Of course, Snape was a center piece to other peoples discussion of this topic so I mention him at the end.
Finally after 15 years of working on these two books (jesu?!) I have working titles!!
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Wasting away, that was the hardest part of it, watching him die. I had thought the knowledge that his death was on my hands would hound me far worse then this, the physical representation of it all. But no, the wheezing breaths, the shut, dull eyes were much, much worse.
The grey pallor that would give way to blue, the poor circulation that Thom already had only making the transformation from living to dead that much quicker. Nathanael is whispering to him, clutching his hand, making promises, as if the future matters at all.
My grief has never been easy, it has always transformed itself into something more, the bitterness twisting it into rage. Always I would attempt to shift the blame, to put that hate on someone else, anyone else but me. If the grief turned to rage, and rage into hatred, I could push away all of these actualities.
Thom was going to die today, and I could blame everyone under the sun, but that wasn’t going to change the fact that this was going to destroy me.
I’ve never been a happy person, my people call me their ‘Bitter Prince’ for a number of reasons, and it was in his smile that the rays of hope shone. But there would be no hope, no dreams, not after this. I was the last one of us, father - deceased, mother - deceased, and now Thom who die as well.
Where did that leave our people?
Where did that leave me?
I feel it before I see it, as my eyes are starring at the infirmary wall, and I force myself to look down as Nathanael begins to cry, head buried in my brother’s chest.
It’s over, and I’m alone.
My head snaps up, as agony wracks through my mind, and that voice, that comfort I have depended upon for these last three years is panicking. The breaths that come are faltering, stuttering as I feel myself rise from Thom’s bedside. The darkness envelops me once again, and I allow myself to snap free from the tethers of this reality.
It looms below us, the Abyss, and this time I do not feel it as my body rears up from the bedside, back hitting the wall as shudders wrack every one of my limbs. Digits have dug into pockets, and the black diamond nearly spills from my fingertips as it is loosened from the material coverings.
Held up now, I can see the black diamond sitting upon my open palm over my brother’s body and my lips open. Yes, the words are my own, and yet they are not only mine, two voices leak free, and they overlay the words that we need to say.
“I won’t be left behind. I won’t be made to be alone. These are not my sins, I will not be damned! Purple skies…and broken glass…”
Endless seas and memories of the past,
Purple skies and broken glass,
Shattered minds, where there is no rest,
Hatred and grief, that breaks the best of us.
Thom’s soul rose from the body on that bed, a ball of glowing white light. It would be captured then, filling the black diamond. Never be alone…
In a moment of control, and with such reverence and tenderness, contrary to the way my body seemed to quiver and jerk, would I slip that diamond away into my pocket. Safe.
With that act complete we surged forward, around the bed, and our darkness did not only crawl its way up our limbs, no, now it wrapped around us in flames. Black leaking purple, climbing and falling as the infirmary melted away into the castle’s main hall.
They would scream, and they would beg and plead, they would know what it meant to lose my brother, my mother, and the people I had only ever wanted to defend!
All there was now, was that hypnotic fire, rising into the night that had eclipsed this noontime sunlight, taking with it all that stood in our way, all that brought us to this day.
Enraged yells, and so many screams.
Laughter fills the air, a maniacal sound, the laughter of the deranged, and it’s owner… its progenitor is me.
Notes:The Scourge War devastated Camar’a Sere’th, a war that would have seen all the life and beauty snuffed out, the destruction of the very world. Nearly forty percent of the known world was killed during that war, and the man who had lead the undead army, Drefan Robert Royale, Prince of Royale was forgiven for his part in the events and as far as most know has gone into hiding. Most just wish him dead. This is 21 years later.
"I understand war Mylord, every scar seen and unseen on this shell is from war." Shnorhik rebuked her eyes on Drefan’s turned back. “I know the hate, I know the ignorance. But how much longer do we have to wait? They will wait, your people will wait till the day old age takes their souls into the stream and their blood nourishes the land. But must they? You are our heir," she implored.
