Logan's Bedroom & Bathroom

As he came face to face with the door on which his name was engraved, Logan gave a dim smirk, and reached up. With the delicacy known only to one skilled in the artisan crafts of weapon making, he burned in another phrase upon the plaque with heat imbued to his elongated nail:
Having completed that task, he blew on his nail, shook it off as it's size reduced, and laid his hand upon the handle. The door swung open easily under his touch, revealing a simple, comfortable room. A cool, air-conditioned breeze swept over him, and he sighed.
"How calming," he remarked as he entered, locking the door behind himself.
The curtains were drawn, and the lighting dim, to which he promplty removed his glasses once more and set them by the bed, rubbing his eyes with a groan. His duffel bag he left carefully on the bed, his weapon hung on a hook beside it. For the first initial moments, he paced his way about the room with eyes closed, learning the layout without sight.

Satisfied, at last--having found both the closet already filled with his clothes, and the luxurious bathroom--he carefully removed his boots and stretched. Stepping into the bathroom and locking the door behind himself, he inspected the area once more, learning the layout meticulously and memorizing each detail.
He stripped down when he was finished, and grabbed a simple mint-scented combination of shampoo and conditioner before entering the shower and silently shutting the glass door. Setting the clear bottles on an in-shower shelf, next to a bar of Irish Spring soap, he leaned down and cranked the water up on high, and pure cold--not an ounce of heat anywhere in the shower other than his own self. A ripple danced across his muslces as the icy water stung his skin, sending up clouds of steam, and a sigh escaped his lips.
"Much...better," he groaned, almost incomprehensible to his own ears, as he leaned against the frosty glass and let the downpour of water cool him down.
Slowly, as he relaxed, his ears and tail returned, the latter thumping contentedly in small puddles, coal black fur soaked through with water.

At last, with a satisfied groan and an unintelligible grunt, Logan propped himself up on his elbows and combed his fingers through his hair, forcing the sopping black locks away form his eyes. Steam had ceased to rise from his bare skin, and his muscles trembled in the cold, though he could barely feel it. He stood with only little difficulty, bracing himself against the wall and shaking himself like a dog in the rain. Lathering his hands with shampoo, he washed out his hair, and followed it quickly with a dose of conditioner. As he finished scrubbing himself down with the bar of soap, a faint smile pulled at his lips--it felt nice to be clean, and cool, washed free of the dirt, sweat, and heat of the day.
When he had finished, he shut off the water, shook himself down one last time, and stepped out of the glass. With his temperature still diluted from the shower, he hurried to wrap a towel about his waist, draping a second about his shoulders, and left the rest of his body to air dry. Re-entering his room brought with it another refreshing breeze and a deep shiver rippling through his body at the contact of the air. holding the towel about his waist, he made his way to one of the nightstands, water dripping from his honey-toned skin, running in rivulets down his well-defined chest. From the drawer, he pulled out a simple pair of grey boxers and a pair of silken black pants. He dropped the towel without hesitation to change, not yet bothering to dry off his chest. With a languorous stretch that flexed his muscles, he left off rubbing his neck with the towel, and exited his room, barefoot and shirtless, with his ears twitching and tail swishing.
I can only hope Lumi is as comfortable as I am, now.

A blast of cold air washed over the two as Logan carried Izaya, cradled in his arms, into his bedroom. He grumbled a curse and made haste to turn the air conditioning off for Izaya's further health; he would not risk her health for his comfort. Laying her down upon the silken black covers of his bed, he shut the door, and quickly located medical supplies in his bathroom. He brought them out and set them in a decidedly ordered selection atop one of the nightstands. Wasting no time, he carefully peeled her bloody shirt away from her injured skin and left it neatly on the floor; stains could be removed later. Although it was against his rules as a gentleman, it was at the top of his list for first aid procedures. Clearing away as much blood as was possible from the wounds, he laid a heated hand over top of the tender flesh to gently cauterize the wounds. Each movement was done with careful precision so as to harm no more than was necessary, if it should even be so.
The heat building in the room as he worked to cleanse and bind her wounds caused a light sheen of sweat to build on his forehead, which he would occasionally wipe away on his shoulder. However, he would not leave off tending to Izaya for more than a second or so.
Hang in there, Izaya..., he thought, The wounds aren't that bad, and you've got a strong spirit...

