Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thorny red and burgundy rose vines crawled up stone walls, a contrast to the coal hue of every brick, only offset by the occasional deep grey. The manor stood more the image of a castle, overrun by the roses and dark thorny bushes with deep purple leaves. Two obsidian statues guarded the black double doors, a pair of ravens that looked out to any visitors or intruders.... Though there were neither, and never had been. Some in the town called the single inhabitant of the large homestead an 'eccentric'....though that was either the kinder sorts or the horribly fearful. Most everyone, in near silent whispers referred instead to the man as 'Beast' or 'Monster'. He lived alone and as far as anyone could remember, he always had. Children would swap stories, after daring one another to approach the home, speaking of claw marks in the stones, or hearing animalistic roars and growls. A young woman even claimed to have seen a hulking beast staring down from one of the windows, draped in shadow.

The stories had gone on so many years without any sign of the inhabitant leaving or his demise that they were believed to be truth. What other being could live so long and remain young, but a beastly unnatural creature? He was left alone, given as much space as he required and soon children no longer attempted to dare one another to approach the doors. The fear and scoldings from family keeping them from trying. Streets were emptied quickly at night, neighbors warning to be home in bed before midnight or be taken by the black beast that stalked their streets. A schedule had been set in place years ago, autumn into winter was the Season of the Beast.... For no one knew his name, or more precisely they didn't wish to ever speak it unless forced too. He looked as a man, walked as a man, though still his presence was prominent, he was not one to ignore.

Clad always in black, a tall pale figure. His hair a shock of wild red atop his head and a curved goatee just as vibrant. His eyes were two pools of murky blue, clashing into grey. His pupils were pinpricks of darkness, intense as blackholes. He walked with a slight hitch in his step due to an old wound on his right leg, pointed boots giving a tap over cobblestones as he took through empty streets. He held an authority that no one in town questioned, shops immediately getting what his deep english voice demanded of them. Luckily for everyone in town these visits were few and far between. If anything though, his business often was a boon to all the shops he visited, for one thing no one could deny was the money.... The strange and frightening man was rich, and he'd buy plenty to store away in his castle like home on these rare visits.

There were two or three men he'd have deliver and unload everything, though they were payed handsomely to never talk about the inside of his home, not that they had much interest in upsetting the monster to begin with. The rumors and gossip for years had painted him as something inhuman, something not quite right, and perhaps this would have seemed cruel if not for his attitude. The man was cold, and callous, and the less time everyone had to spend around him the better. Amongst the tales were many who'd been brave enough to enter his manor and never return. Some said he ate them alive, others said he tossed them into a dungeon to torture, and others still would say he simply killed them for getting too curious. Though no one really knew if he'd truly killed anyone -just as they never knew if he was truly a Lord despite it being the title he used- the slightly unhinged look on his features would make anyone jump into action and do as he demanded. He got what he wanted, he always had, and not even the mayor of the town had denied him a thing.

On a rare clear day in early autumn, a travelling troupe of performers made their way into the town. Children curiously peeked out of windows and from behind their parents to watch the charming group go by. It had been some years since any travelling fair or entertainers had come upon their town let alone deined to stay. The group consisted of acrobats, jugglers, tightrope walkers, musicians and a fire dancer. With smiles they waved pleasantly to the townsfolk, recieving a surprisingly warm welcome in return, and it wasn't long before they all settled into a group of colorful tents on the west edge of town farther into the woods. No one thought of the towns ferocious and mean Lord up in his black manor to the north, in fact there wasn't even a passing mention of him, or consideration. He kept to himself for the most part, and what interest would he have in a group of entertainers anyway?

The performers enjoyed putting on displays in the town square, and it didn't take long for families and friends to gather in awe of their abilities, couples swaying to the music played by the musicans, while coin was tossed into hats lain on the ground, in thanks. The fire dancer had himself quite a following, many of the younger adults watching on and enjoying not only his skill but his handsome features as well. With golden waves that swayed about the sides of his face, a strong scruffy jawline, and eyes of a gorgeous green blue, it was no wonder he'd set hearts aflame since arriving. He was one with the fire, twirling the batons around himself, and coming so close to burning yet always safe. His smile was like the glowing sun of summer, the heat of orange flames never bothering him even as he breathed it into arches twining above himself, the echos of cheers and clapping in the wake.

Perhaps it was due to the joy and fun that he wasn't noticed immediately, the townsfolk were often better prepared, but the change of pace had made them a touch complacent it seemed. A small grey dog was the first to warn of the black clad man, his steps coming to a complete stop at the edge of the square, the streets behind him had already emptied, and with the sudden barking growl of the dog people felt a shift in the air. Immediately groups began to disperse when gazes finally fell on the redhead. A young couple nearly fell over one another as they spun a bit to close to recieve a glare from milky blue hues. The musicians stopped playing, confusion evident, and the performers looked to one another as silence fell, only the shop keepers and those selling goods in the square stayed with the troupe, though they too had moved away, hiding in doorways or farther in stands.

It was almost instantaneous how everything seemed to shift at the mere presence of one man, the square near empty in only a few minutes. Not even the admirers of the blond firedancer wanted to chance staying around, everyone seeming to leave the troupe members to fend for themselves. The Lord's eerie gaze settled on them, and even without knowing what was going on, they all seemed to shrink in on themselves.... All except one man. The troupe leader swallowed before managing to boil up some confidence and approach the redhead. "Hello, sir, I am Castano and this is my troupe." Silence met his awkward words, and it seemed as if he would get no reply but after a few more moments and the audible click of the man's jaw moving from grinding his teeth he stepped forward. Immediately the brunette troupe leader was in the taller's shadow, a lack of personal space that made him lean back slightly. "It's Lord ta ya.... Lord Cockerell...."

From a towered building at the edge of the square an older gentleman with greying hair stumbled out, straightening his coat against the slight chill that blew leaves over the cobblestones. He scrambled quickly, the best he could at his age to the center of the square, a frightened but apologetic look on his mustached features. "L-Lord Cockerell f-forgive them please sir... They are visitors here, they do not know-..." Immediately and wisely the mayor went quiet when a black gloved hand was lifted by the pale Englishman. "I fuckin' know tha' ya twat.... Are ya assumin' I don' know what happens in me own town...hm?" Castano was almost pleased for the attention to be off himself, watching the short mayor try not to jump back as the Lord leaned down into his space instead. The scent of cigarettes and sage rolled off of the redhead, though the older man was just glad there was no tinge of blood or meat.

"Of c-course not, I would n-never." Cockerell's movements seemed deliberate in their slowness, terrifyingly accurate in sending chills up ones spine that was no act of the season. "Excellent... I'm glad we can agree yor an imbecile..." The performers were tense, knowing this 'Lord' was obviously bad news. The troupe leader had backed up closer to his group once more, deciding in that moment he was best to be avoided. "I don' really give a damn if you lot want ta faff bout for the entertainment a' everyone 'ere..... Ya have yor lil fun... Bu' mark me words, when I'm in town, you lot stay away.... I won't repeat meself." A juggler glanced to the mayor, who was quickly nodding in indication to agree, and she nudged the troupe leader. Castano choked on his next breath but nodded. "Of course Lord." The others of the group spoke in a chorus of agreement, before they started to quickly pack up their things.

Lord Cockerell seemed satisfied, his gaze passing over each of the performers in turn before falling on the firedancer, the man that wasn't moving to pack up and get out of sight. The mayor frowned, brow furrowing in worry toward the young blond. Standing up to The Beast never ended well for anyone, well based on rumors anyway. Pointed black boots stepped across the stones until they came to a stop before the brave or foolish firedancer. "You... wot's yor name..." The shorter man didn't look the least bit frightened or unsettled unlike the rest, he stood with his chin held high, and pretty eyes looking right back into that of the beastly terrors. "Dustfinger." He had not used the title, or even bothered with a 'sir' at the end and the aged mayor was concerned that the vicious redhead would prove all those violent stories true there and then in the town square.

The dark smile that twisted up Cockerell's features caused audible gasps from the shopkeepers hiding out around them. Before today many believed the man couldn't smile, and it was more spine chilling than the usual grimace of distaste, like a monster baring its fangs in a mockery of generosity. "Yor quite foolish ain't ya.... Or perhaps ya believe yorself ta be brave..." His hitched steps slowly circled him around the long haired man who didn't move a muscle. "If ya were lookin' for me attentions... Dustfinger...ya 'ave em.... An you'll find out wot tha' means... How unfortunate, I'll be keepin' a close eye on ya." His gloved hand darted out before the firedancer could react, a cry of pain escaping him when his hair was gripped in long fingers.

His waves of hair were held tightly and others of his troupe made a half motion to help but were stopped by the mayor. This was not what any of them had expected when they set foot in town, everything had looked so pleasant and welcoming, but it seemed they'd have to get the full story later. Dustfinger held his head at the roots in an attempt to lessen the strain and make sure the pale Lord didn't yank out any strands. "So yor a firedancer lad, like playin' with fire do ya?...... Well so do I... Always have. N' ya certainly playin' with a fuckin' wild fire now." He tugged the other around, forcing him to walk in an awkward hunched position toward the east end of the square. He then jerked his head up to look at the horizon, pointing a gloved finger to the remains of a building high up on the distant hill.

It was charred, fallen over, a pile of wreckage, but just out of the blackened remnants he could see a slight glint of metal... A cross? "Thirty years ago... I burned tha' bleedin' church ta ashes... N' it was some righ' fun lemme tell ya..... Do let me know if you'd ever like a demonstration lad." Dustfinger had remained silent since giving his name, and despite his position and the ache in his scalp, there was still a level of defiance in his gaze that made Cockerell angrier. This one was definitely a fool, but he'd learn in time. Dragging him back to his little troupe he grunted when he was finally released and pushed towards them. Almost losing his footing he righted himself and glared back at the man the townsfolk called Beast. The mayor moved quickly in an attempt to appease the Lord, speaking up surprisingly brave to catch his attention. "I w-will explain everything to them Lord Cockerell, this won't happen again, I swear it."

"See tha' it doesn'...." He snarled and the greyed man trembled under that intense gaze lined with kohl. He then took his leave toward one of the shops, measured and uneven steps making the shop keepers jump into action to get him anything he needed. It was the most anyone in the town had heard him speak in years outside of the usual demands, and those who witnessed it hoped to never again. He'd shown his card of cruelty with the mere movement of grasping Dustfinger's hair, it was no longer just suspicion that he was capable of hurting others. The mayor was quick to usher Castano and his troupe toward town hall, Dustfinger reluctantly following even as he glared after the redhead. The mustached man just hoped the firedancer didn't cause any trouble for the town even if he looked like the brave sort.

Chapter Text

"Why would you allow a single man to leave your town with such fear, to have such power over you?" The mayor as Castano's troupe had come to learn was named Godfrey, and his explanation and story had left them both baffled and fearful... Well, except for Dustfinger. This however had never been strange for the others, they'd known the blond to be very headstrong... Often at the wrong times. The mayor sighed heavily at the question the firedancer posed before glancing to him from his armchair. They'd settled into his office, the best the group could manage as there was a fair few of them and some had to stand due to the lack of chairs. "He isn't a mere man...." His face was grave and Castano frowned. "He looked like a man.... A cruel man, though a man."

