quite suddenly pushes himself to the floor, scurrying across and over to grab at Logan's shirt.

"I don't wanna go back, that Fed, that— that Ivanov guy, he would've taken me back.." near panic starts to set in as he looks up at his employer, desperately. "I just— I'm scared of that place, alright? Don't let 'em take me back." He gnaws on the inside of his bottom lip, gulps. "Please."

Logan doesn't move. In fact, he goes very still around the time Toru's hands makes a gloved fist around the expensive fabric of his shirt, as if wary that the younger man's wrath was, irrationally, going to be directed at him and Mu-Qian would be filling in more scars and bruises. But no.

His hand drifts to grip Toru's shoulder. "You won't be going to prison, none've us will," he assures, tone sweet and lazy from the vodka. Logan's hand slides up over the curve of Toru's shoulder, enough for his fingertips to find the base of the thug's neck, a slow release of endorphins following at the barest brush of skin. It's not subtle but there's little reason to be, and in the hazy lighting, perhaps it just seems like Logan's eyes have caught the light rather than glow greener independently. His other hand settles on Toru's arm, companionably. "If we go across the river, it'll be somewhere safer than even here, trust me. I wouldn't otherwise."

'Across the river' even makes it sound nicer, really; like the end of an arduous voyage. And Toru even says as much, though perhaps not as confidently. "That does kinda sound nice. 'Cross the river." There's a small smile there, finally, positive mood coming back on a smooth wave of endorphins. "I just.. I dunno what I'd do, y'know." Not really a question, that latter address added mostly out of habit.

He lowers his head a bit, resting it on the upholstery of the divan, and looking up at Logan with puppy-like eyes. "I.. I guess you're right. I guess you wouldn't get outta here if it was gonna be worse, huh?" Another smile there. It's almost like he's trying to be cute. "You're not dumb." Closing his eyes for a moment, he takes in a few slow breaths, opens them again, and looks up. "You got green eyes, boss." Not the glowing he notices, so much as the color.

Euphoria continues to spool out, a steady if still subtle dose, making the world seem fuzzy, pretty, warm. Logan's hand moves and rests perhaps intrusively but confidently on the curve of Toru's throat, palm warm but fingers minorly cold, if not so uncomfortably. "Been told that," he agrees, the colour of green made into crescents as he lets eyelids rest heavy, as if somehow vicariously appreciating the play of biological chemical he's conducting. There's a minor graze of nails as Logan's fingers curl a fraction, and he tilts his head, regarding Satoru.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Wasn' sure you noticed.." the boy's somewhat ridiculous reply comes with a stifled giggle, and he lifts a hand to cover his mouth. At the same time, while Logan's arm is eyed with the barest hint of suspicion, he blissfully replies, "Yeah, I'm alright.." Eyes close, slow breaths inhaled and exhaled through nostrils. Still, though, he does keep fairly still; a sense of caution, but a relaxed one. He can be careful without losing his good mood.

"…this is some good booze. I don't.. don't usually drink vodka much." With senses dulled in more ways than one, it's easy enough for him to blame the factor that he is aware of.

"It's very good, isn't it." Not a lie. It courses through Logan's own veins, warm under his clothing, though nothing near as exciting as what his ability can achieve, but there is something similar, he imagines, anyway. He deviates between envy and relief that such gifts can't be turned back in on himself, he's not sure what would happen if he could.

Something a bit like the drug addicts he so enjoys using. Logan has enough self-restraint to avoid the prick of a needle, but if you could switch it on with a thought…

There is no ceasing of the euphoria, and Logan's hand goes to clasp a little firmer. There's the sound of shifting fabric as the older man smoothly slides off the divan, long legs folding beneath him and bright green eyes coming to level with Satoru, and he's smiling— as if enjoying his own private joke— around the time Toru is pulled into a kiss.

He could get punched for this. It wouldn't be the first time. Toru could quit, too, and maybe Logan won't even have the manpower to hunt him back down. But he damns the consequences every time, some limbo between self-preservation and the need to just— try it. At least he's pretty certain he's not going to get bitten, anyway.

That tightening around his neck is what Toru had been worried about; he gulps, a bit uncomfortably with his throat clasped, and stares into Logan's eyes. There is some fear there, hidden amidst his blissful haze - fear both of having the life choked out of him, fear that he won't care enough to try and stop it and, ironically, some apathy in regards to both of those fears. In the end, though, it's more curiosity than fear or malice that leads him to choke out, "Boss— "

— which is cut off abruptly with the contact of lips. Not something he would have begun to expect, and rather than lash out in rage, he just.. tenses up. But it does feel good.. even if in the back of his head he's protesting. If pressed, he can always explain away the lack of anger as professional obligation; this is his boss, he can't just protest. And quitting certainly isn't an option.

And so after his initial terror response, Toru raises a gloved hand, grabbing hold of the front of Logan's shirt. Breath coming heavily, the kiss is returned with an enthusiasm that surpasses the level of 'necessity', and indeed, he almost seems comfortable in this position.

Sick, he'd said, on the boat over to Manhattan for a visit far briefer than what Logan had proposed several minutes ago. Who knows, maybe Logan changed his mind. Maybe there was no change needed. He'll find out later, of that the pimp is certain, but for now

For now he reaps what he's sown. There's an easiness to the way Logan simply accepts the enthusiasm, matches it, winds a long arm around Toru and draws him in closer, a hand fisting around the fabric of the younger man's shirt at the small of his back. In contrast, the simmering of euphoria is dialed back to nothing— there's no sense in getting the boy utterly stoned.

There's no fun in that, although he always can. Sometimes will. As the kiss breaks, Logan's head angles into a tilt, slightly duller green eyes than before studying Toru's features, silent for the moment as he his turns to trail the backs of his knuckles down Toru's throat, a far less invasive hold than the clasp previously. Amusement is only found in the curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth, eyes partially hooded.

He'd also been very needlessly protesting of the idea, both on the boat and on other occasions when the subject hadn't been breached until he found a reason to bring it up. Doubtless he'll later deny everything, but right now he's intoxicated both from the liquor and the rush of endorphins..

..which are abruptly depleted by Logan, and Toru looks a bit shaky for a moment as his body struggles for chemical balance. Pulse quavers underneath Logan's hand, and for a moment the younger man just sits there in awkward motionlessness, uncertain exactly how best to proceed. A series of emotions play across his features, from that euphoric feeling to panic, a vague sense of confusion, and then— sudden ferocity.

Logan's shirt is pulled at, with little regard for its price, and Toru leans in with a low growl. Right hand maintains its grip, while the left hooks around to grip the older man by the back of his hair, going in for a significantly more violent kiss. Teeth are involved, though if nothing else he is at least careful not to draw blood.

It's all good. Logan doesn't mind when blood is spilled on $200 shirts, either, in the heat of very different kinds of moments, never mind the wrinkles gripping hands can bring. There's a husky, surprised sound at the back of Logan's throat, gone by the time that graze of teeth is felt and just after that grip to gold-blonde hair, and the aggressive kiss is met passively until responded to, hands coming to tighten on the younger man.

Approval manifests in the tug at Toru's shirt, at the hitch in breathing and the way Logan keeps his eyes comfortably closed, hiding any telltale hints as to whether he's keeping Toru's system free of manipulation or not.

Free, being the answer. Logan knows some restraint, after all, although not, apparently, when it comes to following through with his convictions. And somehow in the lavish room of overly soft furniture and luxury, Toru's back will find the harder floor beneath it instead.

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