Wildfire
Disasters Series- Wildfire (Ao3 and FF and Tumblr) Rated M
The first spark was when she reached out to push his hair back from his forehead. It was a movement she had done dozens of times before, and it used to be a calming gesture. One of comfort and care. But this time when she reached for his face, he didn't see her.
He was kneeling on the deck of the Jolly Roger, and the sea breeze was dancing over his skin. Hours of toil had him removing his shirt and brace, so that his torso was bare to the sea spray and sunlight. It felt like he could be laying in a lover's embrace, there among the waves, until he felt a shadow darken his hunched back. The sharp clip of heels on the boards of the deck told him, without looking, who was standing above him.
And he felt terror sweep up his spine, following the caress of the leather up his back and across his shoulders. He could tell, just by the tender touch of the material to his flesh, that it was the cat-o-nine-tails that she always carried with her. He tried hard to not let his body react to the fear stealing the heat from the comforting sunlight and the sweet touch of the mist from the sea. But he couldn't help it. Not when the Captain was standing above him.
"Slave, is this the best you can do?" came a harsh question from above him. He instantly stilled, his whole body going taught, as he scrambled for the best way to answer.
But he stayed silent too long, and the pressure of the tip of the whip vanished, and the only warning he had before its return was the snarl, "ANSWER WHEN ADDRESSED BY THE CAPTAIN!"
And then fire erupted up his back as the nine pieces of steel-tipped leather found their mark across his back, and he fell forward onto his elbows with a hoarse scream.
Then harsh hands pulled him up, making the skin of his back flex and pull, forcing a wince from him. The face that had once been a source of comfort now glared down at him with almost mocking pity.
"Come now LITTLE brother," he sneered. "Good form for the captain." The eyes that once had made him think of the sky on a sunny day now filled him with the same warmth as the arctic color they reflected. Never could he have thought that his brother, his protector, would become the thing he feared above all. All but one.
The cold glare of his brother shifted from his face to behind him and he watched as his brother's whole posture demeanor into what he could only describe as servile adoration. "Apologies Captain, he was never useful. Could never stand up himself. He was always a coward."
It was like a knife to his heart, hearing his brother say it, knowing that it was true. A one handed drunkard who was no better than for slaving on the decks.
He heard her cruel laugh behind him, "Too right you are, Jones." Another blinding bolt of pain as the whip cracked against him. "Can't even make himself worth the money I paid for him." Another lash. "Hell, he even forces me to work," two lashes in quick succession, "with his lack of competence." Another lash. Now all that was holding him up was the ruthlessly tight grip his brother was keeping on his arms.
" I have to find a way to take my pleasure from him, since he's incapable of giving it." Another lash. " He'll be tied to the mast for the rest of his life cause he's too stupid to be of use," another lash, "and to useless to teach." Another double lash. By this point he was letting the entirety of his weight be supported by his brother's hands. A small part of his mind actually took comfort in that twisted fact.
"I'd have just killed him and saved us all that trouble, honestly," came his brother voice, and the tiny comfort vanished. "But then I wouldn't have been able to sell him to you for my freedom." At the words, he jerked. It couldn't be, his brother selling him out?
"I got tired of having to drag his useless carcass with me, when all he ever did was disappoint me and let me down. He was burden to me my whole life, made it so I couldn't live. But now I'm finally free. And all thanks to you, captain."
There was another cruel laugh. "There's no need to butter me up, Jones. You've already proved your skill... in all things I require." The tone of voice indicated more than just his services as her first mate. His brother snickered.
"Someone has to keep up the Jones name. If it was left to this piece of shit, it would be worse than dirt."
She scoffed, "More likely forgotten than anything."
He heard her come up close and smelled her unique scent wash over him. Then he felt her hand almost lovingly caress up his bloodied back, smearing the rivulets as her hand moved upward, giving his throat a hard squeeze before coming up to cup his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. The murderous eyes of Captain Swan, his owner.
She gave a small smirk as she looked him over. "Thank the gods that his face was worth the price I paid for it," she murmured, almost sweetly, as she brushed his sweat slicked hair back from his face.
He jerked hard away from her hand, feeling the panic flow through him. But it was only a moment before he realized that he was still sitting with her, and not in one of the dreamscapes that his captors had created to take his very soul from him. He saw the flicker of hurt cross her face and felt the guilt of offending her well up.
Later when she had left to deal with some new crisis as only the she could, he though back to the moment. And he got angry. Angry at his captors for destroying one of the few types of physical contact that still comforted him and reminded him of home. Mad at her for selfishly thinking of herself when he was the one who needed the fixing. Mad at himself for even having such a thought, knowing that it wasn't fair to her.
So he did what he always did when his mind was too dangerous for him. He uncapped his flask and gulped down half the contents, before pulling it back on a sigh. He knew she would smell the rum on his breath when he arrived home, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Why should he?
