Chapter Text
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart... -Jorge Luis Borges, In a Deserted Streetcorner
As expected when the early light of morning cast it's reaching rays through the shredded curtains.... Cockerell regret his words of the evening before. Opening about his pains, his loss... Should he even have done it? Told Dustfinger everything like that. Reveal his weak heart, making himself seem less than the monster he'd so long built himself up to be.... It was difficult, his mind warring with itself. The contradiction of wanting to be seen as more than a violent monster, showing that he had a heart and there was reason for the way he was.... Then his mind yelling at him mere hours later, telling him what a fool he was for showing said heart so easily. Dustfinger was right... Truly being known was a terrifying thing.
Dustfinger, this man.... This beautiful firedancer who'd made him angry so many damn times... Who half the time he wanted to choke for not following his rules, his demands, for nearly getting himself killed.... And yet for who his soul had never felt more alive. It felt so strange having everything lain out between them. No more secrets.... All the reasons for his hate and rage toward the town revealed. How he and his mother were treated, what caused his violent threats upon the townspeople.... To have a veritable stranger to the town knowing the history that put everyone in this position. There was a feeling of a weight lifted off his chest, yet it had been replaced by a new weight of great unease. He wanted so deeply to be loved in the way that he loved his little firebird.... But he couldn't change, he was no proper gentleman despite the fact he could ocassionally be... He was still wild, had been, even before the beast spliced into his soul. The scorned son of a witch, raised in the woods and friends with only birds. That was the reason for Dustfinger's lingering distaste, was it not? The true beast that was the man?
His feet hit the deep blood red rug as he slipped from the bed. He was quiet and swift in his movements so as not to wake the blond, pulling open the doors of his wardrobe to dress. A quick wash up followed in succession, finished with the application of kohl around his intense eyes. Leather gloves slid over his pale hands, and he glanced back towards the bed. Among the black sheets, unmoving golden waves indicated to him the man was still asleep. So, on quiet steps he took his leave from the bedroom, and made way down the stairs till he entered the dining hall. Relaxing into his high backed wooden chair, he perched his booted feet upon the table before steepling his gloved fingers. It was still, so silent in the early morning not even the spiders in their cornered webs seemed to be awake. His lids were heavy, and his sharp red brows were furrowed tightly, thoughts back to being unkind in every aspect. Dustfinger was comforting.... He hadn't had that with another person in so long. He'd been held close the evening before, condolences given for the loss of his mother.... He should take it at face value... Dustfinger had never lied.
But deep down he was bitter.... Not surprising really, he didn't trust people... Developed that distrust young.... And he had yet to be given reason to fully trust another person since the loss of his mother. People were fickle.... Even if they did try, it often wasn't long until they showed the person they truly were. Why did he say anything? Why did he trust and open up? His icy hues dropped closed and his gloved fingers rubbed his temples in self aggravation. He could blame the manor, be angry with them for encouraging him... But he knew it had been his final decision in the end, a stupid late night final decision. Damn his heart, he craved Dustfinger so deeply.... He just had to make sure the blond never left.... Even if things went wrong, he couldn't leave, ever... Dustfinger belonged to him. He was in control. He was in control. Cockerell took a breath, reminding himself as his eyes flicked open once more. He was the beast still, a Lord, the one controlling this town, and Dustfinger was his pet.
How many times had he needed to remind himself of this since the blond came into his life? He'd been so sure of himself for so long.... He wouldn't be cold again, but he'd make sure that Dustfinger never got the chance to break his heart. "You're up rather early." The soft voice broke Cockerell from his musings and his gaze settled on the slightly sleep disheveled firedancer. A margin of smile twitched the corners of his lips, despite himself, at seeing the gorgeous blond. "Couldn' sleep any longer." His voice was a bit hoarse, and low, milky blue hues watching the other come to settle in his usual spot at the head of the table. "Did you rest better at all?" The blond was looking at him with something soft, kind, sympathetic even. Did he sleep better after telling the man his, their story? In a way, it was more his body completely giving into exhaustion, so after a few moments he answered truthfully. "I don' recall... So I suppose I did..."
