Owner	Pose
Graydon Creed	The world of professional mercs has it's own kind of underworld social network. You know a guy who knows a guy who heard a thing about some guy. Well, one of those things is that Hanno Kamogi AKA: "The Ripper." had a cushy job doing private self defense training for some hard core fight enthusiast yuppy type. However Hanno reached a point where even he didn't think the job was worth it because the guy was always pushing for more and more extreme forms of training and combat. Poor little Ripper became afraid for his life so he started looking around for a replacement teacher. Word got out that his special client was no other than Senator "Lock up all the mutants" Creed himself. Hanno offered contact information with someone who worked for the Senator. And several people were given try-outs but had little to offer the client that he hasn't already learned from other teachers. Creed was looking for someone special. Someone who had something no one else did. Some skill or ability, some unique thing that made them stand out above the rest. Daken was offered a turn to prove himself, Hanno arranged a meeting at an old warehouse at the docks converted into a private boxing ring and gym for clients with high privacy needs. Creed is already inside warming up by bare fisted punching a heavy bag in a pair of boxing shorts and a tank top while his private security stands guard. He has been attacked by mutant terrorists, twice now, so his security detail has been upped to including heavier weapons. The Senator, rarely seen outside of a full suit, looks pretty damn sexy for a politician. Buff, well defined, muscular, the peak of human condition, with scars from knife fights on his arms and a burn mark on one of his thighs. There is a bite mark on one shoulder that looks like got into an argument with a small shark or maybe a very toothy mutant.
Daken	Daken isn't on time perfectly, but he's close. Some would call him fashionably late, others would likely assume that he either wasn't able to find the place or didn't want to look like a patsy; being on time usually means you're a pushover and haven't adequately scoped out the surroundings. Whatever took his time, he's a few minutes past the meeting time. But meetings with those on the more interpretive side of the law are rarely ever quite so strictly-regimented. "Hey." The mohawked man calls from the doorway, where he waits with a couple of those security detail. They haven't been able to get too close, though. They don't dare. Of course, his pheromones are out in full force, but other than that, he's also a profoundly good manipulator. He's not bothered by the heavier weapons; it's just a sign of someone's insecurity and fear, which is exactly what he likes to work with. "Looking good. You'd look better in less. Tell me..." Daken strolls in, and probably gets a gun or two pointed in his direction. "Are you wanting to improve because you've got 'pissing yourself' level security, or because you really wanna make them work for their pay?"
Graydon Creed	The Senator turns and looks over at the new arrival Mohawk and tats, the tats match the description. "At ease. He's the trainer." the Senator says catching his breath and toweling off his face then hands. He walks over to meet Daken halfway in the middle, "Thanks. I try and keep in shape. In fact, keeping my edge is why I invited you here. I heard you were one of the best in hand to hand combat. I need someone who can push my limits." Creed says as he offers his hand to the trainer, "Also, I'm told I have anger issues. Fighting lets me let off some steam." the man explains, all professional and reserved. If it wasn't for the roadmap of pain on his body you would think he had never been in a serious fight. He walks, talks and acts like someone who doesn't belong in a fight at all, but Daken knows why. He's seen eyes like the eyes of Graydon creed many times. Lying eyes. A sociopath, maybe a psychopath, someone who makes up truth as they go. Masks on top of masks on top of masks hiding a killer under them. Who the real person is even they may not know. "Sorry, Hanno didn't offer your name." he says, "I'm Graydon, Graydon Creed." Funny, that's Sabertooth's real last name too.