If she cared about him, she'd be here. Like he always was. Every time she needed him, he was always there for her, sometimes even before she realized what she needed. How was it fair to him that she couldn't even tell when he needed to be rescued from himself? Sure, the town is important, but shouldn't her "True Love" be her priority? But maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was so broken that he wasn't the man she could love anymore. That he was useless.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, forcing him to bring his flask back up to his lips to empty it. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was just getting in the way. An incontinent shadow to those who could actually make the difference. what was the point of being back when all he ever did was make the situation worse. From the very beginning, that's all he had ever done.
His thoughts turned volatile as anger over his own ineptitude overwhelmed him. He wasn't useless. He would show anybody who thought so otherwise. And damn the consequences. With his mind now made up, he stood up sharply, fully intending to give a piece of his mind to any person he met. To show them that he wasn't just a waste of space.
With determined steps he began to make his way back to her, but as he made the journey, the alcohol he'd downed slowly went to his head and cooled his temper, washing away his anger with drunken apathy. By the time he made it back, his fit by the harbor was pushed to the back of his mind and the only thing he wanted to do in that moment was sleep. So he staggered up the steps, and thanking whatever deity he thought might hear him for the miracle, passed undetected through the house to the bed. Without a second thought, he flopped bodily onto the covers, still fully dressed, and let the rum carry his mind into sleep.
But it did not offer the escape he so desired.
The hate that filled his soul was palpable. It was like the finest rum. The first sip burned on its way down, but once it passed, you began to appreciate the taste. So a second sip is needed, this time with less burn. And once he took that first sip, he could not stop drinking. It filled his mind with the heady sensation of warm invulnerability, while at the same time seeming to dissociate his mind from the actions of his body, like he was simply a passenger enjoying an entertaining ride . And so as he wandered through the town, savoring the fear the presence of the accumulated Dark Ones had cause, he felt glorious. He arrived by the side of the lake, along with all the others, facing the pitiful excuses that called themselves heroes. He couldn't help the snicker of satisfaction at the looks of shear hopelessness and terror written across their faces. They were right to fear him, after all.
And when she stepped forward in all her dark glory, snarling about protecting the weaklings that so desperately clung to her, he found that she had nothing to say that he cared to hear. She, who had betrayed him, after all. He stretched out his hand and with a rush that made him woozy with power, the magic he now wielded pinned her in place, gagging her and forcing the air from her lungs. He felt a cruelness that let him savor watching her crumple as she slowly faded, the look of terror and betrayal on her face making him feel finally satisfied that she understood how it felt to have everything you ever knew and asked of a person rejected and destroyed.
A voice in his mind, that sounded like the sum of all the Dark Ones before him, whispered sweetly to him, demanding he finish what he started. And so with now small degree of pleasure, he raised the cursed sword and sauntered forward, until he was just above her gasping form. He didn't even bother with his usually verbose speeches. No, he'd waited too long for this. So he simply smiled at her and, with no warning, shoved the blade straight through her abdomen.
She screamed as she fell and dully he noticed the others, her boy in particular, yelling, shouting in horror. But he disregarded all that in favor of watching the light fade from her eyes as she looked at him. With a sickening squelch, he jerked the blade from her body, noticing her convulse as the warped blade tore an even larger wound through her flesh. She looked at him for a moment, and he was glad, so that he could watch the light leave her eyes and know that he had finally paid back in full what she had done to him. She coughed, a light spray of blood flecking her lips, then she whispered, with her dying breath, a simple word.
"Why?"
Then she collapsed soundlessly at his feet. Then the blade in his hand began to steam and the metal beneath his palms grew hot. He released the blade in shock, and the moment the sword left his grip, the heady rush of power and darkness in him was suddenly swept away. His mind cleared, and for a moment he was disoriented, trying to figure out where he was. He glanced down, and with a sickening rush it all came back. She lay dead at his feet, by his hand, blood pooling in the earth, a sickening mockery of the water they stood next to.
"NO!" His scream jerked him awake, panic making his heart race. He could still see the blood puddling around her empty shell, could still feel the vibrations of the blade as is caught and pulled at the edges of the wound as he shoved it into her chest. He was gasping for breath, trying to get his thoughts in order, trying to shake the guilt.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally was able to get a hold of his breathing and even longer before the shaking in his limbs settled. By the time he stood by the shore, dressed in his leather jacket, disregarding the cold, the sun was only just beginning to pinken the horizon.
The memory of the games they had played with his mind while he was in the land of the dead shook him. He knew that they had been specifically designed to pray on his worst fears, but the thing that frightened him most, even after his return, was how easily he bought into them. If they didn't pray on his greatest fears, like his brother abandoning him, they made his greatest weaknesses a reality. And the fact that he often couldn't tell where their conjuring stopped and his own personality began told him that somewhere, deep inside him, he was still capable of being what the visions showed. He knew his own cruelty, his own insecurity and the lengths he was willing to go to cover it up.
As the sun continued to rise and he remained by the shore letting the sea whisper to him the same secrets it always had, he heard footsteps approaching him. He picked out her gait easily enough. And while he was glad for her presence, he was still unsettled from his dream. She made her way to his side, and for a long while just stood there, while they both listened to the music that came with the sunrise.