As the mayor, Godfrey was privy to a few things that not even the town at large knew, as his father had been and his father before him, he knew the beast to be a real true part of the redhead instead of a terrifying story. "Lord Cockerell is... A beast, a monster, he is not completely a man...... Mr. Dustfinger you remember what he said correct?" The firedancer looked over, his brow furrowed from where he leaned against the wall. He wasn't sure what precisely the older man was referring too, as the bad tempered Lord had said quite a bit. Godfrey sighed but took a drink of the whiskey his assistant had gotten for him, to steady his nerves. "He said he burned down the church thirty years ago.... And he did..." Dustfinger wasn't sure what he was getting at, confusion evident on his face, but the mayor continued again after a moment. "He looked the exact same then as he does today... The man has not aged... Since my grandfather passed his mayoral duties to my father, who then three winters ago passed them to me. We believe him to be cursed." There was almost immediately murmurs amongst the performers, glances shared, some disbelief, and some superstitious. Dustfinger's eyes were drawn absentmindedly to the floor again as he considered this information. Could that be true? Was this Lord really cursed? Was he some kind of creature? This town was tight in his grasp of fear and viciousness either way.

"Mr. Castano I will not blame you if you and your troupe decide to leave, I'm certain there are other towns what will not hold such strict and strange rules... However what we have in place protects the people of this town, and as mayor that is my job. If you do decide to stay however, I must ask you all to be very careful and to follow our rules... Lord Cockerell can be very vicious when he chooses. Night falls, the streets must be empty, as when he visits the square. He gives his demands to the shop owners and recieves his goods before we are left alone again. His visits are thankfully rare however, as is our ability to be caught off guard as we were today. Autumn and Winter are his preference seasons." Dustfinger gave a scoff catching the eyes of some of the other performers. "Lucky us." The firedancer was young still, and he didn't know the towns ways well, he'd learn if they stayed, the mayor reminded himself.

Castano was unsure over the next couple of days. It was obvious they'd angered this Lord Cockerell... Well more precisely Dustfinger had, and he wondered if they should leave town. He had his people to look after, to make sure they were safe and because Dustfinger had caught the negative attention of said Lord, it might be doubly better to pack it up. However posing his logic to the firedancer didn't give him the expected reaction.

"I'm not going to run." Castano blinked as the firedancer regarded him. It was only the two of them in Dustfinger's tent, and he'd already spoken with a few of the others, there were mixed opinions. "We aren't running.... Why would you believe we're running?" The blond man laughed and shook his head to himself, slipping on a nightshirt against the chill, before his coat followed. "Castano.... The mayor told you this Lord is supposedly a dangerous beast, and he has this ridiculous bad temper and too much power, and you want to leave... Tell me how that isn't running?" The brunette man searched for words for a time before sighing. "Alright, I suppose we are running, though it's best... And he already doesn't seem to like you. Why didn't you start just packing up like the rest of us?"
"Because he's just a man with a nasty attitude, he believes he can get whatever he wants by demanding it."

"Well... Apparently he has gotten what he wants for years by demanding it... So we should move on." Castano wasn't sure why Dustfinger was being so stubborn about this, maybe it was the hair grab in the square that few days ago... There hadn't been another visit from the Lord into town since, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time. "You've caught his attention Dustfinger." The troupe leader sighed and settled himself on the other man's travelling trunk, wrapping his coat tighter around himself. He'd left the bonfire at the center of their camp to talk with the other man, and he could already feel the chill sneaking in again. "I'm not sure if he considers your defiance a challenge, but he said he'd be keeping an eye on you.... You can't tell me the thought doesn't unsettle you...?"

The firedancer was silent, running a comb through his hair and tying it back into a messy bun. His lips were pursed and he didn't meet the older man's eyes, which was answer enough. He was unsettled, but he was also angry after getting yanked around like that, he still wasn't over it no matter the two days that had passed. He wasn't sure what to make of Mayor Godfrey's story to them. He wouldn't call himself superstitious.... But he was no fool either, they all knew magic existed, after all he held the magic to make fire appear in his hands from a simple snap. Witches, warlocks, necromancers, they were real... And if this Lord was truly cursed to be some sort of beast... It meant he'd done something bad enough to recieve said curse. Then again it could have all been built up stories through the years that gave the man an excuse and more power over the town.... Either way he was obviously dangerous and smart.

"....Fine... I suppose you're right, we probably should go, one more day of performance to gather more coin then we'll pack?" Dustfinger suggested after a moment and Castano seemed relieved. "I wasn't looking to leave so soon either, however its safer this way. I'll clear everything with the others and then we begin to pack." He agreed. "Let's hope they all are amicable." The blond couldn't help but laugh, amused to hear he apparently wasn't the only one unsure about leaving. Brave of them.

The idea of staying one more day seemed to do well with the rest of the troupe, and they agreed to start performances early so as not be in the square when evening came closer. Maybe, just maybe then they could have a better chance of avoiding the firey haired Lord.... Though really there wasn't a perfect time table of when the man would decide to sway into town, and strike terror in the hearts of everyone for the simple sake of being able to do so. Of course this was proven true by the fact of him strolling into the square around eleven am. This time the performers were quick to clear out, as were the townspeople.

Castano was making sure to get his people out of the way when a piercing whistle made him stop. It was like calling a dog, and he knew he should feel some shame at reacting. Lord Cockerell stood there a tall black clad smudge in the almost cleared out square, one of his booted feet was perched up on the side of the fountain, gone dry with the season and full of leaves. His coat was long around his ankles, the collar sporting thick black silky feathers. The ensemble, his hair and goatee caused a bird like appearance, his intense eyes complimenting the look. Slowly the troupe leader turned to face him with a small respectable bow. "Lord Cockerell, what can I do for you?"

The leather of his gloves creaked as he pointed, and Castano sighed not having to even glance over to know he was pointing to Dustfinger. Who looked both frustrated and uncomfortable at the attention. "C'mere lil firebird." He crooked his finger, an eerie smirk in place on his thin lips. Meeting Castano's eyes, Dustfinger frowned before walking forward, immediately scooped up in an awkward grip. The redheads arm wrapped around his shoulders and he was pulled close to the scent of cigarettes and sage. "Heard a lot bout yor performances roun' here.... They all seem real in awe a ya pretty boy.." Dustfinger said nothing, only nodding a bit and leaning away some, the best he could. "Consider me intrigued... N' we both 'ave a love for fire don' we, so why don' ya put yor lil show on jus' fo' me hm?" He turned and pushed Dustfinger away from himself toward a more open area, giving his ass a slap as a parting gift. The blond's blue green hues went wide and he stared over his shoulder, in shock that the man would be so lewd, let alone in sight of some of his troupe and the town sellers.

"Lord Cockerell I'm sure this wouldn't at all inter-..." A nasty glare from grey blue eyes immediately cut Castano off, who swallowed hard and shut up. The redhead settled himself on the edge of the fountain before silently pointing to the spot beside him. The brunette man got the message and took the seat, but with some space between them, the few others of their troupe who hadn't run off already setting their things down and remaining quiet to watch as well. "Alrigh' pet, c'mon now I haven' go' all day... Entertain me. Let me see wot's so bleedin' special bout you 'sides that pretty face n' firm arse." Dustfinger took his knapsack off his shoulder without much more prompting, and removed his coat next. He just had to perform like usual, this wasn't anything new.... He just needed to focus on doing his best, doing what he loved.

He decided on the double fire ropes, two fire wicks on chains with hand held rings for spinning around the body. It would hopefully keep the man's interest. If he did well with this performance, maybe they would be left alone long enough to pack and get out of town. Taking a moment he pulled off his scarf and double layers of shirts next. The cold immediately brought up goosebumps along his skin, nipples peaking, but he'd soon be moving again and wouldn't feel it. His body was lean muscled, a few scars here and there, though skin mostly unmarred. Cockerell's gaze wasn't subtle running down over his form, eyes wide and wild. "I can definitely see why yor popular, Dustfinger..." The firedancer glanced over to him, catching the leer but it didn't bother him much.... He'd dealt with such looks in the past.... Well, less crazed leers anyway.

Closing his eyes for a minute to gather himself he then raised a hand and snapped, fire coming to life in his palm. Almost immediately the Lord's eyes were more intent on him than before. So he could do magic could he? Wasn't that interesting... Taking up the fire ropes, Dustfinger's hand ran down the solid wick, lighting it aflame, before the fire went out in his palm. He started up the momentum of the ropes, spinning them gradually at his sides. It felt different this time, no matter how much he was trying to tell himself it wasn't. It was just another performance, and the Lord was just another spectator..... But as he began to twirl the fire ropes around himself, swinging them closer and closer to his body... A part of his brain said he was stupid for thinking this was just any old show.

Cockerell's gaze was glacial, focused completely on the blond's movements. He turned in a circle, the fire arching above him before he leaned backward, spinning them in a figure eight to lick hotly close to his body, not once burning skin or hair. Castano couldn't help but be pleased for the firedancers ability to perform under such pressure, he was doing just fine and the brunette hadn't needed to worry after all it seemed. Changing his stance, Dustfinger took an easing breath before doing a backwards flip while keeping the fire ropes spinning. He landed on his feet and swung the ropes forward, putting them out on the cobblestones. Closer to the Lord now, he sparked up his palms, before breathing flames out above them in a huge arch. The flames circled up, swirling like a tornado until they were gone. Putting out his hands he faced the redheaded Lord and offered a final bow.

It was a taste more than anything, he hadn't done any juggling or taken out the baton, but it would hopefully be enough of a performance to satisfy. However as he stood there in a bow it was silent in the square....and a bit of dread dropped in his stomach. It felt like forever before a leather gloved set of hands began to clap. It was slow applause, not overly enthusiastic but polite enough to be passing. Dustfinger pulled out of the bow, gaze immediately back on the pale redhead, who drew to his feet and stepped into the firedancers space. "Hm, not jus' a pretty face then after all... must say, ya know how ta leave a bloke wanting."

Chapter Text

The leather of the glove was cold as Cockerell gripped his jaw, and Dustfinger's face was directed so he was looking into the taller man's. This man had issues with getting into others personal spaces that was for damn sure. No doubt it fed back to that overbearing attitude of his. His eerie gaze stared deep into the blondes before he chuckled lowly, seeming to come to some unspoken decision before letting Dustfinger go. "Do better fo' me next time ya?" With a touch of condescension, two gold coins were produced from the Lord's coat, and pressed into the blond's palm. The firedancer was silent, doing his best to not let on that there wouldn't be a next time, and seething slightly at the action of payment. There was no way he'd be some performing pet for the likes of this arrogant Lord. Turning on a booted heel, the feathers at the redheads collar spun with him and he waved a hand theatrically to the rest of the troupe. "Skitter on you rats..... Outta me sight."

Castano was all too pleased to do so, they'd be back later for one more performance then that would be it for this town. He nodded quickly to Dustfinger, and this time the blond didn't argue in starting to slip his layers back on and pack up. Instead of making his way immediately toward the shops, Cockerell took a detour. His boots tapped along the cobblestone, before he was heading up the stairs and into the towered building of town hall, the door thumping loudly as he slammed it open. As with everywhere he went the room went utterly silent, gazes falling down. The mayors assistant was immediately up on her feet swallowing hard and trying her best to look welcoming, as she pulled her sweater tighter against herself, due to the chill coming in from the door he didn't bother closing behind himself. He walked past desks, not giving anyone a second glance, and even passed up the assistant... Which she couldn't say she wasn't glad for. Godfrey was a good man, but better him than her.