Daken	Daken moves with purpose, and it's easy to see with how little he's wearing: leather-looking pants and boots of the same color, all black to go with his hair and the tattoos that wind over one side of his devastatingly well-cut torso. He almost seems too pretty, too perfect, to be so experienced in the extreme sort of fighting and escapades in general that he's been said to be...but one never can trust appearances. When he gets close enough, he looks right into the man's eyes... And Daken grins, baring his teeth for a throaty laugh. He recognizes the bloodlust and the need to do what, unquestionably, the man does, though also unquestionably behind locked doors. Probably electrified, locked doors. "You certainly are." He shifts his weight to one side, one hip, stable...and he glances to the hand, then back up to the man's face. "If you're expecting me to take that, with your reputation..." It doesn't seem to have upset him or even slightly put a dent in his apparently good mood, but Daken likewise doesn't seem too inclined to go for a handshake. "I require payment in full before anything. Untraceable bank account, untraceable funds." It's all listed off as lightly as something like this can be. "You try anything, I'll kill you. *They* try anything," he jerks his head back towards the door, "I'll kill them. Then you. As for what you can call me...I'm partial to 'master', but I'm flexible." To demonstrate, apparently, he walks to the nearest side of the boxing ring and stretches one leg out straight against it, leaning his whole upper body down the length of it. He could probably bend himself into a pretzel if necessary.
Graydon Creed	Not quite up to speed on every mutant in existence the Senator looks confused and unsure why the trainer would think he wants to kill him. Killing him would make it so he couldn't learn anything. "Master it is then." Graydon says then he looks over at the security detail who seem worried about the guy, "I'm sure if he wanted to kill me he could do it before you could gun him down so really, you can't do anything to protect me with those. Guard outside so you don't make him nervous, please. If he kills me, have fun shooting up the place. I won't care, I'll be dead." the guards are not happy. Why is it the powerful people are always so determined to put themselves in danger? After they leave Creed walks over to one of the large training mats. He's already stretched out, nice and limber. Rolling his neck he starts to dance like a boxer on the balls of his feet as he loosens up. "I've heard the name but I can't place it. Have I tried to kill you before? Why would you think I want to kill you?" he asks with that lying look of innocence. His every motion, every movement, so that Daken underestimates him. Slower than it could be, each bounce from one foot to the other not quite the same distance apart, he adjusts his center of gravity when it naturally falls to the right place so it's too high making himself look like he knows less than he does but for someone like Daken it's pretty obvious that he is Acbaring the "Master" by trying to look less trained than he is.
Daken	"Because you do." The answer is simple, and it's stated plainly as fact. Daken stretches the other leg, then goes to his arms, which has the added effect of showing off his every muscle above the waist, which has been so accommodatingly exposed to view. "You want to kill. You're a killer. You're a monster that wears an insincere smile." Daken says all of this as he's smiling too, a resting sort of pleasant expression. It's probably just as insincere, though there seems to be some measure of truth in it. Perhaps it's his appreciation for someone who, like him, wrestles with certain urges and deals with certain needs. "I hope you've heard the name 'master' before. It's pretty common, I understand." He slips up closer to Creed, but not quite in arm's length yet...just outside of that space. "So...I take it you're more of a pugilist than a grappler. You like how it feels to hit something with your fists, but you don't strike me as someone who can wrestle well." His grin widens, and he glances over Creed's form again, returning to rest at his face. "I'd say we could get a keg of olive oil, strip down to the skin, and revive the gymnastic tradition, but politicians aren't usually that adventurous. They like toilets in public parks, rent boys, and rough trade. So...cestus, maybe? Or we could just wrap and chalk it and see where our knuckles take us."
Graydon Creed	Creed smiles a more genuine smile, "No, I mean that name." he says then motions to the tats, "It's unique. I can't place where I've seen it. A police report, FBI. Something." he says his eyes lingering on Daken's midriff as that killer in him slips out a little. He closes his eyes a moment and takes a breath. It's the first real moment of emotion he has. The killer in him clawing at his insides like a great beast trying to get out of a cage to fight with another beast. Only one can be king of the jungle. Creed represses a lot, to the point it is very unhealthy, it's probably why he's on the path to being a genocidal dictator. He actually takes a step back looking unsure what is happening. It's like something inside him wants a grudge match with something inside Daken, "Yeah, I usually use my hands, knives, hands on." he says looking off his game all of the sudden, whether from the effects of the pheromones or his lack of control of his more primal side. "It's therapeutic." he claims but he feels weird like there is something wrong with him or maybe, just maybe, something right that he tries to keep locked away.