Finally, he huffed out a response to the question she hadn't asked, turning to face her as he quietly said, "Couldn't sleep."
She turned her head to look up at him, concern etched on her face, "Why?"
He jerked away from her violently, staring in horror at her face, paled by the cool morning air, able to see all too easily the similarities between the face before him and the one that slowly drained of blood and life as she died by his hand.
"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked stepping towards him, reaching out to try and cup his face.
But he refused to let her touch him, and with a whispered, "I'm so sorry love," he turned and ran, feeling the wind bite at his exposed skin.
Day after day, the visions grew worse.
He was slowly being ripped apart, as she stood above him with her white hair and black heart. Her blood red lips curled into a perfect sneer as she savored his screams, laughing at his begging for mercy.
He felt the ropes being tied around his wrists as he trembled in fear, his brother standing before him, his captain's hat proudly positioned on his head. "This is what happens to pirates," he sneered, before a man on the other side of the boat, holding the other end of the rope gave a tug, forcing him back to the verge of the plank. He couldn't help casting a look of fear down at the water below, tracing the rope that went from his hands down into the water, knowing it followed the contour of the hull before rising up on the other side of the ship to rest in the hands of Smee, the first mate, on the other side of the deck. He turned once more to face his brother, to beg for mercy, but as he brought his eyes up, all he could see was his mocking sneer as his brother shoved him over the side and into the icy water below.
She was hunched over, kneeling on the ground not far away, emitting a sound he wished were impossible to make. It was so irritating. The lifeless form of her boy cradled in her lap like a unintentional recreation of the great sculptures, while tears leaked down her face. And he couldn't help the satisfaction he felt as he wiped his bloodied hands on his shirt sleeve as he walked away.
Every day was worse than the last. Terror and exhaustion haunted his every step. He was constantly on edge for fear of triggering a memory, and his sleep only served to allow his imagination to paint new horrors onto the canvas of his broken mind.
And then he started smelling the sickly sweet stench of the burning peat when he would try to eat. He could hear the soft breathing and growls of the demonic beast that guarded him on the sea breeze. He was slowly burning in the fires of a hell he thought he'd been rescued from.
And through it all, she didn't seem to notice. Once and a while, she would send a concerned look his way, but she seemed to be unseeing to his plight. The dark circles under his eyes that he could no longer pass off as smudged kohl to her boy. The delayed reactions that nearly caused her father to get run through. The inability to focus that had him walking into objects that he clearly should have been able to avoid. She just didn't know. Didn't see.
And day by day he could feel his resentment growing. Every smile she would send to another, every mission she went on that took her away from him, every inane event that she paid more attention too than him was another fanning of the flames. His torturers had managed to scorch his world black, and now his own anger was burning his soul. He began to try and douse the flames the only way that he knew how.
More and more, he attempted to quell the constant terror with alcohol. It had always been a crutch for him, a consistent companion throughout all the years of his existence. But soon, he was taking every opportunity to choke down a few gulps. He couldn't keep food down, the aromas somehow getting lost between the plate and his nose, so that the only thing he could smell were the same scents that had haunted his days of slavery, his years of reckless murder, and later, his hours under torture.
He slowly felt himself unraveling. Any hour he spent without the heady swirl of alcohol in his system was spent shaking and completely incapable of keeping his grasp on reality. Only when his mind was slowed to the dull throb that accompanied the cusp of drunkenness could he handle being in company.
And it was because of his constantly inebriated state, words he never meant to say began to slip out. Anger stewing in the pit of his stomach made his thoughts harsh, and his witty retorts began to take on cruel undertones.
When her boy came to ask him a question on sailing, instead of explaining, like he truly enjoyed doing, he snapped out a mocking reply that left the boy close to tears while he turned and walked away with a scoff. And when her parents came to ask for his assistance, his only reply was a vulgar remark that left both of them speechless the leaving him with scowls of indignation while he just stood there and chuckled. He couldn't stop himself, but he also took great pleasure in watching every one of his bridges vanish in peat-scented curls of smoke.
He withdrew into himself as he required more and more liquor to keep himself in that state of hazy existence. He felt like he was becoming a ghost in his own skin. His nightmares started to return, so he took to drinking more heavily, trying valiantly to douse the flames in his mind.
Then one night, he finally ran through his stock of alcohol. For a few hours, he just aimlessly puttered around, his haze lasting him long enough to fall into a stupor on a bench by the seaside.
His captors stood above him. He was tied down, struggling to free himself from the sharp bite of the ropes into the flesh of his wrists and ankles. They simply laughed in dark amusement. He smelled burning metal nearby and knew, with a shiver of true fear, that they were heating up the hook again. His skin was barely healed from the last time they had tortured him with it. The hot tip cut deep, while cauterizing at the same time, so he didn't lose too much blood. It ensured he stayed conscious for the entirety of the time they "played" with him.