Her smile was strained as the redhead passed her by, heading down the short hall to the mayors office. A similarly loud bang indicated the double doors getting thrown open, the sound and rush of movement causing the mustached mayor to jump in surprise. "L-Lord Cockerell!" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat in an attempt to get himself under control and seem at least somewhat composed. "Is there something I can do for you?" He tried not to let the discomfort show, but really the redhead wouldn't give a damn either way, he knew the man was scared and he reveled in it regardless. Leaning over the shorter man's desk, his hands carelessly crushed paperwork. "Yor gonna get me tha' firedancer." The greyed man blinked a couple of times, confusion becoming evident.

"You fuckin' heard me." One gloved hand moved to the inner pocket of his coat, the movement enough to make the old mayor tense, wondering if he was going to get a knife to the gut. Instead a silver cigarette case was pulled out, and he relaxed, rushing to get a pack of matches and light the Lord's smoke for him before he even demanded it. The case was returned and the beastly man took a deep drag before speaking again. "I don' care how many blokes ya 'ave ta get, or if ya 'ave ta knock em out. Ya bring em all wrapped up in bows ta me manor tonight. I'll offer you lot this one privilege n' bein' out on the streets at night since ya would be doin' me a favor." Oh... Oh dear, Cockerell was telling him to kidnap Dustfinger for him. He'd hoped he wouldn't need to do anything like this... He remembered when his father had told him of some dirty work done at the Lord's demand, he'd carried that guilt to his grave.

"Godfrey, wake up mate, ya best be listenin' ta me!" The portly man focused back and jumped to his feet, hands out in a placating gesture. "Of course Lord Cockerell, I am.... How... That is to say... How should we go about this sir?" He already had a few in mind, men that could easily wrangle someone... Though he was a bit nervous about those fire abilities that the performer had. They would need to catch him off guard... And to get him to the manor by that evening? It was a bit of a tall order, but they'd have to figure it out and soon.... He was already getting a headache and the Beastly man didn't seem interested in answering his question, so he tried for another. "If I may ask Lord Cockerell.... What are you going to do... With the young man?" Smoke curled from the others nostrils like a dragon and he sneered darkly. "No Godfrey, ya may not ask.... You'll do wot I fuckin' tell ya, n' ya won't offer any lip bout it... Though' tha' was quite clear? S'how how ya keep every little pathetic soul in yor town alive n' safe in'it?"

The mayor tensed and nodded. "Of course, my apologies, I didn't mean anything by it. I'll have that done, I swear to you sir." Reaching out, Godfrey worried again he was going to be hurt, but his cheek was pat a few times rather roughly in a gloved palm. "Tha's wot I like ta hear. Gonna make tha' old man a yors proud from six feet under." Godfrey doubted his father would be proud that his son had to continue the legacy in keeping this beastly Lord from going on a killing rampage... He doubted it very much. "Try no' ta hurt em more than ya need hm. I'm fine with unconscious, but I'd like the pretty bird alive, n' relatively unmarred." The mayor's frown deepened, brows furrowing tightly. He was by no means planning to kill the poor man, he didn't even want to kidnap him in the first place.... But sacrifices had to be made. It was his people or the firedancer, forgive him.

The scent of the cigarette was cut with burnt wood as Cockerell put the last of his smoke out against the smaller man's desk before he turned on his heel. "Good man." He was then out the way he'd come, the mayors assistant trying to be pleasant and casting a smile after him, even if it was so obviously terribly forced. The greyed mayor sighed heavily as he was again left alone in his office and slumped back down in his desk chair. The only thing he could be happy about was the fact Lord Cockerell hadn't asked him to kill anyone. Small mercies.

Edmund and Thomas were some of the strongest men in town that Godfrey knew, they were also two that often helped in taking all goods to the Black Manor, so this request would go smoother with them...well as smooth as could be when asking for such a thing. The portly mayor was sweating with nerves despite the chill in the air, and he sniffled feeling like scum for having to do this. The men listened carefully, and exchanged looks before reluctantly getting the help of an uncle and Thomas's father. Four men should be enough, they hoped anyway, and fingers crossed no one would get burned. They watched when Lord Cockerell had returned on the road toward his manor, had watched when the troupe members returned to perform for the townsfolk that came out of hiding. The square filled with life again before long. The goods the Lord had ordered would be prepared, and taken, but they just needed to grab up one last gift before delivery.

The plan was cobbled together quicker than the mayor would have liked, but they had to make do as the day wore on. A visit to the town doctor got them some chloroform, all Godfrey needed to do was explain, and the man kept silent, passing off a bottle. It felt awful in every way, and would no doubt haunt all of them for years to come.... Though they could do nothing but obey.

It was around six in the evening when the troupe finally started to clear out of the square, talking amongst each other and deciding how to split up the money made from the days performances. Castano was calming a bit of disagreement between an acrobat and a musican, and reminded them there would be more coin along their travels when they left town. The streets were emptying out in the usual manner, the townfolk making way home and shuttering up windows and locking doors for the evening. Store fronts darkening, and stall goods that weren't bought being taken back into storage. Mayor Godfrey hung back with the four men, all the goods prepared on wagons to be delivered. Lord Cockerell hadn't specified the exact time of night and the fact made them all a little nervous.... It was very like the bad tempered man to enjoy watching them skitter about to his manor hoping he didn't tell them they were late. He liked to see their fear, to toy with them and leave them guessing and this would just be another game.

Edmund clutched his hat in his hands, twisting the material nervously, his black hair was a matted mop on his head and his brows were pulled tight. Thomas gave him a reassuring pat on the back before taking the hank of rope his father gave to him. Edmund's uncle had the cloth sack shaken out, his drawn eyes glancing toward Godfrey who held out the bottle of chloroform. Shakily Edmund took it from him, other hand pushing his hat back over his messy hair. They were really doing this....

A bottle of wine was being passed between Castano and the two jugglers, the women laughing as they leaned against one another. Packing was in progress, but most everyone had obviously gotten distracted or were tiredly munching on the stew that had been prepared in the center of camp. "Come join us Dustfinger!" The curvy black haired juggler had a light flush to her cheeks and a sweet smile, but the blond man declined. "Not tonight Jezza, I'm a bit tired." She pouted but nodded all the same, wishing him goodnight with the other two. The firedancer shook his head to himself, Castano was more worried than him about that Lord, and yet here he was wasting time instead of packing. Silly. Well, they still had the morning to finish up and be on their way. Heading to his tent, he pulled back the curtain of the entrance and let it fall shut behind, sparking a small flame in his hand he made a move to light the lamp.

The little door of the lantern creaked softly and he reached his palm in.... However a cloth suddenly wrapped over his nose and mouth and he was dragged backwards. He shouted in anger, voice muffled as he was yanked against a firm form. Another came from his right side and he tried to kick out before remembering the flame in his hand, instead pulling focus enough to use it. He might have gotten a leg up on them, if the scent hadn't finally hit, the chemical drug pulling him under and making him feel woozy. His fight became weak and the flame fizzled out, before darkness was taking over his vision. His wrists were tied in front of him and the bag was pulled over his head, before two of the men hoisted him up to carry between them, trying to be careful. They moved quick as they could, Edmund's uncle making sure the coast was clear of any witnesses. His troupe would know he was missing come tomorrow anyway.

The four men snuck quickly away into the night with the Lord's prize, meeting the mayor at the lantern lit wagons. Though he was glad to see none of them looked burned, the somberness didn't leave his features. Carefully Thomas and Edmund settled the unconscious Dustfinger in the back of Godfrey's wagon. One of them climbing in with him, while the other took up the seat next to the mustached man. The other two men climbed up to the seats of the second wagon and the reins were snapped, the horses pulling them on up the road towards the intimidating Black Manor in the distance.

Chapter Text

It was ten when the wagons pulled up to the manor, and it was deathly quiet. The Lord wasn't waiting for them so Godfrey dropped down from the wagon seating and went to the imposing set of doors. Before he could even knock, the large black doors swung open, torches lighting up the entrance hall of shiny black stone. The mayor swallowed hard and looked back, giving a wave to the men. Edmund bucked up the courage to go inside with Godfrey, carefully putting Dustfinger over a shoulder. He wasn't sure how much longer the young man would remain unconscious for, but he had a feeling it would be wearing off rather soon. Hopefully they'd all be far away by that time, then the Lord could deal with any fire thrown instead of them.

"Begin unloading everything." Godfrey motioned to the other three. "You know where the kitchens are." Thomas nodded and took up the reins, the wagons pulling away around to the side of the manor. The portly mayor sighed and looked back to the entrance. He hadn't been here since he was a youth, just into his teen years and staring with wide eyes as he scrambled along behind his father. He didn't even recall what it had been for, his father keeping tight-lipped about most of the things he'd done for Lord Cockerell, until he'd been forced to at least somewhat prepare his son for what he'd be taking over. He knew he'd only gotten half the story before the man passed away... But he never blamed him. "Come along son... Just focus where we're going and try not to wander."

The younger man nodded. "Right Mr. Mayor..." He doubted he wanted too anyway..... He knew the stories of this place and the Lord just as anyone. Their steps were light across the flooring, the both of them giving a jump of surprise when the doors closed behind them, hoping they'd reopen when their business was complete. At first, Godfrey was unsure where to go, but torches on the wall lit up, completely on their own and they both got the gist to follow the flames. The place felt bigger, empty and cored out like a cavern, and without the torches they'd probably be in pitch black. Home sweet home for the Lord Cockerell, it was like him, cold and hollow.

Edmund could feel slight movement from the previously unconscious Firedancer slung over his shoulder, the grogginess would linger, and there would be a possible slight headache for the poor man, but he'd recover. They headed up a spiral staircase to the second level of the manor, the glow of orange continuing to light their way down a hallway until they were directed to another black door. This one too opened on its own, creaking until they could be allowed through. Beyond was a sitting room, a fire crackling in the hearth and a highbacked black chair half facing the flames. The two men stepped over the threshold, gazes taking in their surroundings. "Ya cut it close boys." The voice caused them both to be startled yet again, neither noticing the Lord at the window smoking as he seemed to almost blend in with the various dark shades of black, grey, and crimson.

"Apologies Lord Cockerell..." Godfrey spoke up after clearing his throat. He wanted to state that they hadn't been given an exact time, but wisely kept mum about it. Turning around, the redhead looked no less imposing, but held a different air in his home. His shoulders had a relaxation to them, and he wore no thick coat or gloves, or even a vest. The black shirt he donned had flowing sleeves, the material thin, and unlaced at the front to show his chest and a dusting of red hair, along with some scars. His hands were bony, fingers calloused from obvious knowledge of a weapon or multiple weapons. "So...ya managed ta capture me little firebird I see... Marvelous." His bright milky blue hues settled on the restrained man that was obviously waking up over Edmund's shoulder. A slow smirk then tugged up his lips before he took one final drag on the cigarette and snuffed it out in an ashtray on the side table, next to the gothic styled chair.