Daken	"Probably both, if they're any count." Daken takes the step forward when Creed steps back, then takes another after it, placing himself well within arm's reach now. He breathes slowly, chest rising and falling, spreading and contracting again, showing the musculature better every time. It's hard to avoid it catching the eye. He smells *so* good, but that's exactly what he wants to happen. And he's got that highly frustrating quality about him that makes it hard to decide whether one wants to sex him up or take him out or some twisted combination of the two. It's in every slightest movement of that perfectly-calculated body, standing before Creed. He lifts his arms to run his hands through his mohawk, ending with his hands folded on the back of his neck. "Daken," he rumbles, offering that as a sort of confirmation of what the other man probably suspected. "You want to put your hands on me. What do you intend to *do* with those hands?" In truth, he's impressed that Creed actually recognizes the tattoo. Bonus points that he actually looked and didn't try to look somewhere else, anywhere in the room but at the showy body of another man. There's no room for that kind of nonsense in this kind of engagement; it gets you killed. Sometimes, by Daken.
Graydon Creed	And here is Creed's problem in life. He wants to be a good person but he's not. He fights it every day, he tries to make the world a better place but there is that thing clawing at the back of his mind. "Yes!" he hisses yes he wants to touch and hurt and taste and fuck and do all those animal things that are in his blood but he fights it, "I mean, no. I.. something's wrong with me. Stay back." he says putting his hand up he takes another few steps back, "I shouldn't be.." he doesn't finish the sentence instead he takes another step back and closes his eyes taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. Which, is really the worst possible thing he could do but he doesn't know that. "You need to leave before I hurt you. Really hurt you." he says his hands clenching together into fists, "Talk to the guards outside, they'll transfer the money or give you gold." he says trying to end whatever -this- is before he ends up killing someone with his security personnel right outside. Poor guy, trying so hard to be normal instead of what he is.
Daken	There's progress! Progress! So Daken does the only thing that he really could do in the circumstances. He's certainly not going to just take the easy way out and get the money for doing nothing here, now. This is too much fun, and it promises to get even funner. Daken closes the distance between them, pressing right up, front to front. "Really hurt me? *I* think...you should show me what you can do, with all those manly muscles and the fists you're trying not to make." Daken could probably list all the muscles Creed's flexing right now, but he'll keep that as an ace in the hole. Just in case him being even more physical doesn't work.
Graydon Creed	Like a black boiling caldron of rage from the gates of hell something busts it's lid inside Creed and all of his years of therapy, all of his years of training and self control just kind of falls away. He takes one more step back but it's not to retreat, it's to shift his body weight into a brutal, haymaker of a punch as he yells, "Leave me alone!" the swing is easy for Daken to dodge, clumsy because the man isn't just fighting Daken but himself as well and Creed is losing to that beast his father gave him. "Who the hell are you?!" he demands swinging again and again first at Daken's face then his body. Creed isn't even sure he's fighting Daken or maybe he's just using him as a surrogate to beat the living shit out of those feelings he has inside him. "Get out! I don't want you in here!" he yells but he's not sure who he's talking too really, the man or the feelings. Creed only knows something is horribly wrong. This is suppose to be a pressure valve to let off steam, not to let it explode.