Words would grow louder as the warrior tried to get her point across, “Camar’as’ terror at our loyalty should not stop us from being free. What did we fight for? What did those women die for if not for our God Nanqa, if not for you!?”
“Which is precisely why I can’t rule!" Drefan spun to face her, his eyes black fire now, but even so she would not back down as he tried to make her understand. “Damn it, it is my fault that nearly my entire people were eradicated and you want me to take the throne?!"The words hissed out through grit teeth. Shnorhik’s arms crossed as she watched him, her brown eyes on his black, and “…Is that what you really believe?" she asked at last and the Royalian shook her head at him a deep sadness to her eyes.
“No Mylord, we knew, in our hearts," her scarred hand laid on her breast. “Through the darkness, we could feel the grief weighing down and you slipping away from us. But you were too far afield, we could do nothing from here," and the grief was huffed out, eyes hardening, starring at Drefan unafraid of her liege, daring to challenge him with her next words. “You never had to ask for our forgiveness! To us there is nothing to forgive!"
“Nothing??" Drefan snapped but Shnorhik would not give up ground, "Nothing. We marched north into the lands of light; we fought beside Islay, Daranigh, Jharrik and Gaelian because you were lost. If we could stop you then maybe we could stop the world’s suffering, free the northlands holy city, and with that perhaps you would be freed too. Honor dictated no less then stand beside our enemy because they would never do such a thing for us!"
Drefan starred at Shnorhik, at the woman who had died and risen moments later to keep on fighting in a seemingly endless war more times than could be comprehended. She shook her head, not having lost that same strength twenty one years after the fact, “We were not going to give up on you, or give up on Nanqa. Never."
She stepped another solid step forward, eyes still boring into his unerringly, “You never had to ask anything of us, we give ourselves freely. That has always been our way; we die upon our blade to give our lives for you, for Royale, our homeland. You then bring us back to fight anew in the legions of undead and we are proud to have that honor to serve our kingdom and our King. We give up our first born child, returning that precious life to Nanqa so he may remain strong in the void so someday he can come back to us. We wait! We have waited two thousand years, when by the Lord of Darkness and Honor does the waiting end? When can I take my blade to the stomach of the next Camar’ian fool who dares shove and spit on one of us?"
Drefan began to shake, the wisps of darkness crawling up his arms and slowly he would lose his human appearance, showing the skeletal undead beneath. Shnorhik continued, “You are a Liche Mylord, we consider that the greatest honor bestowed to man, to attain immortality and search for wisdom and knowledge for eternity. Is this all forgotten by the lack of having a soul?" She sounded pained and suddenly exhausted, “Perhaps it is not only the Camar’ians who need to learn of Royale," and the fire went out in her and she at last turned away. “Fear not the deity that created you Mylord, for that is the greatest of sorrows, to lose faith in what only meant to protect you."
Drefan hissed through his teeth softly, hands curled into fists by his sides, “Nanqa through my hands was what dealt all the death and destruction that took place during the Scourge War!"
Sudden bitter laughter from Shnorhik and her eyes closed hard, head shaking, back still turned to him, “No, no. That was insanity, not Nanqa. Not you."
Drefan fell silent. All of it just sounded like excuses.
"I cannot explain it well enough, I do not know enough to explain, but we believe. Our Lord Nanqa came back to us when the war ended when for three years no prayers were answered. But even during that while, roses bloomed for the souls sacrificed to protect our lands; people came back from the dead time and time again. No other deity has want of us; no other deity has given so much to us. We are Nanqa’s and Nanqa’s alone, though we honor all Sixteen, even Reinn Anon who wants us wiped off this planet like an infestation." Shnorhik turned slowly to look through her dark brown curls at the man who had nearly destroyed the world. Drefan Robert Royale, descendent of Nanqa,undead liche, bitter and tired after his mind was restored from grief stricken hatred, the man that should have been the Royalian King, their King.
Drefan huffs,"Alright, then who do I speak to now?"