"Ah yes, yes. Edmund, set Mr. Dustfinger down gently won't you?" The other nodded and went to the thick black fur rug to set down the bleary firedancer, slipping him to rest on his knees when it seemed he could hold himself up enough for at least that. He gently pulled the potato sack off of the blond's head, who gave a groan at the brightness coming from the torches and the fireplace, his eyes closing again. "M-may I go, Lord Cockerell..." Edmund kept his gaze to the floor, hands nervously fidgeting like a child in trouble with a parent. "How many are with ya..." Almost absentmindedly the redhead's long fingers moved to card through wavy blond locks, finding the young man's hair to be slightly tangled he lightly worked out a few. "Three others sir." His booted steps took him away from his snatched up prize and he opened a chest that sat atop the dark wood desk in the corner. After a moment, Edmund was stumbling to make sure he caught the four leather purses of coin that the man tossed to him. "Nice catch mate. Tha' should cover it. Go on now, you'll find yor way back, don' try ta bleedin' wander or ya migh' no' make it back out."

"I w-won't sir. I swear." Quicky Edmund rushed from the room, the small clicking of the gold coins he carried following his movements. The mayor made to go after him, but Cockerell's hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, Godfrey wasn't sure how he got back across the room so quickly especially with that bad leg, but it wasn't important in that moment, his presence was there and unsettling as ever. "Ah, not you yet, Mr. Mayor." Dustfinger was shaking off the feeling finally and his blue green eyes opened, glancing around before he shifted and noticed the redhead. "I should've known this was your doing..." His eyes then flicked toward the short portly mayor and he heaved a slightly disappointed sigh. "You coward." The mustashed man shook his head. "Forgive us Mr. Dustfinger.... We had no choice... It's to protect everyone."

"Ah don' be angry with the old sod...he may be cowardly, bu' he's doin' his job so tha' I don' decide his perfect little town would look more invitin' with some heads on steaks." Godfrey flinched as the black clad Lord messed up his hair roughly with a firm hand. "It keeps everythin' goin' in this little town, don' it Mr. Mayor?" Godfrey awkwardly nodded after a moment, hanging his head. "Yes, Lord Cockerell." Dustfinger looked away, his brow furrowed and lips tight with a distasteful frown. The pale redhead hummed lightly to himself, and stopped at his desk once more before returning to the greyed mayor. "Here ya are. Ya aren't completely useless, congratulations." The purse of money felt heavy in his hand, and Godfrey shook his head, gaze pleading. "I don't-..."

"Take the money mate.... Probably need it, got tha' sick wife at home don' ya.... I'd hate ta see her get any worse." The words felt like a threat, and the portly man wrapped his fingers tightly around the bag of coins. "G'night Mr. Mayor, toddle off now." Sadly, Godfrey tried to catch the firedancers gaze with apology but the other had turned a glare at the redhead instead. With a nod to himself, he walked quickly from the room, going back down the hall he'd come. In his wake, Cockerell finally met the angry gaze that was attempting to bore a hole into him with the mere height of his upset. Stepping to the highbacked chair he sighed in some relief as he settled in, stretching his legs out between Dustfinger and the fireplace. It felt good to get off his bad leg again. The flames crackled in the silence, neither making a move to speak, and Dustfinger felt like Cockerell was probably letting him stew in his anger because it amused the man.

Finally the blond couldn't deal with the other man just staring at him any longer, so he broke the intense silence on his own... It seemed in fact that was what Cockerell had expected him to do. "They call you a beast... A monster... In town, behind your back." There was a small grunt of recognition from the older man, indeed amusement tugging at his lips. "Hm, I'm well aware." The firedancer wriggled his hands, and tried to pull his wrists apart, but the ropes held strong. The awkward angle wouldn't even allow for him to burn them off himself. He wondered if one of his kidnappers had been a sailor at one point in their life. Tossing a few strands of hair from his face he scoffed, distaste evident. Cockerell just sat there watching him struggle in his damnable fancy highbacked chair as if it were a throne. "You're just a man, a man who uses his influence and his childish attitude like a weapon to keep people scared, the only beastly thing about you is your cruel nature."

Cockerell's laugh was loud, a deep bark, before he relaxed back more and considered the blond. "Is tha' so?.... Ya seem real sure a yorself love." From the small side table he grabbed up a knife, unsheathing the blade, but still made no move to actually hurt or help the other man. Dustfinger was afraid, he could see it just below the surface because he was looking for it, but the younger was pushing through, fueled by his hate for the Lord. "Well then, suppose you'll have ta be gettin' used ta it right quick won't ya... Cause ya ain't goin' anywhere any time soon." The other man was going to keep him here? For how long, and why? With all the animosity he could muster he snapped. "Go to hell!" It got a rise from the man finally, and suddenly Cockerell was on his feet and in the firedancers space, in one second to the next. His brain didn't even comprehend the motion until he felt the knife's sharp blade caress dangerously down his neck. A growl, more animalistic than man permeated the air, and Dustfinger knew he was trembling.

The redheads breath was warm, against the side of his face and he swallowed, the tip of the blade bobbing with the movement. "I've been there for years, many long lonely years lad." His tone ironically held a touch of sadness to it, despite the burst of rage... Or what came across as rage anyway. The blond really tried not to show his fear, but had a feeling he was failing horribly. Slowly the blade fell away and he heard, more than felt the ropes being cut, until his wrists were free. "Yor gonna learn yor place quick firedancer." The knife was set back on the sidetable before Dustfinger was yanked by his upper arm to his feet. He stumbled and tried to fight the grip that the older man had on him, but it was oddly very strong. Wrenched from the room, the man's long, heavy booted strides made the blond trip up behind him. "Let me go!"

He struggled a little while before he was shoved rather unceremoniously and undignified into a room. He nearly fell, tripping a bit on the rug before turning to face the Lord leaning in the large curved doorway. "Welcome ta yor new home, pet. Ya can come on out when ya learn who's in charge 'ere." With a tone of finality the door slammed, followed not long after by the click of a lock. That bastard, that absolute beast had locked him in. "You can't keep me here!" He darted to the heavy door, his fists banging on the black wood. Then tried the handle despite knowing it was useless, cursing. "Watch me love." Though muffled through the door, he heard the Lord well, and soon the uneven gait was disappearing back down the hall. "You monstrous bastard, agh!"

With little else to do, Dustfinger turned to look around the room after one final hit against the door, fuming. It was nice, that much he could admit, if a little dark but the place wasn't called the Black Manor for nothing he supposed, matched that damn Lord's bleak disposition. The bed was queen sized and did look comfortable, with deep burgundy bedding, and curtains hanging at the sides. A dark engraved wood wardrobe sat against one wall, and a chest of drawers with ornate handles was near the door. Through the half open attached door was a decently lavish washroom, with a large silver, clawed foot bathtub. Stepping across the room quickly, he pushed open the curtains on the window. Tugging at the latch a huff left in aggravation when it wouldn't budge. Break it, maybe he could break it. Blue green eyes flitted around before he settled on a bird statue that sat on the chest of drawers. It was heavier than he expected it to be and he had to lift with both hands, but he managed. One good hit cracked the glass and he felt triumph, but as he raised back the statue for another hit, his face fell.

The long cracks in the glass mended themselves, time seeming to go in reverse until the glass of the window was perfect once more. "You're fucking joking..." This manor, this damn place wasn't just any house. With a frustrated sigh he dropped the statue and threw up his hands, before stalking to the bed and falling back on it. He really was trapped in this fucking place, wasn't he? And he doubted his troupe would be brave enough to try saving him when they found out where he'd disappeared too. Getting away from the dangerous Lord had been the whole point in leaving town in the first place. The time ticked by and the thought slipped in that he felt rather cold, and was getting tired. His head was also starting to smart now that the adrenaline was wearing off, that damn drug they'd used trickling into it's after effects.

As if by magic, there was a spark in the hearth of the fireplace, before the logs started to burn up. Though the thought was stupid he realized, after noticing the fire, of course the place was magic... He'd already obviously established that. Though the fact he just had the thought of being cold and the fire came to life was interesting.... Could it... Getting up from the bed he stood at the door and thought about wanting to leave the room. However when he tried the handle it was still locked... Alright so it wasn't that simple... Noted. So what exactly was the trick to this place? His head was hurting too much for this right now, and he felt too drained. He hated it, but all of this would have to wait for now. Taking off his coat and scarf he threw them onto the armchair by the window, his boots soon unlaced and tossed beside the chair as well.

He was in a strange place, with an overbearing and violent jailer who obviously fancied him in some odd way..... But what more could he do right now? Pulling back the blankets he got into bed. Head hitting the pillow, his exhaustion overtook him from the emotionally charged evening, and it didn't take long for his pretty eyes to close.

Chapter Text

It was almost three days that he spent in that room, and he'd learned the four walls to near insanity. He realized the window didn't even look out to the front of the manor, but instead looked out onto sprawling and, from the looks of them untamed, gardens. He could only see so far, but the stone walls looked high from where he was.... So there was most likely no getting out that way anyway, if he could even get through the mess of what was once, no doubt beautiful cared for gardens. At this point, he was admittedly even hoping to see Lord Cockerell or perhaps trade insults through the door for a change of pace.... But he hadn't actually heard from or seen the other this whole time. Though... He knew the man was coming into his room, plates of food left for him, early in the morning, and in the evenings. Somehow, despite him being mostly only in this room or the ajoining washroom, Cockerell did a damn good job of avoiding sight.

Dustfinger however, hadn't been interested in eating, and he wasn't sure if the food might be drugged or even poisoned.... There was no telling with this man. So, the plates were left until they went cold, cleared away by his elusive warden. Though there was the small chance and consideration, the manor itself held the ability to do these things, he of course wasn't rejecting that theory. On the third day of his isolation the blond finally saw the beastly man again. It was seven in the evening and the firedancer was sitting in the ornate burgundy armchair, his gaze out the window but not really paying attention to anything. The sound of the key in the lock broke him from his distracted state, and the door creaked open. He stood there, ever the picture of authority and composure. Dressed head to toe in black of course, though this time with a vest over his shirt, an elegant leather one with embroidered black vine edging, the collar made of a silky fur.

"You'll be joinin' me fo' dinner... S' not a request, 's an order." The keyring was on his belt, in his hands a parcel of clothing and boots that the blond hadn't noticed initially. Dustfinger's gaze flicked to the keys, then to the door. Could he run by? Could he grab the keys while he did so, and maybe even lock the other in his own damn room? Or maybe... He could light him on fire, and do both while Cockerell struggled with the flames. Though within the time he was considering his options, the redhead had already lain out the clothing on the bed and boots at the foot and was heading back towards the door.... He was still at a loss on how the man seemed to move so quickly. "N' I see those gears in yor head turning.... I don' recommend trying anythin'... Ya may think you've seen me ferocity Dustfinger... ya haven't seen shit... Don' cross me." He glanced over a shoulder, greyish blue hues piercing, almost as if the man could see into his very soul. The firedancer felt like he was telling the truth... and the idea was disconcerting. Reminded of the mayor's claims that this man was truly some kind of beast, he slightly wondered again. Could there really be more hiding behind that intense gaze?

