Between two lungs || Leofire [closed]
Time had been moving too quickly this year. Too many momentous changes, shifts in the very fabric of the reality of their world. Client, Warden, assassination survivor, loyal servant of Attila. And even with all the changes, there had been a constant. A living constant in his home, in his bed, curled inside the scared black pit of his soul. Baelfire. Four years. Four years. Still only a sliver of time in his life span. He left the Chateau in the hands of his most capable guards on New Years Eve, standing in his remodeled home. Perhaps they should move? Pack up and leave the shell behind, trappings of a life that he no longer was. No longer the protege. The Warden. He walked through the house, the lights off, drifting through the rooms like a ghost. Leo reached up and touched his chest, the scar a little off center, nearly perfectly above his heart. It was something he found himself doing when he was alone. The only mark on his body. The only scar. He unbuttoned his shirt and ran his finger over the raised skin. And thought about sliding his hand into Doyle’s body, the wet sucking sound as he held the beating heart. Annihilation. This had been the year of heart wounds. That muscle that sat between two lungs, caged in bone. He stood quietly, his eyes closed as he let out a sigh. He heard Baelfire’s footfalls behind him. Leo would know the sound of Baelfire’s steps anywhere. “Are we still alive Mo Chuisle?”
