Author: Millennium Biscuit PM
(Drabble) Some wounds never fade, even when they were never on your skin to start with.Rated: Fiction T - English - Dain & Doom/Jarred - Words: 235 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 2 - Published: 11-13-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8701934
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Fandom: Deltora Quest
Pairing: Doom x Dain if you squint, though that wasn't my intention
A/N: For Hija, who keeps compelling me to write messed up psychological stuff regarding these two.
Warnings: this story is rated D for Dain.
Dain doesn't move right away.
"No… not her, not…"
After a time, though, he shifts from his own sleeping position and kneels beside Doom as he often does, although the man does not know it.
A heavy hand shifts from beneath the blanket, scoops aimlessly at air. Dain lets it land on his thigh, doesn't speak a word when it starts to grip there tighter. Doom is desperate, he knows, desperate for something solid and real and unchanging. He longs for something that cannot be taken from him; something that death or disease or fear cannot touch. Dain thinks it droll that at his heart, even Doom of the Hills is as childish and insignificant as the rest of them.
"Not you too… not you…"
He could do it right now. It would barely take a moment; he could lay down there next to him, press up against his side and drown him in his body's coldness. He could take the man's own blade from its hilt and push it down into his warm, soft heart. Better; he could hold him down, push slowly on his brittle windpipe until it snaps, watch his cold eyes blinking helplessly up at him as he suffocates.
Not yet, Dain reminds himself, reaching down to stroke the man's cheek, soft fingertips gliding over scar tissue.
"My little one… my… please…"
No. Not yet.