The door closed roughly, but this time no sound of a key in the lock came. He knew that probably meant the older man was expecting him to dress and go downstairs then and there. Though he was reluctant, he was also wanting to see the clothes brought for him. It wasn't as if he hadn't worn the same thing before for a few days when traveling, but the idea of putting something else on still sounded nice. Sure he'd bathed, despite the self consciousness that he was perhaps somehow being watched, or that his jailer would sneak in. After that inappropriate slap to his ass in the town square, he wouldn't put such lewdness past the redhead. This though, this would give him a chance to wear something else instead of putting the same clothes back on, as he'd been for days.

The suit was elegant, which really wasn't surprising... He expected it to be black as well, but the fact it was mostly crimson instead was a bit of a surprise. This wasn't just one of the Lord's suits given to him.... Had he gotten this specially made? The idea made him feel strange, fondness wasn't even close to the feeling because well he despised the man... But he did wonder why the Lord would go to such trouble for him.... Then again, he called him pet, and bird... He supposed Cockerell wanted his pretty prisoner to look nice for him, didn't he? With a sigh he changed out of his old clothes, in favor of the rather overstated suit. The coattails were long, and he could feel them against the back of his legs, the pants were fitted, and showed him off a bit embarrassingly but he tried to ignore it. The vest under his coat had a diamond pattern of black and red and the boots were heeled and velvety like the coat.

He looked at himself in the mirror and immediately felt awkward, not used to such extravagant finery. It wasn't too uncomfortable, but there were some parts that were a bit tighter, across the chest, and on the thighs of the breeches... Though he had a feeling that might be more by design, and recalled in the town square when Cockerell's gaze swept over his body. He didn't look any more elegant, just himself in something fancier. Well the Lord would just have to deal with it, at least he was following this damn demand of the man's. He left the bedroom, and already felt that much better just getting a chance to see something different from the same four walls. There was a temptation to find his way out of this manor, and he looked down the black stone hallway that was lit up by torches along the walls. Would it be wise to wander though? Highly doubtful... And the bad tempered man would come looking for him he was sure. Well.. he had a feeling the dining hall was on the ground floor, so it was a start.

He stepped down the hall, his boots on the black marble the only sound besides the faint flickering of the torches. It wasn't too long before he found himself back at the sitting room he'd been in those days ago, the memory of the sharp blade to his throat causing a reflexive swallow. Pausing outside the door he glanced around, and after a moment or so oddly felt he knew where to go. It was as if an instinct kicked in and before he was aware, he was decending the spiral staircase and taking a right into a large, gorgeous dining hall. A chandelier hung above a long table, the candles a warm gentle glow. A large fireplace stood at the center of the back wall, two obsidian statues of ravens looking down from either side, their eyes holding deep set rubies the size of fists. Here, the garden seemed to have slipped through corners, rose vines overtaking the walls, their bloody red blooms giving a light floral scent to the air. Cockerell's shadow arched tall across the floor, where he stood with his back to Dustfinger, looking into the flames.

"How does it fit pet?" Dustfinger didn't register right away when the Lord spoke to him, but seemed to come to after a moment, and realize the older man was asking about the suit. ".... It's... Fine." He could have complained, but he didn't care enough to do so... He wanted out of here. That was more important. Why bother nitpicking the clothes his jailer had given him? The older man turned around and stepped from the fireplace, toward the long table. As he came into the light from the chandelier, the firedancer was given a better look. The man was donning a black velvet suit coat over his vest now, embroidered with glittering beads like stars. His vibrant red hair up in that fin like style he was so fond of, that gave imagery of a crimson shark gliding hastily through sharp waters. Walking around the table, his eyes never left the youngers, and he was obviously annoyed.

"Ya tryin' ta fuckin' kill yorself?" The question felt sudden and baffled the performer, his brows furrowing over blue green hues. "What? No..." Why exactly would the man be asking that, what could have possibly made him think that Dustfinger would be trying to kill himself? "Well then not eating is really showin' me up ain't it?" The Lord snapped and scoffed, leaning against the back of the chair at the head of the table. Oh... That's what he meant, so the man had been the one leaving plates of food for him after all. Maybe it had been a little foolish not to eat for three days, maybe he'd gotten a bit depressed.... He wasn't completely sure, but he had been locked up so who could blame him? His awkward silence was met with a heavy sigh from the redhead who pulled out the chair he'd been leaning against before pointing. "Sit the fuck down... Eat... need ya strength ta yell and fight me don't ya?"

Cockerell didn't react to the huffy glare he received, but the younger man knew he'd get impatient so he gave in, walking to the table with a touch of trepidation. He took the seat in the high backed chair, and shifted as it was pushed in by the Lord. The black clad man then walked behind him and settled into a chair to his right, gloved hand reaching for the pitcher of wine. The spread on the table was excessive, more than enough food for a gala of a hundred, despite them being the only two at the table. Though admittedly everything looked delicious. He genuinely doubted the Lord had been the one to spend such time slaving over a stove for all of this... So that meant the manor itself was to thank....a strange thought still. He glanced down to his plate already piled with a bit of everything, as the redhead poured wine into Dustfinger's goblet, and then his own. "I said fuckin' eat."

He found himself casting a glower to the other man yet again, which he knew he did often, but really Cockerell deserved every single one of them. Picking up his fork he considered the food once more, before noticing that the Lord had no plate set in front of himself. Immediately he was filled with suspicion. "Is it poisoned? Trying to kill me?" That bark of a laugh echoed through the high ceilinged dining hall, shaking his head in disbelief he then sipped his wine. Now the blond was just being ridiculous. "If I wanted ta kill ya, I wouldn't 'ave hesitated n' the square the second we met n' ya disobeyed me." Though the other hated to admit it, and it didn't make him feel much better... There was a logic to the words, Cockerell wouldn't go to all the trouble of having him kidnapped and locking him up, or giving him such fancy dress, just to kill him. With that in mind, he finally dug into the meal starting with small bites, trying the vegetables first.

The Lord of the Manor quietly watched him, just sipping at his wine on ocassion, only the flickering of the fireplace and the movement of Dustfingers fork on the plate breaking the silence between them. He was trying his hardest to ignore that intense gaze on him, but he couldn't any longer and a huff of frustration escaped him. "....Quit staring..." Amusement pulled up the older man's thin lips. "Hm.. no.. I'm rather enjoyin' lookin' me fill." Dustfinger was pretty for a man, he had the strong features still, a defined jawline, a dusting of scruff along his cheeks, but a loveliness. He'd loved running his fingers through that long wavy hair, and hoped to do it again soon. The blond scowled dropping his fork back on his plate, to take a drink of the wine, his free hand clenching into a fist. He had a tendency to get like this in the other man's presence, this easily waning patience with the simplest action or word. "You're making me uncomfortable."

Those disquieting eyes widened into something on the edge of madness and his smile followed. "Well I tried makin' ya comfortable, bu' ya said I was keepin' ya locked up." Blue green hues narrowed, and the firedancers hand closed around the handle of the steak knife next to his plate. This was going to go south, he just knew it. "You're a callous bastard." The older man didn't hesitate to bite back without delay, as if urging him on. "N' yor me pretty little caged bird, best be gettin' used ta it." He was not a pet! The firedancer struck out with the knife towards his warden, but the man was anticipating it. Dustfinger gasped as he was yanked across the space and flipped down onto the table pinned in place. The plates clattered, and he distantly heard a few things fall to the stone flooring. How did he keep doing that?!

"Hm I knew ya were gonna try tha'..." One of his gloved hands held the youngers wrist in place, the knife trembling in what had once been a strong grip. Cockerell leaned over him, chest to chest, their gazes locked. The tension was palpable, dipping into different ideations for each of them. Dustfinger swallowed, and managed to get his voice back, though it wavered ever so slightly. "Then why give me the knife at all?" A low dark chuckle filled the space between them and Cockerell slipped the knife out of his prisoners lax grasp. "Because ya were gonna try it." The knife swung down and Dustfinger felt his body jolt in fear, the blade buried in the table just centimeters from his ear. The Lord stepped back then and swiped up his goblet of wine, knocking back the last of it with a deep gulp as if it were water. With a sigh he wiped his mouth with the back of a gloved hand. "Finish eating pet."

The goblet clanged loudly when he carelessly tossed it on the table behind himself, before the sound of his uneven steps retreated from the dining hall. The firedancer lay there, left behind, and shaking terribly with half fear and half repressed anger.... It took him a while to realize tears were slipping down his face. After eating, Dustfinger went back to the room by his own volition and made no attempt to escape.

Chapter Text

It became routine after that night, they dined together for all three meals of the day or Dustfinger would dine alone on rare ocassions when the Lord didn't feel up to company. New suits became a common gift as well, the Lord ocassionally leaving him something new to wear to dinner to be admired in. On nights Cockerell didn't wish for company it was very quiet at the table... And he wasn't sure if he liked it more or less, he also had no idea where the man went on those nights or if he even stayed in the manor... But it wasn't as if he could just ask him, they weren't friends.

Cockerell didn't lock him in the room again, but he himself didn't wander either. He knew he could have fought the man, if he got enough courage, knew he could have struck out at him with fire.... But every time he thought to, some part of him warned against it. Some part that still wasn't sure what lay just below the surface, and if he could handle it. They had sat down to breakfast, an often quiet and awkward affair on Dustfinger's part. Cockerell was focused on paperwork of all things, which surprised the younger man that he didn't just laze around all day in his riches, then again he more seemed the brooding type than the relishing type. He was relaxed back in his chair, his booted feet up on the table and his long legs crossed at the ankles. At some point the knife he'd put through the table had been pulled out, but now the mark was forever there, a memory of that night.

It might have looked like a normal breakfast if not for their short yet already problematic history. Dustfinger cut into his eggs, quietly eating, but he tensed up seeing the flash of a knife only to notice the redhead was just slicing an apple. Sure knives were dangerous as it was, but Cockerell was really going to give him a complex about them with all the near threats. The redhead bit into the slice of apple with a refreshing crunch. Oddly when he'd first seen the Lord eat it put him at marginal ease, something normal about him he supposed. The idea that despite him possibly being a beast or creature that he still required food, it was very human. The redhead paused to jot down his signature with an ink pen, before putting the paper on a pile that lay on the table. Dustfinger hadn't gotten a good look at everything but he knew it was about shipping to and from the town. It surprised him that the Lord would hold any bit of interest in helping the town at all. Then again, it probably provided part of his wealth as he obviously had dealings with the Mayor.... Or more precisely the Mayor was forced to have dealings with him.

"It must be nice to have such money." The ink pen paused, and the redhead smirked slightly. Dustfinger's tone was pure distaste veiled in an attempt at conversation, but he didn't reprimand him.... In truth he liked the others spark at times, it kept things interesting between them. "S'helpful... Believe it or not love, I know what I'm doin'." Apparently he did to an extent, the town wasn't struggling despite the strict rules in place.... But the prosperity could only offer so much when he was essentially holding them all hostage to their own fear of him. "Ya might say they enjoy the structure I've given 'em..." The pretty performer tried, he really did, to hold back the words that sat on his tongue, but the arrogance was far too frustrating. Sometimes he wondered if the redhead said such things on purpose just to see if anyone would be brave enough to snap back at him.