Cockerell seemed farther away, not in the physical sense, but more in the emotional and mental sense. Dustfinger was only slightly surprised that he wasn't in bed when he awoke. However, it was still rather early when he himself woke this time, early enough that the manor hadn't even brought out breakfast yet. There was an odd stillness, so he was starting to believe that perhaps the manor did sleep, or do something similar to it at least. He pondered if the Lord's mind was still on the late evening before, and he wouldn't foul him if that were the case. His nightmare, then opening up about everything that happened. It was truly no surprise that the redhead had grown up as he did. "Last evening..." The firedancer began, his voice gentle so as not to possibly cause upset with the delicate matter. Cockerell didn't want to speak on it, it was hard enough berating himself for broaching the painful topic on his own... He most decidedly didn't want to keep coming back to it... He did enough of that on his own in his drunken despairing looking on her portrait. "You ought ta dress love. Gonna up an freeze ya cock off, n' we both know that'd be a real shame."
That wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting, but with the interruption, it was obvious that the redhead had no interest in continuing that line of conversation right now. After a moment or so Dustfinger stood again. "You're quite right, I'll return shortly." With a small smile he took a moment to press a kiss to the redheads cheek before leaving the dining hall and making his way back upstairs. The Lord blinked a couple times, and stared after his lover, before rubbing his temples again. The sweet bastard was so entwined into his heart, he was begining to wonder if Dustfinger could even be pried out. He needed a good strong cup of black tea or coffee, something to help this growing stress headache. Part of him still screamed to rein in his heart, though he knew it was far too late for such a thing.
On the table a cup of black coffee appeared between one moment and the next and he looked upward with a small nod of thanks, before shifting his feet back to the floor and pulling his chair forward. The cup was warm in his gloved hand and he sat for a few just taking in the scent of the coffee before sipping. "Please don't do that..." He wasn't sure how the blond man had snuck up on him for once, and was a bit unsettled by the fact to be truthful. Perhaps he'd been far too lost in his own thoughts to realize the man had returned. His blue grey hues flicked back up to meet the slightly sad gaze of the younger, though he was unsure as to what he was implying. Walking around the table, Dustfinger came to his side settling himself atop the table so he could tilt Cockerell's face towards him. "You're attempting to hide away again, I can see it." The bearded man wanted to curse, being known already so well by the other.... Made him furious, caused him to want to pull away all the more. It had taken some time to understand, but it was like a strike of lightning with the realization. He felt this way because he knew deep down, his firebird still wanted to leave him. Despite everything, despite all he'd given and was giving, despite pouring so much of his heart out.
How could he not feel betrayed, mind tugged back to the way Castano had held the firedancer, had hugged him so close, and promised to get him out. It was infuriating, he couldn't let such a thing happen, Dustfinger would learn to love him the way he was loved. Instead of answering the younger man's comment, his gloved hand wrapped around the one on his cheek and he pressed a kiss to the palm. The movement caused the handsome blond to smile, his eyes alighting some, when the other's leather covered fingers stroked over the top of his hand. "Ya don like me hidin'...." Though a statement, more than a question, the younger man shook his head. "I understand how difficult it was to tell me all you have.... But you needn't hide any longer." The blond wanted to express that he'd be there for the older man, but there was a sickly twinge in his chest even thinking of those words. He was here because he had no choice..... He'd almost forgotten that, for just a moment... Or weeks if he was to be fully honest with himself. How could he forget? He was still a prisoner.
He'd had to partially ignore the fact for his own sake, apparently he'd ignored it a bit too much. Perhaps he could convince the man to let him go. They'd become close, intimate, the beastly Lord was even in love with him. Maybe there was still a chance of getting out of here after all. He'd been here too long. However, he recalled then wanting to contact his mother and a slight furrow tweaked his brows. He should work on that, trying to compile a letter to the woman and explain the best he could everything that had happened. "Now you've gone inta hidin'." Dustfinger blinked when a gloved finger stroked between his brows as if attempting to wipe away the furrow.