Izaya’s body shifted slightly in Logan’s arms, the position becoming uncomfortable for her to breath. As her skin was graced by the delicacy of the black silk, she gave a strained albeit relieved sigh. Her eyes opened a crack as they watched the blades of the ceiling fan above spin ‘round monotonously. “Hey, Logan...?” Her head turned slightly as she felt the cold hit her now almost bare chest, her stomach moving up and down in sync with her breathing. The damage wasn’t severe thanks to Zwei’s care and now Logan’s, the only lasting damage possibly being a scar and a few bruises here and there. Her brilliant teal eyes flickered around Logan’s face as she watched him meticulously work on her injury, bringing the back of her icy hand to dab away any sweat that would become bothersome if left alone.
“How are you... holding?”

The feeling of Izaya's cool hand on his hot forehead brought the world around him back into focus, and he blinked several times. As her gentle form, her top half all but completely bare, came back into focus, he felt heat raise to his face, though not enough to compete with what was already there, and he gave a gentle smile. Bending down to her touch, he smoothed his hand lightly over one of the injuries, giving a sigh.
"I'm fine, Izaya," he murmured. "A bit warm, and my breathing isn't quite what it should be, but I'm alright; far better, now that you're awake."
He sat down as he spoke, letting his hand slide from her stomach to her hand. His hand gently took hers as he knelt by the bed, disregarding the oppressive scents of his blood and hers. It wasn't the first time he had been surrounded by such smells, although he disliked the scent of her blood in his nose.

About as relaxed as she could be unless her heart stopped, Izaya’s hand continued to wipe Logan’s face gently, her eyes opening more after a few minutes. The overbearing pain the wound inflicted caused the entire area to become numb so the cauterizing had no effect on her. Unfortunately, her skin was marred enough that even after healing, it would most likely leave a light scar. “Does it hurt to breathe…?” Although she was healed, she was still a little out of breath and lagging in reactions. Her stomach flexed as his warm hand passed over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps and a soft, chiming laugh from Izaya. “Logan, is there a bathroom in... where we are? I can feel the dried blood pulling at my skin and it hurts.~” She explained as she sat herself up slowly on her elbows, a moan lilting the end of her sentence in response to a stab of pain on her back.

He quietly hushed her and gathered her tenderly into his arms, nodding once. Walking to his bathroom door, he slid silently into the grand room and shut the door behind himself. It was a bit warmer in here, and his blood-soaked, burnt, and torn shirt became damp with sweat within a few minutes.
"It's my house, Izaya, and more specifically, my room," he explained, nodding to her question about breathing, "and do not bother yourself with worrying. I'll be alright; i've suffered far worse. Now, would you like a shower, or a bath?" he asked kindly, not yet letting her down.
He would have set her down on her feet, yet he was reluctant to let her go. His breathing did not struggle as he held her; rather, he seemed perfectly normal. All that was unusual were the streaks of blood and ash painted here and there across his person.

Izaya gave a soft yelp as she felt herself get lifted up into Logan’s arms and off of his bed, her eyes widening. Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked around the bathroom that was Logan’s; it suited him. She gave a soft giggle then looked back to Logan, eying his physical state and tilting her head to the side curiously. “You should wash off too, Logan. A shower sounds nice.” She looked down at her chest and blinked, blushing a faint red and closing her eyes halfway, making sure to keep her breathing steady.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest at the thought, and he shook his head. Craning his neck so that his lips brushed her ear, he shut his eyes, and whispered gently into her ear.
"I have but one shower, Izaya, so if you wish me to wash off, I shall wait until you are done."
He walked her carefully up the stairs and to the shower. Lowing his arms down, he set her lightly on her feet, keeping an arm at her back in case she should fall. This was to test if she could stand on her own. As he held her, he could not help but eye, now, her current state of dress, which brought further warmth into his body. He repressed it, as always, silencing the pleased growl which threatened to roll from his throat.
"Can you stand on your own?" he said at last, his voice thick.

“Ah, alright. Izaya’s spine tingled as he whispered into her ear, her body squirming in his hold until her feet brushed the cold floor. She slowly unwrapped her arms from around Logan’s neck, taking a step forward and catching herself on the closest thing her hand could grasp. A nervous laugh filled the room as she looked down in sheer embarrassment, her voice trembling. “I can. Thank you though.” Her body straightened up as she turned to face Logan, her arms folding across her chest shyly as she looked down to exactly what brassiere she was wearing; a simple lacy white with think pink ribbons crocheted into the straps. Her response to this knowledge? A red face.