“There is a little girl Mylord, she is favored by Nanqa, a vessel for our Lord of Darkness, she would be able to explain better. I am a warrior, not a priest."
“…Then I will attempt to find her,” Drefan mumbled, so it seemed her words had shaken him and he would go looking for this girl after all. Nathanael had been right, even if others forgave you themselves; if you did not believe yourself worthy of their forgiveness you would never be forgiven. Perhaps he needed to do the forgiving, to forgive his deity in return so that he could be free?
It was worth a try he supposed…
Drefan had not thought everything through in murdering his father, he was not normally so impulsive. The last year had disrupted and changed so much. But the King of Royale, his father was dead, in small pieces in some brook somewhere, where no-one living would find the abusive Son of a Bitch. But that meant Royale had no King, Robert’s wife Elizabeth was a mouse of a woman from the abuse, daughter of a Danaigh merchant from the north, she could not rule herself, a foreign woman and in a foreign land.
The throne fell to Drefan, but wait, the peace agreement, the legally binding marital agreement between Cama’ra and Royale told a different story. Bitter enemies for more then a millennium, this had been a very long time in coming, orchestrated by Drefan that his younger brother would marry the Camar’ian heir. So Drefan could not rule if he did not wish to break treaty. He had worked for years, putting up with slander and ridicule by his enemies to get peace for his people…
Until Thom was of age their would be no King of Royale, the throne left empty and Camar’a pulling it’s strings. Drefan had to talk to his people, translating for the two people he wanted dead now even more then his father, but the thought of war stilled his hand. With Queen Elaina and King Peter standing at his back he passes the edicts that are veiled threats, and diplomatic vomit. He cools his expression and acts the diplomat as he boils inside, strings being pulled as a marinate.
The people of Royale listened to him, true heir of the Dark throne, to tell them to peacefully give up their arms, the men ordered to give up their swords and military academies closed. The Kingdom of Light feared it’s old enemy greatly and the only control they could keep was through military superiority. Drefan felt the clenching of his gut squeeze harder each and every time he saw the look of confusion, the mix of trust and loyalty in the eyes of his people. An honest bewilderment of people with too great an honor code to not obey their Lord. The Royalians simply wanted to know why Drefan was agreeing, they wanted to know why they did not fight the Camar’ians.
All Drefan could say to them in his anguished eyes was…
By Nanqa, the Dark Lord, I’ll do something.
The resignation of their eyes would only grow in the next year as foreign policies were instated, foreign guards and lords taking the place of their own. Sadness, anger Drefan could have understood, could have comforted but resignation? Resignation was unassailable.
To save himself and his brother from private agony he had caused the oppression of his own people by their oldest enemy. Peaceful the guise may have been he knew as Elaina and Peter took his brother Thom aside to teach him how to rule that they would systematically destroy everything Royalian about his beloved homeland.
Drefan’s killing of his father caused this disaster, then the spell he meant to use on one of his brother’s friends went awry and began to slowly kill his brother… His mother Elizabeth suicides and Drefan knows as he reads the note she left behind it is his fault. Monster.
At last his brother succumbs to the disease from the spell and perishes with Drefan clutching his hands at Thom’s bedside. Chaos had been inching it’s way, twisting in, breaking pieces away and finally his mind shattered. Everything he had meant to do to help had only furthered the destruction of everything he held dear.
So then, who were the first to die when he loses himself to the darkness and his God with him?
The King and Queen of Cama’ra.
Gaelians, the people of Camar’a, oppressors of his people.
Those who scorned and hated him still.
All would die, and rise again to serve him in undeath. All for the love of his family and his homeland.
Nilec, Nathanael’s sister is told of her destiny by her Goddess, Wan’an’iena, Goddess of Fate and Time. Nilec does not fight this because of a past where she had nothing except her Goddess by her side. She knows she will have to manipulate a man into loving her, marrying her and together they will take a country through her visions and strategy. This will aid her brother Nathanael when he is taking back the throne through the army they will be able to give him to take back the capitol city. Nilec knows she will break this man, James, and she does not wish to do so but knows that Elves were not given the gift of free will like man. She will do as her destiny foretells.
