Wait for the Stone on your Window. [Adam]

[venvolkov]

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[atrb=background,http://i867.photobucket.com/albums/ab236/AxeMar_Equals_Me/Ventablebot.jpg] The minutes crept by--lengthening into hours. He kept his gaze fixed on the ethereal blue center of the flames that licked against the ill-fitting hurricane glass that housed them, spotted with age. The insides of the lamps themselves were smeared with long streaks of opaque black, causing the circlet of pale yellow light that they cast to seem even dimmer in contrast. He stared until the light made him wince and glance away, pale lines of white etched into his retinas and floating in front of him for a moment before he blinked them away. Ven only half-noticed when the left side of the mattress sagged. The second the significance of it sank in, however, he was quick to turn on his side. The sharp twist wrenched across his spine, the skin along his back suddenly pulling taut. For a moment, the tension held, and then, with a muted, sickening crack--not unlike the moist tear of cartilage--the tension went slack, replaced instead by the warm, steady trickle of blood. An airless noise escaped him, before he had the sense to muffle it; his teeth sank into the flesh of his cheek with a bruising force. The fresh wave of pain was a distraction from the first. It had been a little over a week since the raid, and although most of the superficial wounds had begun to knit, the central wounds--a pair of seven, criss-crossing each other in a bizarre pattern that almost seemed to resemble insectile wings--that were taking the longest to heal. They weren't so much lines as trenches--gouged into his pale skin in the form of raised welts that flushed angry colorations that ran the gamut from a faded flush to an angry red. For the most part, they were centered across his spine--though fainter lines appeared just shy of his shoulders. His left hand, too, had taken the brunt of the damage--a memento of his unthinking attempt to block the bullwhip's assault. The hand in question was heavily gauzed--less for protection and more to shield the ugly ruin of flesh--more like a pulpy mass of skin--with a too-white gleam that ran lengthwise across his palm. Anubis had done his best to close the wounds along his back with the tools at his disposal--but the stitches were flimsy, prone to crusting over with blood. All the same, Ven didn't let their pull prevent him from wrapping his arms around Dmitri's shoulders, a sleepy murmur and a chaste kiss greeting the man, before he promptly buried his face in his chest. He'd meant to only feign sleep--to wait until Delta's breathing slowed and the subtle half-turn; all familiar signs that he slept. But something about the answering weight of Dmitri's arms around him and gentle rise and fall of his chest lulled him into sleep. Perhaps it was the comfort the man offered. The sense of safety, after what had been a nightmarish week. Whatever the reason, it was some time before he woke. It was impossible to know how much time had passed. The only indication was that the tunnels had grown darker, which meant either it was approaching midnight, or was well past. Ven shifted, suddenly restless. He had hoped that the passing of the hours would weaken his resolve, if not destroy it completely. Instead, he found it had only strengthened. Sleep was no longer an option--every time he tried to close his eyes, he was haunted by the image that played behind his eyelids--of Adam tumbling endlessly down the stairwell, each sickening thud echoing in his ears, causing his pulse to race. It was a fools errand, he knew. Going back was likely to get him killed--if not by one of the Fulsi on patrol, then by Adam himself. He doubted the man would hesitate to drive the blade home. Not after this. He swallowed dryly, turning his head aside just long enough to kiss the inside of Dmitri's wrist, before slowly easing from his embrace. He wasn't concerned about waking him; Dmitri was far from a light sleeper. All the same, he was cautious as he braced his hands against the mattress, slowly lifting himself up an agonized inch at a time, teeth gritted. Dmitri may not have been a light sleeper, but he wasn't stupid---Ven's slower, deliberate movements were more likely to wake him. There was one panicked moment where Ven thought they had, but it passed. And then he was on his feet, moving down the silent rows of mattresses as quietly as he could. The moment the outline of the city against the darkened skies came into view, he hesitated. He'd never thought to come back here; not with the reminders of why he'd left still so fresh and weeping against his skin. He almost scoffed at the madden impulse that he had driven him there--the frantic, desperate thought that had clawed at his mind for days. I have to see him. I need to make sure he's okay. It seemed insane now. Maybe he was. It wasn't bravery that had driven him here. It wasn't guilt, either--at least not entirely. No, it was something he hesitated to name. Because admitting it would mean... It would mean believing in something so fragile, so precious, that it couldn't possibly withstand the strain of two opposing rings. And he couldn't risk that kind of loss, not again. Couldn't take it. But then why were his feet moving forward? Ven's steps were hesitant, pausing every few feet as he strained to listen for any indication that he'd been spotted. A hoarse voice lifted in a shout of alarm--a sharp, demand for identification. But his luck, it seemed, held. For the moment. All the same, he kept to the shadows, taking circuitous routes, skulking like a thief. He slipped inside minutes later, hand braced against the door so that it shut quietly. And then he took the stairs--one step at a time. It was a path he'd taken countless times before, and yet...yet this time, as he drew closer, his pace increased. There was a sudden eagerness to his gait that had never been there before, and he found himself suddenly not caring who heard. The unexpected elation faded, however, when his hand at last fell on the doorknob and eased it open. Not for the first time, he questioned what, exactly, he was doing there. All it took to quiet such thoughts, however, was for his gaze to come to rest on the figure on the bed. His heart began to beat a little faster as he crossed the room, finally bracing his knees on the mattress and lowering himself beside Adam. Distantly, he was aware that he shouldn't. That it would only take a second for Adam to lash out at him. And... he didn't care. No--if he was going to die, then it was only fitting--only right, that it should be here. Right here. With that thought in mind, he wasted no time in pressing against the slighter man--his chest to Adam's back. His lips were busy--showering what little he could see of the man's face in a trail of sweet, lingering kisses--starting at his temple and then trailing to the corner of his lips--and from there, to the crook of his neck. Faintly, between kisses, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." And then, after a moment, he pulled back, lifting a slightly shaking hand to stroke along the curve of his cheek. "...I love you." And then he was quiet. Content to simply rest against him, for however long it lasted. Ooc: So I promised fluff, and fluff you got. This is set after the raid, obviously, although the raid hasn't quite concluded. Wanted to make a get-well gift for Hazard.

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