Daken	Daken could dodge the clumsy, rage-induced blows, but he moves in a perfect choreography of almost too-imperfect motion. It's like a dance designed to be convincingly half-assed, and Creed might even notice it, if he can look past his blinding anger. Daken allows a number of the punches to connect, even a couple in the face. As brutal as they are, Daken doesn't seem to be particularly injured for any length of time. He must not have hit as hard as it felt; there's a little blood, but the thumps and crunches meeting his fists don't seem to actually have caused any real harm. The grunts that Daken makes as he moves, especially when he's hit, are...enticing, to say the least. It's as if he's trying to encourage more of it. Like he really derives great pleasure from the situation, which he can't deny he does. Just not in the way Creed probably can handle right now, and no way that any of those mindless followers outside could understand. Daken does a backflip, then a backwards handvault, before springing up to his feet and reaching down to pull one boot off, then the other, all the while working to now stay just outside of arm's reach. Each boot is discarded on the floor, leaving him in bare feet...the better to move with. "You want me...in here. It scares you, just how much you want me."
Graydon Creed	"No! I won't be like him! I'm not like him!" Creed says but he's lying to himself, it's always been true and it too late now to stop it. The beast has gnawed its way out of its bonds thanks to those lovely Pheromones. Layer after layer of controls shatter and Creed's body changes, his attacks become less haphazard, less about fighting his own distress and more focused on causing pain. Punch after punch, nerve strikes, guy punches, clawing swipes as the man gives way to the best inside him and sex, oh yes, the smell of sex, desire. He wants to feel everything! He's been trying to be such a good man for so long, he's been trying to do the right things, trying to lock it all away but now, now he finds himself feeling something he never gets to feel: Happy. Flesh on flesh, pain and blood, he growls in frustration as Daken flips away then, of all the strange things to do, he starts to laugh. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he sways a little like he's drunk, which he is just with feelings he's tried to stop himself from feeling. "What did you do to me?" he asks then laughs again and drops into a combat crouch, "I'm going to rip out your tongue and use it as a neck tie!" he swears as he starts to circle the undressing man, giving him time to ready himself. Creed was already bare foot. "That bitch at that school sent you didn't she. You're one of them? A telepath inside my head?" yes, blame the mutants! He must be doing something to Creed. It can't be his fault.
Daken	Daken starts to laugh, and this time it's sharper than the last little chuckle he gave. This time it's actually felt and actually meant. "I'm not a telepath." That one, he'll file away for a rainy day. Being mistaken for someone that can read someone's mind, that's a compliment. He considers telepathy the easy way. He's worked for decades on his own method, which involves no psionic gift. But maybe a little nudge or two from chemicals not everybody has access to; he'll take that slight boost. The pheromones, he's happy to drive people crazy with...or maybe bring them to their right minds. This seems more like who Creed really is, and Daken can't deny that he likes it. There's a definite scent of desire among all his perfume, which is only enhanced by the seasoning of fresh sweat. "You can tear off the rest of my clothes if you want to," he offers then, stilling himself in the center of the circle Creed makes. "But you're really dangerously close to getting me interested in you." When it's fun, light little things like curiosity about Dick Grayson or finding Doug Ramsey adorkable, it's relatively harmless -- things to pass the time, small mysteries to solve, potential allies that might be of use, or maybe they'd surprise him with greater depths and further levels. Maybe they'd even be interested in his levels, he can't be sure. But when it's Graydon Creed shattering past all the masks he puts on to seem respectable, that enthralls Daken. As dangerously as he said. This is what really gets him hot.
Graydon Creed	Creed looks like he wants to, oh, he really, really wants to. He has both a raging anger boner and a physical hard on as well straining his pants with a surprisingly well endowed package. "Whatever you're doing, I need you to stop." he says. He laughs again and slaps the side of his head, "But why would I want you to stop? I think this could be the answer to all my problems! I've been working so hard to unite humanity against its enemies when the answer was right in front of me the whole time!" Looking down at the space in front of him like he's looking at a small child or something else in his imagination, "I'll just kill them myself. I'll kill them one at a time! With my own two hands!" he says choking the imaginary enemy in front of him. He's definitely a few cups short of a full tea set. "I'll save everyone. I'll stop them one, bloody little corpse at a time if I have to!" Daken certainly can pick them. Creed is going to need sooo much therapy after this.