Nathanael heir to the Camar’ian throne finds out he is going to die at age 9 of chronic illness. He has been married to the prince of the southern country, Thom sense birth for peace. Camar’a and Royale have been at war for nearly two millenia because of ideological and religious hatred. The Northern country of Camar’a following the God of Light Reinn Anon, and the southern country following the God of Darkness Nanqa.
Prince Drefan, Thom’s older brother acted as diplomat to the north and arranged the marriage so his war weary country could have peace. Elaina, Nathanel’s mother is both King and Queen as her husband is overwhelmed and mentally weak, Peter being a pawn to the nobles. Elaina and Peter have Nathanael grow up in a cabin far from the court so he will be able to have a childhood as they did not because of the courts.
Thom and Drefan are more parents to Nathanel then his actual parents, even so he still wishes for their warmth and approval. The boy finds out he does not just enjoy but craves pain, a mental disease that he cannot escape. Thom is concerned but supportive, Drefan shows Nathanael his own scars.
Drefan at the beginning of the book is being cared for by his brother Thom and friend Lawrence at the end of a six week recovery from nearly 9 months of doing opium. His body is dying as well from the damage done to his lungs and liver among other things. Drefan becomes a lich to keep himself ‘alive’, giving up his soul in exchange for immortality as members of his bloodline have done in the past. He also hopes this will give him the power to overpower and finally kill his father Robert who has been abusing Thom, his mother Elizabeth and he. Thom does not remember this abuse though as Drefan cleans his memories wishing to preserve his brothers kind nature and not have Thom turn as bitter as he.
In a dream/vision of a theater, Thom, Robert and Elizabeth are dead, being puppet-ed upon the stage. Nathan goes up the winding iron staircase to find the puppet master. Drefan is watching as well from down the iron walkway, his expression stoney in his shock and revulsion at what they are seeing.
The one puppeting is a form that shifts like liquid from Drefan, to Robert, to Nathanael, to shadowy figures that neither can completely make out except one. But Drefan knows this one, his own God, Nanqa, and he keeps this information to himself. Nathan still yells at Drefan that he doesn’t want to be monster, they still argue, Drefan still angrily insists that no one wants to be a monster and Nathan falls as the railing breaks.
Nathan wakes up from this dream and Nilec tells Nathanael of his destiny. That he will lose everything and everyone and must have the strength to take back the throne and have a child before his death at 18. Nathanael who only knows conditional love from his parents and knows of his father’s shame in him because of his craving of pain believes himself a monster too, he will not fight a painful destiny that he at 9 years old believes he deserves.
Drefan after the vision now knows that this will be the future and tries to change it. Giving him another reason to kill Robert besides his vengeance, he believes if he kills his father perhaps his family will be safe not only from all these years of abuse but from a terrible future. However his anger and hatred still lead him down the same path and even with good intentions Drefan still is the reason that his father Robert, Mother Elizabeth and brother Thom all die. Everything he did was with good intentions, wishing to save his mother and brother, giving his country peace, but in the end these good intentions paved the road to hell. It is his fault his entire family dies, that his country is taken by Camar’a, and that destiny still prevails.
Coming to realize that he is the cause for everything, that he really is a monster, a monster worse even then his father over the dying body of his brother transforms him. That he in doing everything to escape destiny, only helped it to prevail is the catalyst that sends him hurtling into the abyss, shattering his mind. He has nothing left to lose after the betrayal of his love Riq’ua, who refused to believe that he was being abused and the pushing away his only friend for Lawrence’s safety.
Nanqa, God of Darkness who was inside Drefan’s mind to attempt to help him through all of his struggles is caught within a mortal mind. Nanqa knows he has failed his bloodline, for Drefan is a scion of his line and within a mortal mind Nanqa shatters from guilt and rage. The diety then becomes consumed by Drefan’s hatred and wish for vengeance, and does not only kill Nathanael’s family and the court of Camar’a but goes on a warpath.