Cockerell knew, he knew damn well how much he riled Dustfinger....and he reveled in it, structure? Is that what he was calling it?! "That's doubtful, though I suppose it's nice to imagine." The chuckle was deep and the blond didn't want to even begin admitting how strange that laugh had started to make him feel. Those bright eyes flicked up toward him finally, but only for a moment before they were back on the paperwork. "Someone's feelin' righ' bold taday, ain't they?" A scowl of defiance met his words, Dustfinger's breakfast was going cold on the table. "And someone's just as much of an arse as ever." It was obvious, the blond almost regret it as he said it.... Almost. He was worried about another threat no doubt, or getting hit, but a sudden growl edging on animal-like seemed to do the trick in cowing him. That growl spoke of so much more, so inhuman, but he still hadn't been given any real form of confirmation. "Cheeky, cheeky love, seems we're forgettin' our bleedin' manners, n' who's in charge ere again..."

It became almost deathly quiet, the firedancer had wanted to make a request this morning of the man, but he worried he may have ruined that for himself after being so 'bold' as the older man called it. He wasn't particularly hungry anymore, so he allowed his eyes to wander back to the Lord, attempting to get a read on his disposition after that slip up. A bad start if he even dreamed of asking for anything from his flippant warden. Cockerell knew he was being watched, but was trying not to pay attention. Dustfinger was silent still, and until he bucked up the courage to make his request properly and with manners, he'd be ignored. He knew how much the blond hated this, hated the forced congeniality.... But he wasn't going to get what he wanted any other way. Cockerell wasn't afraid of him, wasn't threatened by his fire.

If Dustfinger ever tried to fight him with full flames, he'd be in for a nasty surprise. He had no doubt that point might come eventually, but for now he'd see how much the other would take before he had to be the bad guy. The little bird would only deal with so much before he tried striking out again he was sure.... It was part of why the Lord liked him, that and he was certainly a gorgeous sight, and seeing someone beautiful every day had really become a treat. Another crunch of apple met the quiet between them, and he thought that the younger man might not say anything after all, but finally a reluctant and somewhat scornful tone pulled him from his half focus back on paperwork. "May I make a request Lord Cockerell....." It was a good start.

The redhead put aside the papers and gave the performer his full attention, something which the blond legitimately wasn't expecting, and made him feel both pleased at being recognized, and overwhelmed at having all that intense scrutiny on him. "I can't be in that room anymore... I'll go insane." Though he'd been going back to the room himself, it was more a matter of familiarity, a level of safety, and he still felt as though he wasn't allowed otherwise. The older man ran his tongue across his teeth a moment in consideration, his pet wanted at least to be able to wander a bit. That seemed fair. Let him get used to the space he'd be living in for the foreseeable future. "....On one condition." The performer felt hopeful but also tense, not sure what to expect... Would he ask for a kiss, or something more intimate? "Don' go ta the top floor a' the manor." Oh... That was unexpected, but definitely something he could and was more willing to manage.... Even if something being forbidden like that immediately made him curious. It wasn't important though, let this callous man have his secrets... If he could explore the manor, maybe he could find some way out.

"Alright." A relief passed over the blond's features, now he knew for sure he wouldn't have the man's wrath if he wandered the manor. "Rest a the manor is yors ta look roun'. Jus' don' get cocky pet. N' don' try ta leave... I'll know. Now, wot do ya say little firebird?" A pale hand reached out, and Dustfinger was aware this was the first time he'd ever felt the other touch him skin to skin. His hand was warm, calloused in a way that gave the impression he'd used weapons before and had worked with his hands. It surprised Dustfinger a bit, then again if he really was immortal in some way, there was no telling who he'd been before he took up Lordship. 'An arsonist' His mind supplied, recalling the burned down church. The Lord tilted the others scruffy jaw toward him more, and the firedancers reluctant soft tone was heard. ".....Thank you, Lord Cockerell."

The redhead's thumb caressed up his jaw, feeling across the facial hair. "Good ta see ya remembered yor manners finally. Ya see Dustfinger, I can be nice if ya listen ta me." The hand fell away, and Cockerell sat himself up properly in his chair, grabbing the papers and folding them up. The blond said nothing, though the want was eating away at him and glanced back down to his abandoned breakfast. At the doorway of the dining hall, Cockerell paused, watching a perfect large red rose bloom before him along a vine on the wall. After a moment's consideration he reached out to pluck the flower, a small whispered thank you on his lips to the manor. Returning to his pretty prisoners side, Dustfinger gave a startled jolt, thinking the man had left already. He could be ridiculously quiet when he wanted too. "Easy now pet." He soothed, though it was obvious a man like him wasn't skilled in putting people at ease.

The performer felt himself instinctually leaning away, even as the older man leaned closer. He smelled the younger, taking in his scent of the bath oils and lavender soap left in his washroom, his sharp nose brushing over the youngers hairline. Laying the rose beside Dustfingers plate, he was then pulling away and leaving, his boots echoing until he was truly gone this time. The firedancer let out a breath, shoulders untensing when he was alone once more, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He'd only been here possibly a few weeks, but being in Cockerell's presence was both terrifying and baffling him to no end. He picked up the rose the man had gifted to him, a frown pulling down his lips. It was lovely, but he couldn't say he enjoyed the man's persistence in trying to woo him.... He wasn't going to fall head over heels for his damn jailer.

The Black manor was truly incredible, though dim, it was a bit more welcoming during the day. Autumn light falling through the windows, where heavy burgundy curtains were pulled back. It was surprisingly devoid of dust, and many of the rooms held that slightly floral scent where the rose vines found spots to twine through. From his exploration he found the kitchens to be large, it's stores packed with food. The Lord's visits into town no doubt seeing to that. How strange to think that the house could provide full meals as long as it had the means, he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't been dining on said meals.

The ground floor had a few smaller bedrooms, that may have once been servants quarters but now lay empty. It made him wonder if Cockerell had always been the master of this manor, or if another had once employed a staff here. As he wandered down quiet hallways, and peeked into empty rooms, a set of double doors came into sight. With some effort, he managed to push one of the doors open, gaze settling on a large expansive library. Tall shelves housed an array of titles, that he couldn't even take all in with a mere glance. As he stepped farther in a movement to his left made him turn, and he blinked at a set of new logs placed in the fireplace that hadn't been there before. This place was so strange.

Watching the fireplace, it sparked up all on it's own and he glanced around again. He knew he'd seen something, a movement, someone? No... Something had placed the logs in the hearth before retreating. He was more curious than ever now. This manor was magic... So how... Things didn't just appear it seemed after all. As the fireplace started to burn warmly he was grateful for it, the chill of the previously unoccupied room starting to make itself known. The blond rubbed his hands together, allowing the beginnings of sparks to warm him, before breathing into his cupped palms and causing a gentle glow. His boots were quiet with each step over the rich crimson rugs, and he patted out any lingering sparks from his fingers before looking through the shelves. There were interestingly numerous tomes on magic, and a consideration passed through his thoughts..... Could the thought beastly curse, not be a curse at all but chosen magic? However he almost as quickly dismissed it, were the Lord a magic user he would have already used it on Dustfinger.

A different thought sprang to mind and he glanced around himself before pulling one of the tomes from a shelf. He wasn't sure if it would work, if there would even be a reaction but he'd give it a try anyway. Pretending to fumble with the 'heavy' book it fell from his hands, and he waited for the sound of it hitting the stone.... However, that never came. A slight smirk came to his lips as he looked down and saw two thick rose vines holding the book. The vines looked as though they'd been caught and the book hit the ground when they moved to retreat. "So that's what it is...." An amused smile came to his lips, brightening up his face and he quickly jogged after the retreating vines. "Ah wait...what.." He was curious, but immediately felt silly attempting to ask a question to something that couldn't reply.

The rose vines seemed to somehow regard him though and stopped their movement, allowing him to catch up. "This is silly... It's not as if you can hear or understand me..." As if to disagree with his statement, a small rosebud bloomed, the petals flickering closed and open in an indicator. "Oh... You can understand..." He watched the orange rose in a bit of awe before thinking a moment, unsure how many questions the vines or more precisely, the house could answer, but maybe he'd get at least something... And that was a good place to start. "How about an open flower for yes, and a closed one for no....alright?" There was a moment before the flower opened, showing the bright petals and the firedancer smiled and settled himself on the rug. "Am I talking to the vines..." The rose closed and he nodded. So it was the manor after all. The manor itself was having a round about conversation with him, he'd never talked with a house before.

"Alright, so you're the manor....Is Lord Cockerell the original owner?" He perched his chin on a fist watching and the flower didn't reopen. It was just as he'd guessed, this magical manor belonged to another before the beastly Lord took it. "Hm....Do you miss your original owner?" The answer was a No as well and his brow furrowed, wondering if whoever once owned the place had been worse than Cockerell..... The thought was saddening. "Do you like Lord Cockerell?" To this question, the orange rose immediately bloomed again, and though that put him in a tough situation he couldn't help but smile. The loyalty may have been a little frustrating for him, but it was a touch endearing as well.

Chapter Text

"Resist me all you want, you will be mine.." -La Belle et la Bete (2014)

He wasn't reprimanded for wandering too much, and somehow the Lord always knew where he was anyway when he was exploring, no doubt due to the manor filling him in. He was most likely watched obsessively by the redhead wherever he went, the man's eyes and ears on him even if they were on opposite sides of the large home. In truth though, he was left alone more than expected.... Much more. On ocassion he'd go an entire day without seeing the man at all, even at meals. He didn't know where he went, but he'd seen him coming down from the top floor of the manor once or twice. They were his personal rooms, had to be. Though Dustfinger hadn't seen them, it made sense that the Lord would want privacy if he had his sleeping quarters on the top floor. Admittedly a curiosity still lingered about the fourth floor, but he tamped it down often, reminding himself of his goal to find a way out.

When Dustfinger's boredom would weigh on him and exploring could only do so much, he found settling into the library worked to pass the time, going through volumes distracted his mind enough to not sink into a depression. However, on that rather chilly autumn day he felt himself losing interest in the book in his hands. It wasn't that the story was lacking, it was very good in fact, he just couldn't keep attention. After a moment he set the book on the side table beside the armchair and pulled himself to his feet. "....Could you perhaps tell me where Lord Cockerell is..." He spoke to the room at large, not sure if the manor was currently listening... Or if it was always listening... Or if it even had...ears.. there was too many questions and now was not the time to get existential about a magical house.

The blond was surprising even himself asking after the Lord, he was fine not seeing him... He just.. well he was used to being around more people was all, in his troupe he was always around others.... His troupe. He missed them, Castano with his upbeat leadership ways, he could always end an argument in just a few words and keep it civil. Jezza with her partying energy, she could bring a smile to anyones face and pull them into a dance even if they had two left feet. As he pondered, a vine suddenly wrapped around his hand as if to get his attention, and he came back to himself smiling slightly sad. The vine pointed him out of the library and he followed the motion, ascending the stairs all the way to the third floor, torches burning brightly to indicate the path.

The room he found himself outside of was an office, and he peeked around the door that stood ajar. Cockerell was a tall figure, a cigarette between his lips as he read through some papers. Across the room, the glass shutters of a window sat open, a cool breeze coming in. The man didn't seem terribly bothered by it, but Dustfinger would have pondered just why he had the window open in late autumn, if not for the very unusual scene before him. Big black ravens, a whole flock of them almost, were settled on various surfaces through out the office, as if they did this all the time. Some preened, and one or two hopped to the window to take flight into the cloudy sky once more. Absentmindedly, Cockerell reached out with a gloved hand to gently scratch at the feathery head of one of the birds, the feathered animal leaning into the scritches. "Tha' oughta do it." He folded up the papers and put them into an envelope sealing it with wax before holding it out to the bird he'd been petting. Dustfinger looked on in fascination as the raven took the envelope into it's strong beak before hopping to the window and taking flight.