"You're not fine, you just collapsed," he said, his tone half accusatory, "Come on, Izaya."
Stepping into the shower, he gently took her arm in his grip, supporting her carefully. Her face downcast, and with such a cute blush on her face, he couldn't help but lick his lips, noting the way she so shyly hid her frilly lingerie. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he stepped behind her with his arms about his waist, and leaned over her shoulder to turn on the water.
"Tell me if it gets too cold, now, Izaya; I can't tell the difference."
His warm breath was right at her ear as he began to run the shower, first cold, then gradually warmer for her sake.

A flustered glare piqued her facial features as his accusatory tone rang in her ears. She returned with an equally accusing, albeit more joking tone, about how it was just her body circulating blood into her legs a little too slowly. Hesitantly, she stepped into the shower with her arms folded, Logan’s arm wrapped around her waist only further proving more problems; of the good kind. “Alright, I-I can do-” Her response was cut short by a jump in her body as the icy water hit her flesh, her feet backing her up against him suddenly. Relaxed as the water seemed to warm up, she quickly become fond of a temperature as she spoke ‘That’s good’ and suddenly relaxed her shoulders, stepping back into the water and running her hands over the dried blood, scrubbing the flakes away with a concentrated expression; comfortably enough, she remained touching with Logan, looking over her shoulder and up at him, then down to his shirt expectantly. “Is the water fine for you Logan?”

With his shirt halfway over his head, he tugged and sent it over the shower wall, revealing a well-toned chest marred by multiple scars. Most were old and thin, simple white lines by now, but several were fresh and new, at least three from their previous encounter. Water streaked down his chest, plastering his hair to his head and soaking his pants through. Heavily laden with the shower water, he refused to remove them for her comfort, and nodded in answer to her question about the water, replying that it was fine.
He kept his hands gentle on her waist if she seemed about to fall, and kept his eyes elsewhere than her chest, trying to retain decency. In the wanderings of his gaze, he found a marking on her shoulder, a small, faded tattoo that said"B-3-26F". He grazed his fingers over it with a frown.
"Izaya, what is this?" he whispered softly.

Looking back to the wall in front of her, she exhaled and washed any dirt and blood out of her hair, asking Logan for any type of soap she could use. Lathering and washing it out quietly, the tugging feeling of knowing the situation they were in only made it harder for Izaya to retain decent thoughts. She mulled on her lip to keep herself occupied, though enough of a distraction came by when Logan’s fingers touched a sensitive area on her skin; a tattoo that marred her otherwise smooth. It was faded and the color was now an ash gray, but it was still legible; B for the family name, three for the third member of the family, and twenty-six F to represent her year of birth and her gender. She carefully turned herself around and rested her hands on Logan’s shoulders, the water running over them quietly with a white noise in the background. “B-3-26F is the name I was registered under at my concentration camp. Each person was branded. I guess it still hasn’t faded… huh?” Her hands trailed down his shoulders and chest, allowing her fingertips to slightly brush against his abdomen to create absentminded designs on his chiseled, tanned flesh.

When she had asked him for soap, he had gladly assisted her in cleansing her hair of the dirt collected there through the day. His hands had been tender as he combed out the tangles until noting the tattoo. Upon seeing that, he had ceased all movement to speak. His brows were furrowed as she touched his shoulders, and delighted shivers raced across his body. He breathed in and out in sharp intakes and exhales, resting his forehead against her shoulder as she caressed him.
"You're no less beautiful," he murmured, feeling his control slipping.
Turning her quietly, he kissed the mark on her shoulder, a tender, broken gesture. His forehead pressed into her shoulder as she continued to tease his flesh, and gently held her against the wall in such a way with a half-whispered groan.
"Don't...stop," he pleaded, "You've no idea how exquisite a gentle touch feels to me..."

Izaya’s hands remained still as his forehead rested itself on her shoulder. In more than a literal tern, she enjoyed being his support in anything and everything. His words caught Izaya off guard as her hands twitched, her eyes looking down to his head in disbelief. Her feet shifted around the wet floor as she looked over her shoulder only to feel Logan’s lips touch her tattoo tenderly. Immediately, her back arched in as she clenched her jaw some, her gaze never once pulling away from Logan. Her entire body was electrified at every nerve ending, the sporadic quivers of pleasure vibrating her petite frame against his. “Logan…?”

