Re: Exterior: a rest stop, desert.
The desert was a good place for Famine, he was road dust and sand, and his new leather jacket made his skin itch on the outside the way the boy made the rest of him itch on the inside. He was a concept brought to life, and he was way past Morality.
Certain things he did well. He had the button on top of the boy's jeans free in their first teeth-rattling tussle, and he kissed like there was Nothing tastier to be had anywhere. The little sounds of surrender drove him to further physical frenzy, the zipper no match for it, and now his hands folding up hitchhiker cast-off shirt hems right there on the booth. He stopped when the boy stopped, let him have his beat, blinking in a faintly bird-like manner with his goose-down hair waving gently in the diner's excuse for air conditioning.
"Yes," Famine hissed, grinning his agreement. He picked the boy up around his waist, and if there was any more figments in the diner, they could experience his obvious hunger even as he took his new toy with him toward the relative privacy of a swinging door. He was thinking fast things and no boundaries. The acid in his stomach was Devouring everything he had in it, and the boy smelled good enough to make him want to sink in.