Daken	Creed, it seems, is all about surprising Daken today. Here he thought this would be another disappointing, short-lived toy with nothing to offer whatsoever, least of all any *depth* or *breadth*. Or length, as the case may be. That trait certainly doesn't escape his careful scrutiny. Curiously, his own clothing doesn't seem to lend itself to being too easy to tell. He looks the part, his skin glistens with the new sweat, and it makes him look terrible and delectable. He's breathing a little faster than he was, his heart thumping faster. Daken steps closer, step by step, stretching his arms up like a lazy cat. Of course, that makes his scent -- clean and unmistakable -- even stronger. He's good at knowing just how to do that, just how to help those pheromones saturate the air around him. He slowly licks his lips, stepping even closer, close enough to grab and do...who knows what to. "You know," he all but purrs, "you're beautiful when you show me the sensitive part under the skin." It's a bizarre compliment, but it's genuinely meant. "So what are you going to do to me, Mr. Creed?"
Graydon Creed	Creed steps closer this time too looking Darken in the eyes as a hand comes up slowly, gently to traces a line down his muscular, flawless chest, "Something I'm going to regret... "
Graydon Creed	Many, many, hours later the security guards look in to check if everything is ok once the animal noises stop. They see the two men lying next to each other among a pile of lockers. The lockers had gotten knocked over, or perhaps thrown, but they are dented and bent with the towels that were once on the inside now thrown all over the place. Both men are breathing, there is blood... pretty much everywhere but from the things the guards had seen the previous hours that was to be expected. Who even knew a knife could be used like that? The guard closes the door on the happy couple and shakes his head looking at the other guard, "Still not as bad as that Roxxon executive retreat. " and the other guy nods, "Never could figure out how they trained those sharks to do that." Inside the gym Creed lays there, exhausted in every sense of the word while Draken is just peachy! Cheating mutants and their cheating mutie powers. Everything seems fine at first until Creed sits up and looks around. Like a cartoon coyote looking down just before he falls to his death Graydon sees how real his situation is and starts to shake with shock like he was just in a car accident.
Daken	Daken *is* just peachy. In fact, he's better than he has been in years. This is exactly what he's had an itch for that needed scratching, and until today, he had no idea that he'd find it here. His keen judge of character and profound appreciation for the lies people tell themselves have paid off again! Rolling over, only a little bit roughly with the wreckage of his surroundings, Daken reaches over with an arm and slides it softly around Creed, leaning closer to him and kissing his bare shoulder. Of course, this comes with more pheromones, soothing pheromones...it's understandable that the man is a tad alarmed by the very real evidence of what they just did. Honestly, the acts that can only really be called rutting were the least shocking or sanity-shattering. And that was fine, but it was the real skill with blades and the twisted relish with which Creed applied it that *really* made Daken sure this was definitely the psycho he was waiting to meet someday. "Breathe, beautiful," Daken murmurs, rubbing his smooth cheek against the shoulder, nosing the collarbone, then the neck. "I haven't had it that good in a long time." It's like pillow talk, but amid demolished lockers and blood and who knows what else.
Graydon Creed	There is a reason Creed calls himself HorrorShow when he fights with his mask on. Even then he tries not lose control. This was him out of control in a way he's never felt before. He wants to shy away, he wants to be repulsed and throw up, he wants to hate this about himself, he feels like he should hate this. Instead he just does what Daken says tries to breath, "I.. I don't know.." yeah that pretty much covers everything. Sanity shattering violence and sex. "God, I'm just like him aren't I?" he asks not Daken but more the universe. "I knew.. I.. I thought.." well at least he isn't hyperventilating. Blood trickles down his inner thigh where in a psychotically romantic moment he cut a heart shaped scar into his own leg then let Draken clean off the blood in ways he doesn't want to think about right now. Proof it really happened that will last a lifetime.