"Yes...?" he rumbled, his voice deep as he leaned lightly upon her.
The shiver she had made felt almost as delicious as her feather0light touch, and he longed to feel it again. The vibrations of her flesh as she quivered under his touch set him alight far more than even the provacative vision she formed in simply her undergarments.
She'll kill me, if we continue to end up in situations like this...

As she fought to keep her breaths steady, Izaya simply rested back against Logan and gave slightest sound of a provocative croon. She closed her eyes, allowing her head to loll back as her words slurred out through he shell pink lips. "This is... perfect. And relaxing." Izaya smiled as she gave in to the calming water and Logan's touch.
Soon after, she took his hands into her own and fondled them, keeping them parallel to her chest. "We have to get you cleaned off. Would you like me... to help you? O-Only if you want."

"I would love that," he whispered, his voice a deep, rough rumble, "I would truly...love that."
He felt weaker under her touch, but it was a soothing weakness. Like a dog is content with its master's presence, though weak for its lack of aggression, so he was towards Izaya. His eyes were shut as he felt her hands roam his own, and he allowed them to stay, unwilling to move for fear of doing something he would regret, in possibly hurting Izaya.

Izaya smiled and lowered their hands, taking the soap and lathering it up on her hands, slowly and gently washing down Logan, her fingers gracing every decent inch of his flesh. Her body ended up behind his as her fingertips nimbly massaged out the tension on his shoulders, her chest pressed against his back and her arms slung over his shoulders as she finished. Simply sitting under the water with him relaxed her as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear if they were done wasting away water.

He chuckled, his back shaking softly, as Izaya whispered in his ear. Caught up in the delightful sensation of her bathing him, he had zoned out from everything but her touch, her body pressed to his. His muscles rippling as he laughed and turned about to face her, he tapped her nose and gently set her aside.
"What you call wasting, I call enjoying," he laughed, "I typically take far longer showers."
He shut the water down, leaving them both dripping, and stood back as he opened the shower door. Regarding Izaya standing there, her jeans soaked and her lacy white bra all but trasnparant, he chuckled again and scooped her into his arms, noting how she seemed to tremble.
"I'll get you some dry clothes to wear," he said, depositing her gently on a bench next to a stack of towels.
With that, he left her there and slipped into his room. Most of the water had evaporated from his form the moment he left the shower, and so again, he left no tracks. Only his hair and clothes remained damp as he exchanged his pants and boxers for a fresh pair--silken and made for relaxation.
Now, he paused, wondering what to clothe Izaya in. He was unwilling and unable to borrow his sisters clothing for her; moreover, although both were slight, his sister was a bit smaller than Izaya. At length, he chose a pair of plain, unused boxer shorts and a long-sleeved white dress-shirt from his closet. Though not satisfactory, he hoped it would do, and returned to Izaya bearing the clothing.

Naturally, Izaya’s arms rose up to wrap around her stomach loosely, the water quickly dripping down her skin and her back. There wasn’t much time for her to speak as Logan shut the water off and stepped out into his bedroom. Her hands curled around the edge of the wooden bench, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. It seemed to click in her mind once more that they were in Logan’s house. In Logan’s bathroom. Half dressed. Shaking her head fiercely to rid of the thought, she stood herself up and paced around the misty bathroom quietly, her attention being grabbed by her reflection. There Izaya stood, with a pale, peachy complexion, almost devoid of flaws. The arrow had left a crescent shaped scar that was scabbing over a few inches underneath her left breast.
“Two holy men have arrived and will submerge our souls into apocalypses. A saint… and an angel…” Her eyebrows furrowed together as she turned away from her reflection to decipher what exactly the elder elf had meant. It clicked in Izaya’s mind that a moment before the archer said that, his irises were visible, and after, the younger elf’s body detonated.

As he re-entered the room, he caught the sound of Izaya's whisper. She was mulling over the two archers, it seemed, which did not surprise him; he was quite bothered by them as well. In an attempt to keep things calm and restful, however, he said nothing, and merely approached her silently, offering the clothes on his arm.
"I hope you do not mind that all I could find you were clothes of mine, Izaya. My sister is a bit smaller than you, and to tread in her room without her permission is dangerous," he chuckled.
Unable to help himself, he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and wiped away a few drops of water on her cheek. With an invitation to call him if she needed, he left her to change and entered his room again. He turned the air-conditioning up marginally as he busied himself with, quite literally, steaming the stains out of the carpet by hand, and changing the bedclothes. The new comforter he chose from the bottom of his closet was a velvety red, like the petals of a rose; the sheets were black as night.