As he tried to force his pulse to slow from the rapid rate it had jumped to, he failed to notice their master approach, and didn't perceive him until he heard his soft chortle from above him. His eyes zeroed in on the cruel man above him, suddenly unable to draw breath as a shaking overtook his limbs.
The man gave an admonishing sound before addressing his tortures, "You aren't getting deep enough. He's still go that sickening light of hope in his eyes. You need to reach in and," the man mimed reaching out before harshly snapping the hand into a fist, "crush it."
He felt a small sliver of pride in himself for irritating the man, so he pulled what little arrogance and strength he had left together before spitting out, "You'll never succeed in getting me to give up hope. She'll come for me. You'll see. You'll lose."
The man stared down at him for a moment with his head cocked, like he was studying a fascinating scientific display, before a small smile began to curl his lips into an expression that would have made milk curdle.
"Oh, my dear captain," the man practically purred in delight. "I am going to destroy your hope. And do you know how I am going to do this? By letting you have it. I am going to weave you an illusion so perfect, you'll think you are back in your beloved's arms. And just when you finally think that you've escaped me, I will pull the plug and watch as you realize that everything you thought you had is a lie."
He felt horror, revulsion, anger all pound through his veins. He felt his shaking redouble. The man let out a heinous laugh before bending over to caress his bloodied face, "Now then, my good captain. It's time for you to wake. And start dreaming." The man snapped.
His eyes shot open as he gasped for breath, feeling his body shake and coated in sweat, freezing in the twilight air. He desperately tried to take in his surroundings through the terror griping his heart and the pounding in his head. He realized he was down by the shore, on bench by the docks.
He sat up slowly, as his breathing calmed down, despite the fact that the trembling in his limbs remained. He remembered in vivid detail, every minute of the dream. He knew it was a dream. But that didn't stop the tightness of fear from settling deep in his gut. He let out a breath, watching it mist in front of his eyes, feeling his head throb. This had to be real. There was no way that an illusion could be so thorough. And if this was a dream, why was it he felt so empty?
He nodded to himself, slowly working to his feet, feeling his limbs shake a bit and the ground tip unsteadily under him. He was having a hard time breathing through the ache in his chest. He needed a drink. Falling back into the haze that alcohol provided would loosen the knot in his chest and let him breath. She didn't need him around anyway. If she did, she would have found him by now.
So he pulled himself together and straightened his back, trying to summon some vestiges his usual swagger, but he couldn't quite find his equilibrium. But he was stable enough to wander back to town and into the bar. He found a booth, and after throwing a few coins onto the table, he found himself grateful that many types of currency were accepted in the town. The bar tender came over and he grunted out his request, waiting with little patience for his relief to arrive. He brought his hand to his chest to try and massage the pain out while he waited.
It wasn't possible that this was illusion. He scrub his chest a little more vigorously. If the man was going to make an illusion, why would he make it hurt? If the man wanted to have his hope shattered, why would he create a world that was already falling apart?
He was interrupted from his line of thinking by the bar tender thumping a bottle of alcohol onto the table top in front of him. He immediately reached for it, not even bothering to acknowledge its courier, who simply left with a scoff. The white noise of the quiet chatter in the bar served as the perfect background to his musings. He took his first sip as his mind tumbled back into the dark spot the dream has sent it to.
He stared intently at the glass bottle, considering. It occurred to him that if his life had been perfect, if the illusion had given him everything he wanted, he wouldn't have believed it. His whole existence had been one instance of suffering after another.
With that thought, he took another deep swallow from the bottle.
If he hadn't been put into anything less than suffering, he wouldn't have believed the illusion. He began to understand the true genius of the illusion.
He took another heavy swallow, noting in the back of his mind that the shaking in his limbs had stopped. But the knot in his chest had not eased.
He began to consider how his life had devolved in the last weeks. The smells that had pervaded his nose. The sharp return of memories. Slowly things began to slip into place in his mind.
He took another slog from the bottle. It was about a third of the way empty from the heavy swallows he had been taking.
The leaking of his time being tortured into the reality he thought he was seeing suddenly made sense. He was still in the hands of his tortures. She had never some for him. She never would come for him. Why would she? She had never gone out of her way for him. And all he had ever done was get in her way. Of course she would leave him.
Another long sip, this time to wash the sour taste out of his mouth as a shiver of apprehension worked its way slowly up his spine.
He looked around blearily, for the first time feeling the effects of the alcohol as the world around him blurred slightly. He could make out shadows in the corners, wavering in the dim light of the bar. He thought he might be able he whispers, and he quickly put the neck of the bottle back to his lips. If he was still stuck with his captors, he would damn well drink them away while the illusion lasted. It wasn't like he could do any damage.
So he tipped the bottle back again.
He was trapped in a dream. No, a nightmare. She would never come for him. He was a fool to believe that. He felt anger lick up his chest as he considered the devotion he had showed to her. Maybe he would not be here if she had just let him die when he had first received the wound. This was her fault. All he had ever done was shower her with affection and she had abandoned him.