Nathanael lost his own family that day as well but, The God of Light, Reinn Anon, who Nathanael is the scion of tells him he must kill the last remaining person Nathan has, as Nathanael does not know if Nilec lives. Nathanael must save his world by killing the last person he loves in the world.
Broken and shattered Drefan not only destroys the country that made his own suffer, genocides the people most beloved by the other Gods because his people were hated but goes on to try to kill All life. Everything would suffer. Everything would Die.
Drefan becomes the enemy.
Nathanael has to stop him.
Drefan, you tried to set me free and I do thank you and I know you did it the only way you knew how. You live what you learn you once said long ago. There is truth and lie to such a statement. You live what you have learned and wish to teach. To love and never have hated is to never have felt true passion; I think I am realizing that now. All emotions are flips of a coin, heads and tails, darkness and light.
I can feel hate, I used to deny it, I used to wonder why I couldn’t feel it. But that was not true, I can, but I have blocked it out, deep in my heart. But what has that done for me all this time? I tried to block out anger as well, and it has taken all this time, the loss and the abuse to realize that both emotions are only just that, emotions like the rest. I thank you Drefan for what you did for me but I hate you all the same. I am angry at you for the years of my life you stole from me, the hopes and dreams you shattered because you had none yourself. You tried to destroy me, but you made me stronger. You tainted and liberated me. I thank you…and I hate you.
I am growing up, I’m not afraid anymore. I’m learning to love myself; I am an altruist, and a masochist. I may have been a monster, but now I am Damion’s angel. I was a broken china doll, but now I am someone’s salvation, their hopes and their dreams. I am looking to the future now not the past; I’m going to stop feeling sorry for myself now. I never realized by hating myself how much I was hurting people who loved me. I am sorry. I’m a hypocrite, wishing to not burden others, and to hurt them. I always ended up blaming myself, but I just didn’t want to blame other people, I did not want to hurt or sadden others.
But the greatest pain is to see someone you love never forgive themselves, to believe themselves undeserving. I will stop hating myself and hurting others through that self deprecation. I will try to forgive myself for the things in my life I cannot change; I will try to love myself through all the pain and all the sadness. I will love, I will hate, I will cry and I will scream; I want to be whole. Like some scattered puzzle I will find all of my wayward pieces so you, my love, can help me put myself together again. I want to be worthy and I know that I need to find myself worthy first.
Damion? Will you wait for me? I’m still learning even as I am dying, and I may fail… But what is important is trying right? So I will try. For Drefan who is my past, for Damion my present and for my son who is my future and at last…Myself too.
I will try.
- Nathanial Peter Quele Royale
Content Notes/Warnings: First Sex scene ever. Timeline is prior to Novels. I am very pleased with this piece, I haven't been so personally pleased with a piece of my own writing in a very long time.
Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse and injuries, Sex scene.
Main Character/s: Drefan Robert Royale, Lawrence
Plot: Drefan can almost forget...almost.
Location: Lawrence’s farmstead in Royale
Lawrence’s thumb brushed the choke-hold, the rope marks that encircled my throat and he said no worries, though with Lawrence this was a simple habit of his silence. I enjoyed the peace, the calm that came with him, and my chin dipped up toward the ceiling in my own silence giving him permission to touch as he willed. No one else had that trust, not yet, only Lawrence and Thom could brush my skin with bare fingertips causing gentle shivers down my spine. But it was Lawrence that could go further, and I opened my lips for him when he leaned in to kiss me with a gentleness that I had not known before I had first let this man in. Tenderness and gentleness were not simple words to me, they were somewhat of a mystery, one unraveled by the only friend I had, a farmer’s boy who had stood at my back during a bar brawl.