Had the Lord really trained raven's to take letters and papers to the town? Was he really seeing this right now? Well... He supposed he was in a magical manor that could communicate with him so... Why not? This man was full of surprises, that was for sure. Dustfinger ducked back behind the door again a moment and rubbed his hands together to make a spark, warming his palms. It was definitely starting to get colder, winter was just around the corner, he hoped his troupe could get to warmer lodgings before it started snowing.... He hoped too they'd moved on without him, that would be the smart thing to do. He was just one man, Castano could find another performer easily. "Ya can come in ya know..." Cockerell's voice startled him from his thoughts and he blinked looking around the door again. Did the house mention something, or was he just that in tune with his surroundings? He didn't know anymore with the strange man.

The blond slowly pushed the door open but only took a step or two into the room. The ravens croaked one after another at random moments as if greeting him and he paused in surprise that they didn't seem bothered by his presence. His blue green gaze traveled over them, counting the big black birds. There were ten, eleven?... He missed the one perched on top of the fireplace, twelve. "It's rather chilly..." His tone was soft, but despite that the Lord seemed to hear him and raised a hand toward the window with a slight distracted wave, stubbing his cigarette into an ashtray with the other hand. The house shutters slowly closed of their own accord, and the bird on the mantle croaked, flapping it's wings when the fireplace sparked to life. He hadn't even initially noticed it had been burnt out.

The firedancer stared into the flames, seeing a comfort, the orange flickering heat holding his attention. The man was right, he did like fire... But not in the way Cockerell obviously did... His love for fire was untamed in a natural way, in a way of art, of movement and life. The other man liked it for its destruction, it's ability to take, it's adrenalizing sexual allure.... Fire was a dangerous mistress, and their respect for it went two different ways. A gloved hand came seemingly out of nowhere, and alighted onto his hip, moving smoothly to hold him around the side. The sudden touch made his hands spark in reflex, small flames rising to his fingertips in a protective motion. "Ah, no ya don', put away the flames pet, don' wanna go hurtin' any of me birds now do ya?"

No he didn't want to accidentally harm the birds, none of this was their fault, even if Cockerell had trained them. However, he didn't like the way the damn man was touching him, so sensually and freely, like he owned him. "Ya came lookin' for me..... I wonder why tha' is.... One would think ya startin' ta like me hm?" The flames rising on his fingers burned out, much to his reluctance, and he felt himself pulled back against the taller man's chest, those thin lips moving down to press next to his ear. He wasn't completely sure why he'd come looking for the Lord in truth, and now being in such a position he was immediately regretting it. Maybe curiosity, maybe boredom... Maybe it was the simple fact that Cockerell was literally the only other person in the whole manor that he could possibly converse with in some form... maybe it was all of the above. "I'm sure that's what you wish for..." Dustfinger pushed from the older man, walking away to instead approach one of the raven's and get some needed space between them.

The movement made the redhead merely smirk in some amusement. Fiesty as ever, his little firebird. "Go on ahead then, they enjoy pets." He limped to one of the armchairs, sinking into the satin with a sigh of relief, resigning himself to instead just watching the firedancer. Dustfinger was quiet again, but reached out after a moment to run his fingers down the back of one of the birds. The feathers felt so smooth, silky, he couldn't recall if he'd ever been this close to a raven before, let alone touched one. The bird looked up at him from their perch on the arm of the sofa, dark eyes full of intellect, observing him. "Ravens..." He didn't even really voice a question but he could hear the Lord chuckle softly. "Ya wonderin' why, n' how they're so calm..." He pondered for a time, just watching the bird and blond, his goatteed chin perched on the fingers of a gloved hand. Did he want to get into details? Not particularly, but the basis would be safe.

"I've always gotten along with corvids....all birds, corvids though, go' a special connection with em. Thing bout crows n' ravens is they're loyal if ya good to em. Even will teach the lil ones who's good n' safe, who ta trust. This lot, I've known a while, fair few generations in fact." The blond man almost immediately stopped petting the black bird, gaze flicking back toward the other man, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth. The growls, the quick and quiet movements, and now this weird half confirmation that he was decidedly much older than he looked. It was maddening, concerning, getting him more tense and cautious. After steeling himself he took a low breath, before forcing himself to speak. "They are beautiful birds, Lord Cockerell."

"Tha' they are... All me birds are beautiful..." Those bright eyes weren't subtle as per usual, running up and down Dustfinger's form. The firedancer wished he'd grabbed his coat from his room in that moment, for those eyes were more overwhelming than the cold could ever be. It was all too obvious Cockerell wasn't just talking about the raven's. The Lord looked on him like something to possess, and yet at the same time something to devour. It was as if he couldn't decide between ravaging with passion, or tearing apart with violence.... And every day Dustfinger found himself seeing a little more of the unhinged energy. He had to find a way out of this place and fast.

"Well... I'm sure you have work to do Lord Cockerell... So I'll leave you to it.." The blond quickly stepped toward the door but the bark of that deep voice stopped him. "No' so fast love... Ge' back over 'ere.... Ya came lookin' for me, remember?" Damn his curiosity and well.... general loneliness... He should know by now he wasn't among friends, the house was keeping him here just as much as it's master. He didn't try to leave the office, but he didn't approach the redhead like he wanted either, keeping a decent amount of distance between them still. Said distance however was quickly eaten up when Cockerell pulled himself back to his feet, he seemed annoyed by the fact as well... An off hand thought came to mind that his leg injury probably hurt something fierce with this cold weather, so him ignoring his own aches in favor of having the window open for the birds convenience... It was kind of... Weirdly sweet, despite Dustfinger not wanting to think of it.

Why should he care though, this place was getting to him wasn't it? Being slightly charmed by his prison and his warden? He really was going mad. He found himself being roughly turned around, the gloved hand on his scruffy jaw firm as ever. The older man gave off the scent of cigarettes, and dust no doubt from the office itself. His flowing shirt showed off half of his chest like the night Dustfinger had arrived, tucked into leather pants. His firm touch turned softer, palm moving to cup around the firedancers cheek. He pressed the sides of their faces together, the redhead scenting his long wavy hair and leaning into him. This closeness both intimidated and unsettled the blond, and the older man kept doing it, never caring. "Why did ya come lookin' fo' me?" His voice was more subdued than it had ever been, and though Dustfinger was tense, he appreciated the slight deference from the conventional.

"Are you really so foolish Lord Cockerell..... Can you not realize..." His eyes turned icy at the comment, and though the younger man couldn't see it, he felt the anger, had expected it. "Ya truly enjoy provoking me." His tone became upset but stayed that low murmur. The performer smelled so good, smoky and sweet. He was so real there under his hand, even through the glove he could feel the warmth of skin. Cockerell's beard was scraggly against the side of Dustfinger's face, a little rough, as he was essentially forcibly nuzzled. The other hand gripped at the base of his back, and the firedancers hands came to press against the Lord's chest so as to not be yanked in too close. Though that was slightly a lost cause at this point, at least he wouldn't be chest to chest with the redhead.

This was awkward, his entire body was tense, but Cockerell didn't seem to mind. He could feel the scars through the thin black shirt, light risings on the others pale skin, pinkened and faded by time. He was held with such a reverence in that moment, and it made him wonder just how long the man had spent alone up here in this large manor.... But really he had only himself to blame for any loneliness now didn't he? He drove others away, made them fear him, made them hate him. He didn't hesitate to enjoy the threats, the cruelty, command the common to his will. The other gloved hand pressed into his wavy hair, a light caress, but he was only reminded of the rough grip that those hands could accomplish. Cockerell allowed him to escape the hold then finally, despite his reluctance to do so. "I was just curious sir... I'll see you at supper." The redhead was left only with his birds once more, his blond pet retreating quickly back down the hall as fast as his legs could manage.

The fire crackled warmly behind him, and one of the birds glided over to land on the Lord's shoulder, turning their tail feathers till they perched looking down at him. A small croak as if to ask if he was alright. "M' fine." He reached up to stroke his fingers down the raven's neck, giving them little scritches, a reassurance to the concern he was shown. "He's jus' a stubborn one.... Bu' between you n' me, I sort of like it." He chuckled as the black bird let out a croaking caw.

Chapter Text

The dining hall was probably one of the largest rooms in the manor besides the library. With arched ceilings, and tall windows that might have once looked out onto the thicket of the woods, but had been overtaken by the dense rose vines that crawled over the walls of the stone home. This was where he'd continued his searching for an escape. Lord Cockerell hadn't been at breakfast that morning, so it had been a rather quiet affair, which he wasn't kicking up a fuss about really, it made it easier to look around. The empty plates had been cleared away, the extra food disappearing just as fast as it had appeared and still Dustfinger couldn't fathom just how the house did it.... There and gone, without him seeing a bit of movement. It was still one of the things that he had yet to be given an explanation on, but he supposed it didn't matter much at this point.

His fingers moved over the window frames, glass had been broken in places. The small square panes long gone in favor of the vines filling the spaces. Cockerell had let the place grow wild, from what he could see of the gardens in the large backyard, to the manor itself, he hadn't seemed to ever bother with forcing a gardener to tend the place. Perhaps he didn't much mind the overrun look, or perhaps he didn't care how it looked in the first place.... Though he seemed to hold some level of care for the manor, or he doubted it would 'speak' highly of him. Stopping at the farthest window to the right, on the left side of the hall, his gaze took in the black frame there. Was he seeing correctly? Hardly a pane of glass left on this one, the crosshatched frame was probably only being held in place by the overgrowth of roses. Was there a chance? Could he break the frame enough to get out without that strange time shift happening once more?

He wasn't terribly strong, but the frame was old and weak anyway, the only problem would be the roses, they were so intertwined and thick there had been no need to replace the glass. This was his way out, he could feel it somehow. Reaching up, his fingers slid into the overgrowth and around the window framing before yanking a bit. It shook in his movement slightly, the roses holding tightly, but that meant there was a chance. If it was weak enough to yank on, he could break through it somehow. As he pondered the window, the sound of boots on the tile flooring suddenly caught his ear, and he jumped away, striding quickly back to the table so as not to be caught. "Lord Cockerell." He greet, as the redhead entered the dining hall. He didn't expect to find the blond still there, and he eyed the shorter man a moment. The firedancer was still exploring, he reminded himself, though he held onto a slight suspicion... Wondering just what his little firebird had been up to before he came in.

"Ave' ya seen the ballroom yet love?" He'd been coming to grab something to eat after missing breakfast, but if Dustfinger wanted to see more of his manor he'd offer personally to show it. The performer looked uncomfortable with that constantly all consuming gaze, but gently shook his head in answering. A pale hand was offered out to him, and he didn't want to take it.... But he was mildly curious about this Ballroom. This place had once been made for staff, and parties, room for multiple guests... It truly made him question about the former owner of the manor, and just how Cockerell had come to live here. The older mans hand was markedly colder than his own, but he always had run a bit warmer due to his fire magic, too bad it only did so much for the cold of autumn and winter.

