→but monsters are always hungry, darling.

[nocharmingman]

They had sedated him first, slipping the needle into his neck and strapping him to a hospital bed; and he had bitten at them-- strong, cursing words, staring into all the ridiculous human faces; the doctors, the government heroes. Sick, they'd said he was sick-- not a murderer even, though the word lies thickly beneath the implications. He sees

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[walkingthegrid]

The man they had captured was not what Charles had expected. After the number of calling cards and the gruesome nature of the crimes he had expected a man to match, a man that looked as twisted on the outside as he must be on the inside-- though the logical part of Charles' brain had always corrected him on it. The Killer--Erik-- had to look normal; strange looking people were more noticeable, and he had slipped through from place to place without too much ado. If Charles were perfectly honest, Erik looked like he every bit belonged on the movie set of some Hollywood back lot as he did in the heavily guarded cell. Still, there was no disguising the heavily predatory way he moves, the snap of his head, the look in his eyes-- but Charles keeps his own look unaffected, bored even

[nocharmingman]

It was apt; the looks-- gifted to him as if to a predator disguised to draw people closer, to be the alluring, dangerously luminescent thing that they'd hover about, intrigued and bewitched by. He is absolutely conscious of them; how his cheeks are hollowed just enough to be striking, the rare auburn shine of his hair, his sharp grin; boyish, and iconic. He languishes while he eyes Charles, the glance more than exploratory, enjoying the image of someone who is not one of his horrifically stupid captors. He wants to toy with this man, to lure him in-- because to possess something so intelligently bright; as alive as he can see that this man is-- it ignites some collector's spirit in him, as if to own and keep a first edition of a beloved novel, rare and familiar. Erik stands from the bed, uncurling long limbs, and walks to the glass-- his approach is sudden, out of the cell's darkness, the white of his eyes catching in the overhead florescent lights and gleaming, hungrily at Charles

[walkingthegrid]

He forces himself not to startle when Erik comes out from the dim lighting; there was no way the man could get through the tempered glass and Charles was admittedly tired. It had been a long evening full of paperwork and press and all the things he didn't enjoy handling. The city was saved, delighted in the capture of another killer. If only they knew how much more likely they were to get killed by someone they knew than a serial killer they might have changed their tune a bit

[nocharmingman]

"You see," Erik begins, leaning a shoulder casually up against the glass-- gazing out at Charles, savoring the detail of him for the moment, because as soon as the detective left he'd be forced to contemplate the cell walls again, and the dour faces of the two unremarkable guards, "I'll never tell you where I'm keeping her. That'd make it all too easy for you. You enjoy a challenge, don't you Charles? You like the chase as much as I do-- we've got some things in common, how else would you know how to track me, what my intentions, my motives are." He turns to consider the other man more directly, that feral intensity having been absolutely concentrated on Charles now, "I wonder, sometimes, if that scares you-- that you're not so different from myself. And another thing

[walkingthegrid]

He doesn't answer the questions directed at his own person-- at the ease in which he could cross the line into unhealthy-- a case like this could easily do it to a man. Break them if they didn't step back from it, center themselves; it wasn't easy to do but thankfully he had an annoyingly persistent sister to come over every few evenings; force him to eat something other than take out and clear his coffee table of files and make him choke down some of her decorative coffee and watch a movie about whatever male star had currently fascinated her. It wasn't that he enjoyed those sorts of movies, or even her cooking all that much, but he did value her company and the reminder that he can't step over that line because it wasn't just his life and relationships on the line

[nocharmingman]

"You do give up quite easily, my detective. Am I too perplexing for you? Proving to be more of a challenge than you had expected, well, darling, don't put down your blazing guns yet, this puzzle--" and the man is walking away from him; the sheer cheek of it incenses him for a moment, and he's furious, fuming at the back of the detective's head, "bring all your tricks, Xavier, you'll never find the rest of them-- they'll rot. They'll rot--" voice turning ragged, snarling, Erik's fingers curl against the glass, "and I'll find you. If it takes twenty years, darling, I'll have you. Can't keep me in a glass cage forever, it'll crack before you've run far enough."

Through his myriad seething emotions (uncertain if any of them are quite his own or just machinations of feeling) there remains, alone amongst the borrowed, and the second-hand-- as pure as that terrible drive from which he is still in flight; hunger.

"Come back here, Charles, come back here--" Not quite a yelp and not quite a command; he's angry, fingernails digging for