He took a long, deep pull, feeling the shadows at the edges of the room creeping toward him.
"Fuck off," he snarled loudly, grabbing the bottle and hurling it toward one of the darkened corners. He heard shouting as the glass shattered. A satisfied smile crept across his lips as watched the shadows shift and move away from him. "I'll not let you take thissss away ffffrom me without a fffffight," he slurred.
Suddenly he realized he wasn't tied down, and if the shadows were lurking, now he could finally defend himself. He stood sharply, watching as the world darkened and rolled, and he staggered to catch himself, before his hand sought out the hilt of his sword.
He saw a shadow creep toward him, reaching out, and he yanked his cutlass from its scabbard, shocked at the weight of it as it settled in his hand. But he managed to keep his hold on it as he turned to face the specter before him. The thing paused and wavered for a moment, and he thought for a moment he heard the thing call his name.
But it was a trick, he knew. And so he lashed out, hearing the thing cry out in pain. And he knew that voice. It was her voice. He knew her cry anywhere, and for a moment he felt a flicker of concern. Had he hurt her?
"You'll think you are back in your beloved's arms. And just when you finally think that you've escaped me, I will pull the plug and watch as you realize that everything you thought you had is a lie."
The voice whispered and echoed in his head and he smothered the concern.
"You aren't her!" he snarled, wildly swinging his blade, the transfer of weight pulling him off balance, pulling him to the side. He staggered, before gritting his teeth and pulling himself upright.
"She wouldn't come back for me!" he screamed, swinging again. "She condemned me to darkness! She left me! She ne..." his voice broke, and he felt himself bow under the weight of his own words, sword tip dipping in despair. His world was going black. "She never loved me," he choked out, and he gave one last half hearted swing as his eyes rolled up in his head. The last thing he saw was her face, streaming with tears, before he fell forward into darkness.
He heard her laugh cruelly, and his eyes snapped open. She was standing over him, much like when they had first met in her realm. But her eyes were different. They were wrong. They eyes that had always looked at him with amusement, irritation, affection, and respect. Even when they had been at odds, on opposite sides of the chess board, she had always respected him. That was one of the reasons she had initially attracted his attention. She saw past his face, his presence. Very few people were capable of doing that.
So when he looked up at her know, to see the cruelty and distain in her eyes was like a stab to the heart. And like she could sense his thoughts, she gave him a harsh smirk.
"Hello, lover," she crooned above him, running a nail down his chest, stopping to linger above a fresh gash on his ribs. His stomach muscles twitched in apprehension as he felt her caress the edge of the wound. But when she withdrew her hand, he let out a shaky breath of relief.
It turned into a grunting hiss of pain when she dug her thumb deep into the wound. For a moment, he could feel the intrusion under his flash, before she pulled it back with a sickening squelch.
"Ahh," he cried out, the pain arching his back. It was only then that he realized he was bound, trussed up like a pig for slaughter. He glanced up at his arms, yanking futilely against his restraints.
"Shhhhhhhh," she gentled shushed him, bring her thumb up to his lips, sealing them shut and smearing a crimson stain over his pale lips. She leaned over him, bringing her face low over his.
"There we are, with a little color back in your face, lover," she whispered the words into his ear before, with a sneer she lowered her lips to his and harshly kissed him. And despite how wrong her eyes were, her lips were just as he remembered, and he couldn't help but press back up into her lips, savoring the comfort and warmth of her kiss.
But the longer it went on, the more he came to realize. There was no warmth nor softness in her kiss. The peace that it had once brought him was gone, the curl of hope and home it brought to his belly was missing. As soon as he fully realized that, he jerked his head back with a gasp, smacking it on the hard surface below hi.
He was distracted from the pain when his groan was masked by a dark laugh and he focused on her face. She was chuckling, her body still bent over him as she regarded his face with amusement.
"Aww, lover, don't be like that," she simpered, "Are you not happy to see me?" Her face pulled into an offended expression. But it only lasted a few moments before something positively predatory entered her gaze, and a coy smile turned up her lips.
"I know," she whispered, "I can make you pleased to see me, love." And with another dark chuckle, she slunk down his body. Against his will, despite the pain and the fear, her voice and presence were enough to stir his aching body to life. And as he felt her hands run up and down his thighs and a breathy laugh felt his body react to her touch.
"There we go lover," she praised. "I knew that deep down, you always thought this was what you deserved."
Panic gripped him as confusion swirled in his mind. He didn't know what she was talking about. And then he felt the first cut. He screamed, just as he felt her mouth wrap around him, keeping him ready for her. She simply laughed, before making the next cut.
He faded slowly into awareness, the memory of the pain and the alcohol in his system hazing the line between waking and dreaming. He tried to open his eyes, but they didn't seem to want to move. He seemed to have a hazy memory of shadows in the corner and lashing out with his sword. And then he remembered her scream.
