Hello my lovely readers! I'm so surprised that a few of you were interested in this story! Unforunately, it's been delayed for over a year now, and I'm sorry to say it's grown pretty stale since it was first published. I had hoped I might return with a better plot layout, but I just don't have any solid plans to continue it. I do write other stories for different fandoms, so check those out if you'd like!
-OwlEyes

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His eyes narrowed predatorily, and he growled. But the growl…it was different. It didn't convey anger or agitation…but lust. The sound ripped erotically from his throat, and left a very twisted impression on the air between them.

"You smell good, Frankie."

Francoeur swallowed, body shaking with adrenaline. This alleyway was too small. Too dark.

"Where've I seen you before?" the predator asked. The question was laced with teasing, as if he already knew.

Francoeur stepped back, eyes flicking to either end of the alleyway. Was there a way out? That was the question.

"Come on," he cooed, advancing a single step, closing the distance that Francoeur had tried to widen. "Don't you remember me, pretty boy?"

"Stop, please." The words were clear, and louder than Francoeur had intended. But the steadiness was false, and he saw his advancer's smile stretch sadistically. He liked the fear. He lapped it up.

"Aw," he pouted. "now that's just rude, Frankie."

Francoeur took another step back, and felt the solid smoothness of brick behind him.

"In fact, you could even say…" the figure pressed right up against him, their chests touching. Francoeur flinched, attempting to turn his head away. The stranger's head tilted with his, narrowing in, until they were sharing the same breaths. "You hurt my feelings," he finished, opening his mouth obscenely close to Francoeur's.

It was too close. Too much. He was trapped. Nowhere to run.

"Stop," he whispered, aware that he was pleading. The attacker was aware too. The very fact of it hung between them, savored and clutched onto. "Please. Please stop."

The man leaning against him pretended to consider it, and then clicked his tongue. "Hmm. You know somethin', beautiful? You smell even nicer when you're scared."

Then his hands, his long, cold hands, wrapped around Francoeur's neck, and he pulled his mouth to his throat. His teeth, sharp and angular, scraped down Francoeur's pulsing jugular.

Francoeur didn't know what to do. This wasn't how it worked. People were kind. People were nice. Yes, some had looked at him differently. And one had even sought to end his life, thinking he was a monster. But no one, no one…had ever touched him like this.

This…whole thing…wasn't anything close to human. It was hungry. It was animalistic. But…why? How did this man know him?

And then, like a sharp slap to the face, it dawned on him. And if he had paused, woken up from his panic for even a second, he would have seen it.

He would have felt the four hands that curled around his neck.