Daken	"You're nothing like him." Daken eases down to rest his head in Creed's lap, looking mostly up at him and not seeming to mind at all about the blood and everything else around. After the bout they just had, with all of its glorious and terrible majesty, very little about this man could surprise Daken. It might surprise Creed; Daken's greater experience, not to mention desire for the tempting rarity of it, makes it much less traumatic. He lifts a hand, rubbing it lightly, side to side on Creed's chest. "You are magnificently you. I meant what I said...you're *really* good. I mean...you didn't think I was faking, did you?" It makes him laugh again. And maybe his defenses are down, for a time. He knows what Creed is, and he knows himself better than most. His sense of self-preservation will never be placed aside, but right now...right now, he just wants to feel as much in this emotional storm of pleasure as he can. A more naive person might call it "puppy love", which would have ironic tones for Daken, given the meaning of his name. Daken would probably just call it animal lust that finally paid off.
Graydon Creed	Reaching down to gently rub Daken's.. Oh, hello there! The two men rest together sharing touch as Creed has a teeny-tiny emotional break down. Fortunately the complement is something that brings Creed back from the brink of despair, "Really? Thanks. I was never with a man before. Not sure why now. I guess I just never found the right one." he says giving Daken a playful pat, "You were quite adequate." he teases as he looks down at the end of his sanity and smiles at it. He too will have to put his masks back on soon. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to have to pick up the weight of the world again. He doesn't want to be the one trying to save everyone. He just wants to stay here, in this moment, feeling the heat of flesh on flesh, the warm afterglow. The feeling of just being happy but things nag at the back of his mind. "Wait, how do you even know who I'm talking about? I thought you said you weren't a telepath? " he says accusingly but not so upset about it that he stops showing his affection.
Daken	"I'm not." Daken easily answers, utterly nonchalant about the whole thing. It's a familiarity that he knows they share. By now, he's figured out some of the things they have in common, and all things considered, they really do share a number of interests and similar pursuits. As relationships go, there are a lot worse matches in the world that nonetheless see fit to stay together and pretend. Daken shifts his body to the touch and visibly enjoys it, as well as making little sounds of approval at being touched so tenderly and so well. After the more extreme contact they've shared, this is practically aftercare. He laughs at Creed's little joke, affectionately rubs his face against the man's stomach, and murmurs against his skin. "I know who you mean. I'm..." It makes him sigh a little bit to bring it up, but Daken does it anyway. He feels Creed deserves it. "My own father...I'm not like him. And I need vengeance. He has to suffer for what he's done." Then he presses a little kiss right above Creed's navel. "I want to keep training with you. You don't have to pay me." He won't turn it away, naturally, but it's a big enough gesture for him to give the option. "I see this genius, this fire...and I want to be a part of it." And though he'd like to deny the thought, he'd probably let himself be consumed by it if he doesn't think about it.
Graydon Creed	Reaching down with the other hand Creed traces a finger along the line where the mohawk starts, toying with the hairs as he contemplates for a moment then says, "Ironically, just a few days ago a very powerful woman told me I needed to let go of my hate and include more mutants into my life. That we need to work together." he says and gives a little chuckle and a teasing squeeze, "I think you got more into me than I ever expected. I normally hate your kind. I'm sure you've heard about it. What most people don't know is why." Making little circles on Daken's almost bald head with his finger tip, "My father was a mutant, a killer. My mother, a shape shifter who abandoned me for being only human. I've spent my whole life looking for vengeance and I just don't know if it's worth it any more. Seeing what I've seen, my parents just seem so small and insignificant now. " "If you really want revenge I'll help you get it, but you should consider, maybe the best revenge is just moving on and leaving him behind like the garbage he is."
