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Keigo is not violent in nature. He's rather docile, a quiet, pliant thing. But Hawks? Hawks is violent. He bites. He claws. He cuts. He kills.
Because he's allowed to.
His handlers encouraged it, at one point. Claimed it would help him dig into a more violent tendancy than what Keigo naturally had. Claimed it would help him be Hawks.
But as some point, Hawks apparently got too many bodies under him. Because now he isn't allowed to just kill anyone who he gets a blood lust for. Now, he has to behave. He's in the public eye, everyone's watching him. He needs to behave.
But every once in a while, Keigo will be woken up by hands on him in the dark of his room, and he'll be dragged away to somewhere else. He'll be thrown into an unclean, concrete room with shitty florescent lights.
And a sacrifice.
Prey.
And then, he gets to be Hawks.
He's been waiting in the room for what has to be an hour now, anticipation and excitement thrumming under his skin. He knows he'll get to hunt soon. He needs to. He doesn't care who comes through that door next, but whoever it is, they're going to die in a bloody, gutsy mess, and Hawks will be temporarily saited.
Hawks keeps his back to the door when he hears it open. It's more fun that way. The loud creak of the metal hinges almost drown out the frightened and outraged yelling of his prey.
Almost.
The sound of a body being thrown echoes through the room, and then the door is slammed shut. The prey is still yelling, banging on the door, and Hawks thinks this is his favorite sound.
He turns slowly, wings spreading in a show of dominance and intimidation. He lays eyes on his prey, already with a deep gash on its chest, a recent technique the handlers have been using to get Hawks' hunts over with quicker. Hawks' eyes narrow sideways at the sight of the blood, the smell, and fuck, he can almost taste it already.
He eyes his prey carefully, then the prey turns to look at him.
And Hawks, for the first time, freezes.
This prey has the prettiest blue eyes Hawks has ever seen. His hair is black, but he has white roots dusting near his forehead, and now that Hawks is looking, he has deep, purplish burns all over him. He looks so frail, too. A bit taller than Hawks, but so small, skinny, barely skin and bones.
And for once, Hawks' instinct isn't to kill. It's to protect. This is not his prey, it is simply his. Its been given to him to kill, yes, but that's the last thing Hawks wants.
Usually, when he doesn't want to kill, he feels like Keigo. But his instincts are still running wild. He's still Hawks, but he only wants to use that strength that's made him so sought after to protect this frail little thing that's been given to him.
Hawks takes a few slow steps towards the frail being, who immediately presses itself back into the wall with wide, frantic eyes.
Fuck, those eyes. Hawks is mesmerized by them. Keigo too, wherever he's hiding deep down inside. Icey blue, like a glacier, but there's a heat behind them that Hawks can feel from his respectable distance away.
Hawks takes another step closer, flaring his wings in demonstration, and then closing them in tightly to his back. A show that he's not trying to be violent. He doesn't want to intimidate this little thing.
Unfortunately, that seems to be exactly what he does. The little one's eyes widen again, and heat fills the room. Then, blue flames curl over the thing's skin. Hawks can see a distant confusion in its eyes. It must be used to a stronger power from itself.
Hawks doesn't want to scare the frail thing, so he shows his submission in the way his handlers have taught him. He makes his way directly in front of the thing, and then drops to his knees, his wings tucked tight against his back and his hands on his thighs.
The little one looks confused by the gesture, but the flames disappear, and it appears to relax a bit. This is good, Hawks thinks. He needs the being to trust him if he wants to protect it.
Hawks scoots a bit closer, and the little one tenses for a moment, but doesn't pull away. Now, Hawks is close enough to drop his head and gently headbutt the skinny thing's thigh. The thing tenses again at the contact, but a moment later, a hand lands in Hawks' hair. He gives a pleased chirp in response, and the hand runs through his hair.
Then, the little thing speaks.
"So, what is this exactly? And who are you?"
The voice is rough, and it sounds like it hurts coming out. Hawks lifts his head from its resting place against his former prey's thigh, and notices the extent of the damage on the thing's chest.
He feels his eyes narrow again, slitting like a cat's, and his new friend seems to get a bit wary. Hawks nuzzles against its thigh before slowly standing, keeping his eyes on the deep, town gash in the thing's chest.
Fuck, the scent of blood is so strong. His little thing is hurt. He wants to tear apart whoever dared to hurt it. He settles for leaning down, and licking at one of the sticky trails of drying blood dripping down his little one's chest.
The thing gasps, its hand tightening in Hawks' hair, and Hawks grabs both of his things hips to still it. He knows it must hurt, but he needs to clean it. His little one can't be hurt and dirtied. He goes slow, gently lapping at the blood staining his perfect thing's skin.
His little one slowly relaxes into it, its breathing slowly picking up, and Hawks can hear how its blood starts to rush. Absolutely perfect, his thing is. He wants to destroy whoever thought to bring this thing to him so he could kill it.
The sound of the heavy door unlocking and opening sounds, and his little thing freezes in his arms, its breathing going tense again. Hawks doesn't even look up from his task, just sends a few sharpened feathers off to kill whoever scared his little one.
A choking noise from somewhere near the door, and a soft moan from his new toy affirms that Hawks succeeded.
More footsteps rush, and more feathers are sent to take care of the issue. After a moment, Hawks' sensitive wings don't pick up any extra breath sounds, apart from his and his little one's.
After five minutes and a lot of spread out feathers, there are no extra breathing sounds in the entire building. Nobody to hurt his little thing. Nobody to make it feel scared.
Hawks recalls the feathers, but instead of rebuilding his wings, he sends them all to the corner of the room, creating a soft nest there. He picks up his little thing, and it clings to him like it needs him. He carries it to the nest, and gently settles it there, then curls himself up next to it to continue licking its wound clean.
It's not as deep as it seemed, and Hawks is grateful for that small mercy. He isn't aware enough to heal his new baby right now if it breaks. His little thing starts petting his hair again, and Hawks lets out a content cooing noise.
His little one seems to be comfortable for now, and calm. It's breathing is deep and relaxed, and its heartbeat is comfortably slow. Good. Hawks wants his baby to trust him.
Distantly, Hawks, and Keigo, no matter how far down in their brain he may be tucked, both know there will be hell to pay for killing an entire building of people, and not the thing that was supposed to be his prey. But Hawks can't bring himself to care when he has this fragile thing all wrapped up in his arms.
It's his. Only his. And if anyone tries to take it away, he'll deal with them, just like the others. He loves his new baby. He'll do whatever it takes to take care of it.