Not the way I would have thought to meet anyone that I could get this close to, but I know looking back and forward, you have to worm your way in. I’m not out to make friends, to allow people to see inside of me, and Lawrence fought at my back with fists, untrained but with upper body strength only a farmer would have. It was in itself a long road to this point, communication, touch, and trust, but it brought us to this and Lawrence leaned his weight against my body, enough that I could feel the heat of his chest. Dark brown eyes were intent on my face as we broke for breath, but I had always appreciated that with me, he did not try to hold eye contact. It was a norm in our culture to look the other in the eye at all times, but with the knowing of each other it seemed he could tell it was not something I would do during this.
A tanned hand slid up over the white cloth of my shirt, and the other tugged out from pants so it could touch skin causing me again to shiver. I did meet his eyes for a small time, my usual midnight blues lighter and his browns darker. A smile was the reply to my action and he leaned his forehead against my own, his black dreadlocks falling around his shoulders, laying partially over mine. This path had been taken more than a few times, nights of drinking to forget about the scars and hates, but those nights weren’t so gentle. At first I thought he let me do it because of my position but I had to remind myself back then that I had not told him I was prince, that I had wanted one man not to kiss my ass and shine my boots for nothing more than a penance. And in confusion I had to go off on my own to reconcile with how this man could trust me when he did not even know my name. I could never do such a thing, but I know I’m repressed, I know my childhood was damaging and that even with all the bravado there’s something seething inside.
He knows too. Lips brush my nose and then they move up, feathers over my furrowed brow and his hand moves from bare stomach to tangle in my blonde hair, dipping me forward so he could press a kiss to the top of my head. Never any words, for some reason with him they just weren’t needed, Lawrence was a man who did not waste his breath on un-needed frivolities. I had no need to put up the front, to wage the diplomatic war of words, and that took years off of me, allowing me to look into the mirror and realize that I was only sixteen.
Lawrence’s cheek rested against my forehead, an arm of mine looping about his waist and tucked as I was against the hollow of his throat, feeling the up and down of his Adam’s apple the words rose to a whisper.
“I’m not a virgin.”
There was no reaction, and my own Adam’s apple bobbed with sudden nerves and I knew that voice inside. I would not let that voice tell me I should not have spoke the words, that voice of cynicism and rage, a voice that wore my father’s face.
Time was too slow in seconds like these before he pulled away so his dark brown eyes looked back to my face, not right into my eyes but at my face.
“You spoke you had never had a relationship,” the words were not accusatory; they were confused, asking for relief and explanation.
“I haven’t...” I answered and I leaned my head back against the wall of his bedroom where he lived with his parents, no longer did I keep secret that I was royalty, he knew, and so did they.
“But I’m not a virgin.”
Eyes trailed back to the rope burns I left exposed by the position of my head and the line of my throat. Lawrence stayed silent again, starring at the marks with his intense gaze, and I shivered but this time not because of his touch. With my reaction he took up my hand with his own, eyes intent on the rope burns around my wrist that matched the throat. Turning my wrist he bent, dreads cascading about to cover his face again as he brought my hand the last distance to his lips. A kiss pressed against my knuckles, “We die too quick to live in the past,” the words breathed against skin, “We must make with what we can.”
Straightening his eyes found mine and continued speaking, “Then it is a matter of show, and of differences told. Re-learn, and push back the tides of your drowning.”
Lawrence never asked me how, why, when, where of the scars and my bitterness, he worshiped the inches of my skin as he walked me to his pallet. Every scar was examined with eyes and tasted with lips, but never was there words said. My shames and my frustrations were my own, and he understood this without even having to be told.
Settling down he pressed weight slowly onto me, and now I would meet his eyes, and I would keep the gaze, to tell myself of better things, of Lawrence and trust and nothing else. I held back the gasps that I could as his hand buried gently in my hair and he found a sensitive spot over left ribcage with his tongue and teeth. His desire was mimicking my own, and heated groans puffed past panting lungs as lower extremities contacted and ground. Extra time spent on those markings along my thighs and my hands gripped onto the pallet in my impatience, a growl pushed past my lips as he made me wait. Head up, tongue licking over his wet lips, I panted as Lawrence looked up at me, dark brown was so different from dark blue, and I made myself see the differences, not the similarities. His lips were coy at my impatience and it hit me hard again as it always had, Lawrence was fourteen. His body and his demeanor spoke of a man older then I, but that was how it happened in the fields of Royale, from the day you could walk you helped on the farm and you matured faster than the ilk of the upper-class. Brows furrowed down at him the smile grew and he dipped back and the Bastard! My voice nearly took a high pitched tone of puberty when his lips wrapped around my organ.