Daken	Daken's eyes light up with not only the touch, but the words said. "Oh yes," he replies, voice deep in the pit of his stomach as he sits up, nuzzling the arm of the hand making circles on his head. "You're right. And I'll move on when I'm satisfied. Right now..." He pauses, then leans closer, his breath hot, carrying faintly metallic tones. "Right now I'm *very* satisfied. But I find your wrath unbelievably attractive. You need an outlet...how long have you bottled this up and sublimated it by trying to sell it to people as some social movement?" He's so close, and he could very well give another of the many lingering, bloody kisses he's given in the past hour...but Daken stays just within breathing. He's not done talking yet. "For years, I just saw my father in everyone and everything. I carved my hate into everything I saw him in. It's not worth it. He demands a focus. When the time comes, then I'll strike him down." He shifts his body, pressing naked chest to naked chest, sticky and caked with remnants of their furious and repeated union. "Your anger is so violent and powerful. It almost makes me want to submit." Then his grin returns, and it's absolutely wicked, and it only becomes more. "Almost."
Graydon Creed	Smiling at Daken Creed admits some of his deepest and darkest, "Oh, you have no idea. I was adopted by a family. The guy beat the shit out of me. I could have stopped it but I liked it because it made me harder. Every time he hit me, I got stronger. Over time, I got so strong, so hard, that when he would punch me I barely flinched and that, that was when I won. That was when I understood, killing them isn't enough, you need to break them." Creed explains petting Daken faster and a little too hard, "You need to take their power. I'm going to cut off his fucking hands and feet, cautorize the wounds and cap them with steel so they can't grow back, I'm going to rip off his jaw gouge out his eyes then melt silver over the hole so he'll spend the rest of his immortal life blind with his tongue hanging out of a gap. "I'm going to just leave him nailed on a wall, unable to die, unable to escape, I'm going to take everything from him and just for fun, from time to time, just for fun, I'll drop by and pump enough food and water into his body to revitalize him then send a hooker to have a good time. I'll make him beg for it, make it the only good thing in his life. Make it the only thing he can feel that isn't pain. Maybe that makes me a sick and perverted person, but you know, I'm ok with it considering all the wrongs he has done." yeah, Creed has... um... issues.
Daken	Daken lingers around Creed's face, listening, letting his eyes close and open every few seconds as he breathes shallow, soft breaths that can be felt hot on the skin. "My mother was killed before I was born. I barely survived. I was adopted by another couple -- my father left before my mother died -- and all I ever got was tormented. Called 'mongrel'. That's what Daken means. Did you know that?" He leans in and gives a soft kiss at the corner of Creed's mouth. And then the talk starts to really get him worked up. He had almost become...tender, something close to loving, but the other man knows exactly how to get him excited again. He pulls his body up and straddles Creed, kind of in his lap and facing him. "I love the way you think. You make me wish I *was* the telepath you thought I was, so I could just lose myself in it." Unf. It's like sweet-talking, to Daken. That kind of revenge talk, that kind of torment talk, it's music to his ears. He rocks his hips up, a time or two, and then sighs, still grinning, as he leans back on his hands. "I need to mark my mongrel territory," Daken remarks, before flexing his shoulders and rolling them forward, pectorals twitching as he starts to lean up. "If you'll excuse me?"
Graydon Creed	Creed nods letting Daken up blinking his watery eyes a few times but says, "I didn't know that. But you know, I was unwanted to. So if you run off, like I think you're going to want to run off because this is kind of more intense than I think either of us are use to, then I want you to know, I was unwanted to." looking down and gathering his courage to say the rest, "So, you know, if you want to, if you ever feel the urge, you can come find me. We can be unwanted together." he says sniffling and trying to seem manly and macho while saying it even though he feels like he's going to cry because he knows this can't last. Both of them are too broken to just live happily together but maybe they can at least be a harbor in the night for each other and maybe once the vengeance is done they can be more?