He jerked, the jolt of self-revulsion at the idea bring his mind into full consciousness. But despite the small amount his muscles tightened, his body refused to move. He felt his heart flutter. The dream was true. He was never free. He had never left. He tried thrashing, uselessly fighting against the full body restraint that held him immobile. Something broke in him, tears leaking out from his closed eyes.
He was so intent on trying to break free that he didn't hear someone approach until he felt something caress his face. And despair the like of which he had never experienced before overwhelmed him. He knew those hands.
"Hey, hey, it's ok, it's ok," he heard her mummer above him, her thumb trying to wipe away the tears as they fell. The same thumb that had smeared his blood over his lips. And suddenly, just like that, it was too much.
He mustered the will to twitch his lips, feel a strange disconnect to them, his mouth fuzzy and his tongue thick.
"No more."
The hands on his face froze, and he heard a gasp above him.
"Please, gods, no more."
"Ok," he heard her voice whisper. "Ok, no more. I promise. No more."
And then he felt his limbs loosen, the strange restraints that had bound him falling away, and his eyes fluttered open. The room was dark, but he could see moonlight streaming in through the window. And then he saw the shadowy form lingering above him.
He instantly tried to pull away, but his actions were sluggish, and he only managed to pull back slightly.
"It's ok, it's just me," her voice whispered again through the dark, he voice cracking on the last word. "It's just me."
It was another trick, it had to be. But something was different. He couldn't pinpoint it, the haze in his mind sapping his focus and making it hard to think. His body stilled, and he heard another quick intake of breath.
"That's right. It's just me. You don't have to be afraid. It's just me."
With every word, he sensed her getting closer, felt her warm breath fan his face. Then he felt were warm, calloused hand cup his face before her lips pressed to his. He started to pull away, but then he felt it. The feeling of coming home. The warmth in him, soothing him. And despite the fog in his mind he knew, it was her. The figure in the shadows above him was her.
He whispered her name on a sigh.
She shifted, and suddenly her face was bathed in moonlight. Her eyes were red and he could tell she had been crying. But that wasn't what caught his attention. It was the red angry slash across her cheek. He slowly brought his hand up, fighting the heavy weight it seemed to carry, to brush his finger tips across the wound.
A staggering slash and her scream. He had done that. He had cut her. His sword. His hands. By all the gods, what had he done?
She must have read the fear in his eyes, the pain, because she grabbed his hand, holding it to her warm cheek , stilling its shaking against her smooth skin.
"It's fine. I'm fine. You didn't mean to. You didn't mean to," her words caressed him even as her other hand continued to wipe at his face, drying to dry the tears that would not stop falling.
Gods, what had he done?
"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere," she continued to mummer as she carefully dropped soft kisses to his lips and then across his face, each one bring the sensation of coming home. And as she peppered his face with soft touches, he slowly felt the haze leave his mind, as if she was drawing out the poison in his veins and from his thoughts.
The syrupy feel in his limbs faded away and he felt the trembling that had become his constant companion as of late slowly steady out and vanish.
"That's better right? That's better?"
Her worried tone caught his attention, and he thumbed at her face where is hand still rested, catching her attention and bringing her eyes up to his. There were full of affection, worry, adoration, respect. They were the right eyes.
"Aye, love, I'm alright," his voice was harsh from the pent up emotions, the guilt tightening his throat.
"Ok. Ok." She seemed to be assuring herself. Then she dropped her forehead to his, brushing her nose lightly against his. "Talk to me. What happened? Why did you...?" she trailed off., and in the faint light he could see her eyes squeeze shut, and feel the slight tremble pass through her.
At the feeling of her fear and concern, another wave of guilt washed over him, settling low in his belly and making his soul ache. He let a sigh, pulling her face closer, and he felt her body shift. Suddenly her felt her warm and welcome weight settle onto his body, pressing him into the mattress and grounding him as he summoned up the words he needed to say.
"I was having dreams. I couldn't sleep..." his voice faded out for a moment as he lost his courage. Instead of speaking up, her free hand slid up to card through his hair as her hand pushed his palm more fiercely into her cheek as she pressed an affectionate kiss to the corner of his mouth. He savored the feeling of her nails on his scalp for a moment before a sudden memory began to resurface, and he stiffened.
She immediately pulled back to search his eyes, "What's wrong?"
But he couldn't answer, the burning of the memory to strong to resist, and he faded from awareness.
She stood coldly above him, dressed in the clothes she had been in the first time they met, his hands tide while she wielded the knife pressed harshly against his throat, calling him a liar.
"Might as well just kill him then," she sneered, and tugged hard on his hair to expose his throat. He closed his eyes in apprehension, expecting the sharp bite of the blade across his throat.
What he felt instead was her soft and warm lips pressing gently to the skin of his neck as a soothing cool raced through him, making the burn in his scalp fade to a pleasant tug. He opened his eyes.
She was above him, smiling down at him with a watery grin.
"Hey."
He took a shallow breath, "Hi love."
Her small laugh was choked, and he felt another wave of self-revulsion wash over him, but her body moving above him forced a sigh of comfort from him, unbidden. And at that, he watched her expression change, a coy look entering her red and puffy eyes.