"Simply pondering how to explain everything to my mum. There's so much to say." His smile was meager with a strain at the corners, before he looked down again. Cockerell admittedly wasn't sure what to say. He supposed he was still technically the villain in Dustfinger's story... Though he wasn't at all surprised ... It's what he wanted, right? It's who he was...there were some things that would never change. Instead of replying to the blond's comment, his gloved hand moved to curve around the firedancers hip where he sat on the table. "Les' eat, then ya can take yor time scratchin' somethin' up in me office." It was the least he could offer right? Due to not having an answer.
With the lingering taste of black tea at the back of his throat, Dustfinger settled himself into the chair at the desk. The fireplace crackled warmly, his seaweed and ocean hues staring down at the small pile of parchment in front of him. As he'd mentioned to the Lord, it had been some time since he'd been able to write to Madeleina. Perhaps he should just start from the begining... But it was difficult to remain calm and not possibly start ranting or throw his mother into panic. He picked up the ink pen, eyes heavy with sadness and unsurety. Right now he was more worried about her than himself... That was the truth of it.... To hell with his own issues, he was going to take advantage of the fact he was in place long enough to properly receive a letter in return. With a small nod to himself, he began, throwing aside all pretense of explaining his story or concern about his own situation. The black ink made its first marks to the parchment and he focused completely.
From the doorway a set of milky blue hues watched the firebird begin his letter. He'd have it sent out as soon as possible, with absolute care in making sure it got where it needed too.... Dustfinger's mother was still alive and well, he knew it to be so despite the youngers frightened concern.... And he needed to make sure his lover was allowed complete contact with her. He watched the man for only a few more moments before turning on his heel. When he'd arrived back on the ground floor layers of black were slowly discarded. Gloves, suit coat, flowy shirt, and finally followed by pointed boots. Each piece scooped up by diligent rose vines, while the crackle of bones caused the Lord his usual slight discomfort. Black fur, thick and interspersed with the vibrancy of red feathers.
Large black paws crunched into the pure white snow, the heavy back manor doors closing to keep the heat inside. Blue hues, almost glowing in contrast stared up into the cloudy sky, while hot beastly breath cascaded through the air. Raising his furry arms before himself, Cockerell didn't need to wait long before the croaks of ravens heralded the arrival of his dearest friends. Without a bit of fear the black birds perched along every part of the beastly being they could, two taking up spots on his curled horns. Those that couldn't find a spot instead hopped about around his feet, some of them even grooming his fur in a familial manner.
He was a stark dark figure against the snowy ground, only broken up by the backdrop of deep colored plants, and flashes of cardinal red feathers amongst his fur. His mind tumbled back through everything he experienced since the loss of his mother, growing up half on the streets, half in the woods.... The gangs he fell in and out of, the curse that took him over, the fights he'd attend night after night as he grew meaner and stronger trying to master his beast, understand how to use it. Then the night he was ganged up on, his leg wrecked so it never quite healed correctly. If nothing else the idiots helped him in understanding his beast, before he ripped them apart, struggling on a mangled leg the whole time. He remembers vaguely, the beast slipping from his form, before stumbling to the doctor for a perfunctory look over. He ended up spending a short amount of time stuck in a bed, before ducking out first chance he could get, without paying. The old man had been decent in helping, but he refused to become complacent around those bastards. They'd shown who they were, and he'd never forgive them.
A loud trill from one of his raven friends pulled him back to the present, and his milky blue hues flicked to the bird on his left shoulder. "Wha'?" Eyes moving up towards where the bird was watching, he turned his large furry head to the window of his office. They knew his firebird was up there pouring over parchment and he huffed, half of it coming out like a rolled growl over his teeth. The birds slightly startled but soon settled back in place knowing they weren't in any real danger. "Ya, he's the only bird I've ever been so bleedin' frustrated with in me life." The croaks from the avians almost sounded like amused laughter, and there was a 'humph' in reply from the lion like beast. "Ya, alrigh' laugh it up..... Love might be easy fo' ya lot but s' much more difficult fo' us..." He didn't want it to be. He loved Dustfinger, but why wouldn't the other love him back?