Daken	Daken stills again and reaches up his hands, running them through Creed's hair, dirty like his own from everything they've occupied themselves doing. "You think I want to run off because this was intense?" Oh, sweet summer child. "It's the intensity that made me want to stay. *I* want you. You're not unwanted." He grins again, letting his fingertips rub in circles, firmly across the man's scalp. "I don't think you've said or done anything since we've met that's made me feel anything but intense desire for you. And what you did with that knife...mmmmmMMMmmm..." Drawing his tongue over his teeth, then back across his lips, Daken leans up to nose at Creed's cheek. His hands glide down the man's neck, over his shoulders. "I can't remember the last time anybody did that to me. I loved every second of it." The heat of his body is so strong, and even with all the other scents in the place, his own personal aroma remains distinctive. "Forget our parents. We may be fucked up, but we're *wanted*." Daken's grin spreads, and he leans up to lick along Creed's cheek, before sitting back. "Now. I'm not running off, but I have a need. If you'd rather I stay here, I can stay...I just can't promise you'll like it." Though to be fair, it would probably be yet another pheromone-rich addition to the mix, so there's no telling.
Graydon Creed	Creed isn't exactly the trusting type when it comes to people not running out on him. He's been hurt so many times he readies himself for it preemptively but maybe this time its different. Enjoying the touch so much, wanting this to last forever he says, "Ok, I'll trust you. Go do what you have to do. " then he pauses thinking of what to say next he wants to say "Don't hurt me, please. Don't go dying on me or getting locked away. My heart will shatter." but instead he says, "Don't make me hunt you down and skull fuck you until you think blue is the taste of the number five. Don't get yourself in trouble. You understand me?"
Daken	Daken starts to move again, but then hums a sound of pleasure and approval, and that turns into a persistent buzz like a low-level, constant moan. He rests his face against Creed's shoulder and pants a little to catch his breath. "You can hunt me down anytime. It's like you know how to always say exactly what turns me on." He can't really be honest about that with most people. Even Creed is still uneasy with his urges behind the many, many masks hiding them away. Daken embraces his urges and uses masks like most people do tissues: quick, simple, and disposable. He rarely even goes by an alias. "Do you really not want me to get out of your lap, or would it make you feel better if I let you come and watch? Obviously I'm not going to judge you...'cause fuck, I want you to make me think blue is the taste of five."
Graydon Creed	Shoving Darken playfully Creed says, "No, No, I'm fine. I just wanted to know you'll not vanish forever. Go on, you pervert." he says smiling, "In fact, meet me back at my hotel room. I'll take a shower and we can order room service. " he says then gives the address, "I have sixty feet of unused rope in the trunk of my car. We can practice our boy scout skills in my room. It has a nice sturdy wood framed bed." he says, "Or if you want to do something less tame... I do happen to know of an underground bare-knuckle fight club that is happening tonight. We could, you know, beat the living shit out of random people together?" he suggests, "Cage fighting is appropriate for the first date, right?"
Daken	"I can't vanish forever. And miss all this?" Daken presses a hungry, needy set of lips to Creed's. "Rope. Trunk of your car. Cage fighting. Ugh, I don't know if I can even manage to get out of here with you talking like that." And so it goes. Cage fighting probably will be the highlight of their day together. Though it might be decidedly the low point of some other people's day. And when it comes to tying ropes and being tied in ropes...Daken is very, very good. And when he's bad, he's even better. He finally does get to his feet, unfurling his body and stretching again, pulling an arm across his chest to stretch out the muscles, then doing the same with the other. "Well," he finally states. "If you're sure you don't want to watch. There'll be other opportunities. You know how dogs are." Then he turns and starts to stroll off, into the unevenly-lit and now unevenly-furnished place.
Graydon Creed	Want to watch... Well.. he does like to watch things. "Oh, what the hell." he mutters to himself and climbs out of the wreckage. His hip pops, his knees ache he's not going to be able to walk right for a week and it's so worth it. "You are very good at being bad for me. You know that?" he complains playfully as he follows behind out the door and past the security people. One of the security guards looks at the other as the two men walk off out into nature, "Still not as strange as the sharks."