His body's reaction to her was instinctive and it terrified him.
"I knew that deep down, you always thought this was what you deserved."
"Get off me," he growled in a sudden fit of terror.
She froze above him for a fraction of a second, but it was just a moment too long. His fear had kindled the anger that built up over the past weeks. He shoved her off of him, the moonlight glistening n her tears and the blood smeared across her cheek from the cut. But it was her look, the fear in her face, that cropped up the memories of all the times she had died by his hand in the illusions conjured by his captors.
She was afraid of him. And she had left him because of it.
"You left me!" he screamed. She flinched back in shock. "I was there. I waited for you. You left me. All I ever did was follow you blindly, and you left me!" His voice cracked and he felt tears streaming down his face. "I loved you! And you didn't see! You didn't know! I needed you and you weren't there! YOU WEREN'T THERE!"
He wasn't quite sure what he was saying, weeks of anger and fear flaring up and pouring out He just needed her to hear everything that had tormented his mind. He needed her to hear him. He needed her to know.
"I NEEDED YOU AND YOU COULDN'T SEE THAT. EVERY TIME YOU WERE IN PAIN, EVERY TIME YOU WERE BROKEN, I WAS THERE. BUT YOU WEREN'T. THE NIGHTMARES. THE VISIONS. I CAN'T SLEEP AT NIGHT WITHOUT SEEING WHAT THEY DID TO ME AGAIN AND AGAIN. EVERY TOUCH , EVERY SMELL, WAS TAINTED BY THER HANDS. I CAN'T FIND PEACE. I'M EMPTY..."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were the absolute truth.
"I'm empty," he whispered again, refusing to look at her. The room fell silent, except for his own harsh breathing and her quiet sobs.
Finally, she took a deep shuddering breath, "I'm sorry."
His eyes snapped up to hers, and was shocked by the overwhelming grief and guilt that he could see in them.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again. He took a step forward, feeling his burning anger with her at battle with the pull he felt to wrap her in his arms and sooth away his harsh words. Her flinch away from him was enough to stop him from getting any closer.
"Why?" he begged her, trying to understand.
"I thought you hated me."
Of all the answers he had been expecting, that one had never crossed his mind.
"You what?" he felt frozen, the still hot flames of his anger suddenly dying out in the face of her broken words.
"I thought you hated me," her voice was so soft and weak as she said it, he knew it was the absolute truth.
"Why would you think that?"
"You were down there because of me. Because I was selfish. I made you into something you despised, because I was selfish. You went through literal hell... Because of me!" Her last words came out on a choked sob, and she took a shuddering breath to compose herself, straightening her shoulders, letting the light play on the tears on her face again. "And after you got out, I thought that you wouldn't want anything to do with me. After what I did to you, I thought I would be the last person you wanted to see. I didn't see. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
And suddenly, all her actions made sense. Every hesitant touch and hasty withdrawal. Going out of her way to give him his space. She though he didn't want her there, and she wasn't going to force her company on him. Because she loved him. His knees felt weak at her revelation.
"Oh my love," he gasped, staggering to her, and she reached out to catch him and clung to him just as desperately. And they clung to each other for a long moment, before he pulled back to cup her face with his hand before pulling her into a kiss.
"I love you. I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry," she whispered over and over again against his lips.
Then she took a deep breath, "What can I do to help you?"
He thought for just a moment, digging deep inside himself to ask for what he should have when they were first reunited. "Wash their touch from me. I don't want your touch tainted any longer."
"Ok," she nodded against him. "Ok."
And then she was pulling him into a searing kiss, scorching all other thoughts from his mind except the pooling of peace deep in his belly. He clung to her, not ready to let her go. And then she was slowly guiding him backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he slowly dropped down to sit on the edge.
He continued to hold her to him, pressing kissed down her chest and belly as he slid down, until his forehead rested against her soft form. She stood above him, letting him breath her in while she carded her fingers through his hair, gently at firs before carefully scratching her nails against his scalp. She felt a low grown rumble through her, and a small smile broke across her face, and she repeated the action, tugging on his hair for added sensation.
His head willingly tilted with the pressure, so that his when his next groan slipped from his throat a his eye made contact with hers. Her smile was soft and she gently leaned over to press a kiss to his lips, before a sudden cool breeze filled the room, swirling around them both.
He felt the ashes of his anger and frustration, his fear and hopelessness, get carried away, leaving his soul cool and full to the brim with the same peace he felt when her lips were on his. He let out a sigh of satisfaction as the muscles of his shoulders and neck relaxed, no longer carrying that burden.
His eyes fluttered in relief, before he registered, with a wry smile of amusement, that she had gotten rid of their clothes. He raised an appreciative eyebrow.
"Convenient, love," he said with a small smirk.
"What can I say?" she giggled, "I missed you."
Her words sobered them both quickly, and for a long moment they simply looked at each other, truly seeing for the first time since he had returned.