He had never tried that before even when we were tossed by drink and it did not take long at all before I could think no further except on what he was doing. The pressure building into a ball in the pit of my stomach and his fingers taking sacks into hand was the last straw and I tugged two dreads trying to give some form of warning. Drawing back I let go and the orgasm shook through me as he lay by my side watching me as my eyes clenched shut. Fingers ran through my disheveled hair and my eyes opened to him, a brow going up at him as he still was as hard as ever.
Lawrence sat up on one elbow looking into my face and a thumb brushed my cheek, “I will show you differences,” and he moved to press against me again, weight settling between my spread legs.
It wasn’t easy finding something we could use to ease the way but he had kept the bottle of massage oil I had brought last time for this and it served for our purpose. I clenched him to me with an arm as he pressed into me, the other hand grasping at the pallet so I could call off my own defensive reactions to the searing burn. Kisses were pressed over my shoulders and one to my Adam’s apple, pants and shoulders rose and fell as Lawrence stayed still for me, the burning beginning to ease away. Growing hard again against his stomach he took it as the silent queue to begin to move and I fell back against the pallet, starring up at him.
Past words slither through my conscious, “There is no love found between two men, no love between two women, only carnal desire...” What the fuck would Robert know? Father’s a sick bastard who gets off on kinks and power trips, how the hell would he know about love? Even if this isn’t love, I don’t need it, Lawrence is my friend and that’s enough for me.
“Drefan,” Lawrence shuddered against chest as the heat had increased so that we were sweating and sliding against each other, my fingers digging into his black dreadlocks. My name on his lips, fuck love, this, this was enough for me.
And noises rose higher before they died, clutching each other, Lawrence resting most of his weight on me to get himself back from post orgasmic bless. He didn’t move still and I found I didn’t really mind, his fingers sliding through my hair as I felt the coarseness of his own. Watching the rise and fall of his shoulders and back against me, I grinned pressing a kiss to a sweaty tanned shoulder.
“That was nearly as good as going to the opium dens,” there was near laughter in my voice that never saw the light of day anywhere else but here.
A hard chuckle against me he looked up to me, “Almost.”
I rubbed his back with my palm and shrugged, starring up at the thatched ceiling wondering if it was worth the risk coming home smelling of Lawrence. I would do it to just get the prick in my face, to let him know again and again that he could do whatever the fuck he could get away with but I’m not his. But it wasn’t worth the risk for Lawrence’s sake, but I did want to go home smelling of another man just to piss Father off to high heaven, “I’m going mad,” I whispered to no-one in particular.
“But I knew it would happen,” I continued, the words rang with emotion, bitterness and sadness, and Lawrence kissed my brow again holding my face in his hands.
“I will pray to Nanqa every night, I will pray that he will look out for you, you who are of his bloodline. I am certain our Lord would help in any way he can.”
Giving Lawrence a quick but deep kiss, “I know, he does what he can,” and lay my head back down.
“Stay?” Lawrence’s head on my chest, I closed my eyes, “Yes.”
I’m going mad, I knew it would happen, slow and steady, the pieces chip, pieces fall and my mind builds up fortifications. Is it worth the risk to Lawrence to be his friend? Were both going to get burned, but if I were to walk away right now the prick would win, and I won’t let Father win, Lawrence is strong, he’ll handle himself. To have nights like this filled with passion, to drink and laugh, to fall asleep beside each other high and feeling no pain from the opium. I’m going mad and I just don’t care, I’ll live in the moment as they come, love or no, it doesn’t matter. Protect Thom, protect my people, fight that prick at any turn, I’ll make it worth it all in the end. In the end.