After a while, seemingly as though moving with one though, they moved up onto the bed. She settled above him, and slowly, watching his reactions, bent and began to kiss down his collarbone.
Though the wounds had been healed long ago, he still had an acute memory of where each one had existed. And when she got close to the spot that they have favored branding with his searing hot hook, he began to feel those memories well up. But before the flames could blaze to life, another soothing breeze danced through the room, carrying in the scent of the sea and the sensations of peace and wholeness that filled him up as her lips connected with spot.
And like magic, suddenly the memory was shifted, no longer attached to that patch of skin.
Slowly she snaked her way down his body, and for every spot that triggered an upwelling of memories, her soothing presence and the comforting wind conjured up a new memory that soothed the burns of the past.
Finally he felt her warm breath ghost over his arousal, something he only noticed once she started to press light kisses up and down his hips and thighs. He groaned her name before gently reaching down to pull her back up to him, pressing a kiss to her lips, enjoying the slow, overwhelming burn she started inside him.
Then, just as carefully, he shift and together they rolled, until he was pinning her beneath him. The cut on her cheek glistened in the moonlight, and the sudden guilt that welled up made tears well in his eyes again.
Gods he loved her.
And so he slowly pressed her down in to the mattress, beginning his own journey down her body. As he gently worried a nipple with his teeth, he notice that the wind that danced around the room seemed to pick up sharply. He released it and sat back to look down at her, a theory forming in his mind.
Slowly the wind died down.
And just as she opened her eyes to question why he had stopped, he bent over and worked over her other nipple with his tongue, before pulling it in to gently bite. Her responding moan was lost in a sudden gust of wind. Understanding pulled a wicked grin to hip lips and he hastily slipped between her thighs.
Her panting was barely audible above the near constant breeze that was soothing his skin. With only a gently kiss to the inside of her thigh as preface, he brought his mouth to hot center. The wind instantly pick up, swirling around him and in him, fanning the flames of his desire as he savored her taste and scent. He craved her.
After only a short while, her hips started to buck up into his mouth and her thighs began to tremble. he redoubled his efforts, but when he could she was close, her hand tugged on his hair and he immediately pulled away, looking up at her with concern.
But when he met her eye, there was only love and desire present to darken her gaze.
"Together," she whispered, answering his silent question, tugging on his hair again to guide him up to her lips. They shared a searing kiss for a long moment before she murmured, "Join me, my love."
Her words went straight to his groin, and he groaned lightly into her lips, "Always, my love."
Then he reached down and lined himself up before slowly pushing inside her. The winds immediately picked up, and his eyes rolled up into his head for a moment as he became overwhelmed by the sensations that assaulted him. Her warm body around and under him, while the winds caresses and soothed his fevered skin and his soul seemed to fill with the calm presence that she always brought to him.
Once he had gotten himself under control, he slowly began to rock into her, savoring the smooth glide of the two them coming together. The perfect way they moved. Supporting himself on his arm, he ran his hand up and down her side, while he felt hers snake around to dig into his back, dragging thin lines of fire down his shoulder blades that were instantly soothed by the ever more ferocious wind.
She opened looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and suddenly he was there. He felt everything she did, the swirling of the wind around them, his body moving above her, her pleasure mounting, even as he felt his own body being pulled taught with sensation.
The sudden onslaught was too much and he lost control, picking up pace and driving into her as her moans of satisfaction grew ever louder. The wind was now near deafening as it swirled around them and through them. He felt her body just as much as he felt his own, felt her love for him filling her up and overflowing. Her conviction, her protection, her devotion swirling and dancing around them, just as his admiration, appreciation, and affection joined them.
Eye to eye, they drove the other harder, trying to give the other the ultimate gift. Higher and higher, the sensations within him mounted.
Then she pulled him down and whispered to him, "I love you." And the truth of those words pushed him over the edge, just as she found the same precipice.
And in that moment, he could feel his soul dancing with hers in the wind that rocketed through the room, washing over him and filling him in a way no liquor could, healing the wounds on his soul that only her love could reach.
As he slowly came back to himself, he opened his eyes, not realizing that somewhere in the ecstasy, they had slipped shut. She was laying there with a look of absolute relaxation on her face. but it was not that that cause the shiver of awe to run up his back. It was the flawless skin of her cheek where his sword wound had been.
He ran his thumb over it, feeling the muscle move as she smiled, before turning her head to press a gentle kiss to the pad of his thumb. He smiled at the small motion before dropping down to her side, pulling her to him and she snuggled up to his chest.
"I love you so much," he whispered, unable to believe that after everything, she was still here and happy to be in his arms.
At his words she turned in his arms to face him, before slowly pressing a kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, she looked him straight in the eye as she pressed her palm to his heart.
"I love you too. I always will."
And he couldn't fight the smile that crept across his face. She answered with one of her own before closing her eyes and nuzzling into his body. He pressed a kiss to her hair and let his eyes slide shut. And he felt asleep to the press of her hand to his heart, the warmth of her body next to his, and the gentle caress of the wind through his hair.