Cockerell's long pale fingers wrapped around his own, firmly, and he was being led back out of the dining hall. They passed the spiral staircase and made way down a darkened corridor, torches igniting along the walls to light the way. For a moment he felt like he was being led to his death, an unease in the pit of his stomach due to the dark. Coming upon a set of large doors, he unintentionally floundered a bit when the Lord released his hand. Thankfully the man didn't notice his momentary re-reaching for the hold, as he mentally scolded himself at his foolishness. The doors seemed heavy, similar to the large black doors of the library, but the redhead pushed them open without a bit of effort on his part.

Dustfinger couldn't help but find himself transfixed immediately, walking forward before he even realized. The older man didn't seem the least bit bothered by him going first, even stepping aside in a gentlemanly manner that was lost on the distracted performer. He was quiet, following a few paces after, fingers linked behind his back. The chandelier came alive, candles burning brightly to light up the large ballroom all the more. Deep crimson curtains hung along the walls between pillars, and far, set in the central back wall was a huge stained glass window. The outside light casted through enough to send blue and red tones falling across the floor. The beautiful and delicate design showing a human skull surrounded by red roses. He could see the shadow of rose vines twined over the window, only allowing slivers of light through. It was as if the house liked the window specifically and had refrained from attempting to break through parts of the glass... Like it had a fondness for one of its own features, which was an oddly charming thought.

Everywhere else however, the roses had broken through, slipping along the stone walls, and even across the ceiling, almost completely claiming the circular room. It had almost been half transformed into a greenhouse through the years by the decision of the home itself, the floor dusted by piles of fallen rose petals and dry leaves. Not far from the stained glass window to the right, sat a grand piano of pure black with silver ornate detailing. Dustfinger wondered for a moment if Lord Cockerell could play, or if the instrument had settled there in dust and out of tune....though he didn't want to voice that question... Because it made him think of the older man's hands. His strong, calloused, bony hands, those long fingers running across the white and black keys... And a strange twist happened in his chest.

With a soft shake of his head, he casted such unwanted thoughts from his mind and walked across the expansive room to stand before the window. It had obviously been some years since this ballroom had been used for its intended purpose, and he wasn't sure if he ought to feel sad or not. To see it go to waste was a shame... But a large gaudy party with only the rich invited to flaunt their wealth amongst eachother, sounded just as unpleasant perhaps even moreso. Cockerell though... He didn't have friends, rich or poor, and he didn't seem to give a damn either way. He was an outcast despite his control, and he'd cultivated himself as the monster on purpose. "It's... beautiful." His voice felt as though it came out as quiet as a hummingbirds call, but it echoed enough to be heard across the ballroom.

From the other side of the room, the Lord only gave a small hum of agreement. Dustfinger had expected another awkward encounter, more attempts to gain his favor..... But Cockerell was keeping his distance this time, not pressing anything... It was a welcome change of pace. A question came to mind, one he'd thought of in passing only once before, but now it lingered. It wanted to be asked, leaping to his lips before he could really consider what the older man's answer might be. "Why me..." Was it purely because he'd angered the man, because he'd challenged him simply by defying his order? Was it due to the Lord's obvious lust towards him, the way his eyes lingered? Or was there something he wasn't seeing behind it all?

Quiet stretched as a ticking clock in the breath of the question, broken only by the muffled click of the redheads pointed boots. He walked the expanse of the circular room, but still kept a generous distance between them. "Why..." A chuckle escaped the older man, and he paced slowly toward the closest wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Ya really are a sight Dustfinger..." One pale hand caringly ran over some of the vines that extended across the cracked stone, pointer finger coming to rest on a just blooming rose bud. "Ya got a spark I haven' seen in a very long time. Ya elegant, intense, feisty. Ya jus' wot I'm lookin' for in a man." He turned on his heel and approached the blond, hands returning to clasp behind his back.

"I like ta keep those I want close, an in me sights." Yeah, Dustfinger could guess that much by him being imprisoned in the manor, and watched by it.... it didn't need to be restated, but it was obvious Cockerell liked to remind him who was in charge. "So I'm little more than one of your birds... No, perhaps even less, for my wings are clipped and I can't leave my cage." A colder hand suddenly came around to lightly hold his chin, turning Dustfinger to face him. Again the older man had snuck up on him somehow. "Wot would any good owner do ta make sure their favorite bird is safe n' sound hm?" The irony of it all, was the firedancer had a feeling the redhead would never clip an actual birds wings.... No he loved his ravens far too much... But Dustfinger, he'd happily keep him locked away for only his eyes to gaze upon. "You'll sing again, ya jus' need ta get used ta yor new home... Bu' ya will sing again, jus' fo' me."

The younger man felt his mouth falling some open without his say, Cockerell's thumb caressing his bottom lip in a tender and wanting motion, before pulling back. A smile tugged up his lips, facial lines prominent, and grin a little crazed. Then, he was being left alone, the older man walking from the ballroom at his half limped, but brisk pace. The bastard... He was so cold and controlling, he'd never be owned by such a man if he could help it.

It was hours later when the firedancer found himself on the stairs towards the fourth floor. He stared up into the darkness that begun at the top of the spiral staircase, knowing he shouldn't be there. He wasn't sure where the Lord of the house had disappeared too yet again, and he was taking much risk just being here, looking up to the forbidden floor above. He'd explored more, and returned to the window down in the dining hall, his plan already forming in mind, but curiosity was a slithering thing and had drawn him up here. The idea of Cockerell forbidding this final floor, just made him want to know more. Though he could guess the man's personal rooms lay ahead, had to be... If he even slept.... He ate, hopefully he slept too.

Outside a nearby window he could see the sun setting behind the trees of the woods, around the manor, and knew he had to be quick in taking a look before supper was served. If he didn't show up to the table, he'd have an angry redhead hunting him down through the manor, and there was no telling if he'd reach the window in time then to escape him. Perhaps it was his anger at the way he was being treated, his thoughts confirmed by the man that he was a mere pretty pet to him, someone the Lord wished to keep and bed...or perhaps it was the mere idea of having something denied to him, when he was already being denied so much....a mix of both even... He just needed to know what was such a secret on the fourth floor.

With one more firm breath of decision he began up the elegant spiral staircase, his heeled boots causing a tap with each movement, that he prayed wasn't too loud. The house oddly hadn't made an attempt to stop him, and when he reached the top floor, candles even lit up to show his way. The hall was pitch black, curtains pulled tightly over windows and he didn't wish to disturb them for worry the house would convey something sooner. The scent of wax and a bit of dust was in the air, followed on the tail end by cigarettes. It felt almost like he was entering a cave, and half expected to disturb bats by mistake. When his green blue hues finally adjusted to the dim lighting, the hallway came into better view. It was a mess. Whatever furniture once lined the halls was long gone, leaving behind only shards of wood. A once standing candelabra lay twisted and broken at the end of the hall, and a vase was shattered into bits, strewn about a bit of everywhere.

The long haired man made his way cautiously down the darkened hallway, his fingers gently sliding over the stone of the left wall, before he came to a halt, eyes widening. Claw marks? He couldn't be seeing those could he? Carved into the wall, scratches, deep and random as if a wild animal had come barrelling through. Pulling away, his hand retreated, a fearful breath caught in his throat.

Chapter Text

"Part of me feeds in that darkness, and I am lost in it..."

-Vincent, Beauty and the Beast: Of Love and Hope 

A hard swallow was an attempt to rid himself of nerves, his hands fidgeting with the ghost of a feeling lingering from those gouging claw marks. Mayor Godfrey's words echoed in his mind "A beast." He forced himself to calm down, dragging out that bravery that always made him want to stand up to the bad tempered Lord in the first place, and pushed on. He paused outside a set of double doors that lay open. One of the doors held a long crack in the heavy wood, as if something had slammed against it, and it sat at a slight angle on the hinges. In the room was what appeared to be Lord Cockerell's bedchamber. The bed itself was centered against the back wall, a large cold fireplace some paces to the left of it. In the corner to the right was a crescent of set windows, half ripped curtains allowing in the last dregs of a sunset that was quickly disappearing behind heavy clouds. He could see it had slowly begun to snow, thick flakes passing the windows to stick to everything in sight and build up. 

Beside the windows and against the wall was a large wardrobe, no doubt holding the numerous pieces of black clothing that Cockerell was so fond of. It was richly decorated as all the other rooms, and yet still held an emotionally empty quality somehow that couldn't be done away with more objects placed. The burgundy curtains around the large bed were pulled back and pinned to the wall, but some had been torn, shreds hanging there still with a lack of care. The black sheets were rucked up and tossed about, not even an attempt at the bed being made. It seemed the man did in fact sleep.... Or attempted anyway based on how fitful said rest came across. On the bedside table was a pile of books, precariously stacked, that though they piqued his curiosity he didn't want to attempt looking at the titles, in worry they'd come tumbling down. 

He only scanned the bedroom once, not bothering to peer in the attached washroom, knowing it was most likely just as lifelessly lavish as the rest, before stepping away from the open doors. He continued down the hallway, the quiet stifling as a tomb. The hall looked to end in another stone spiral staircase, this one leading up to a tower room. Whatever secret was hiding... He had a feeling this is where it would be. Avoiding the broken candelabra, and the splinters of a chest of drawers, he began to ascend the steps. More scratches decorated the walls here and there, and he passed a spot where a hole had been slammed into the stone, causing his stomach to do a somersault of legitimate fear.... Did a fist do that, could a fist do that damage? No, not unless... 

He should stop, he should turn and hurry back, and if Cockerell found him near the stairs he could just swear he didn't go up, and whatever secret was here would stay that way. But...he was too close now, it was too late to turn back and he needed to know. The room at the top of the stairs was an absolute disaster, long cracks ran over the walls, deep gouges of claws dragged, and spots of black from burning. Wax was everywhere, cooled from the long knocked over candles, and a tapestry that had once hung on the wall had been ripped in half, thrown across to the other side. The room itself held such pain, such anger and sorrow, as if the emotions themselves had been embedded with each act of destruction into the very foundation. 

A hand subconsciously moved to Dustfingers chest, a strange lack of breath feeling, with the intense story each sight told. The room was relatively small, only one window high up on the right wall. It was only now he realized that since arriving on the fourth floor there were no roses in sight. None of the houses vines broke through the walls here, or brightened the solemnity with their blooms, and it made it feel all the more miserable. A few candles lit up across the room, and he was offered a much better sight now that the outside light could give none. Approaching the warm glow, he looked on where they rested and the idea of an altar came to mind. Brows furrowed he took in the long table about waist height, overflowing with candles and piled, hardened wax. Empty wine bottles were discarded, some broken indicating the Lord did a lot of drinking up here.

The Lord hadn't bothered with holders, simply letting the candles build up and another set on top. When each little light finally ignited, his blue green gaze was pulled upward. Above the altar was a single large portrait of a woman in pristine condition. She looked down on Dustfinger through the lines of oil paint, her light blue grey eyes intense, under sharp red brows. Eyes... Like Cockerell's. Her long, bright red hair fell wildly down over her shoulders in waving curls. Her thin lips weren't smiling, but she didn't look upset either, just a relative calmness about her features like still water. One visible ear held an earring depicting a golden bird in flight, and her dress appeared to be made of a deep green velvet, a shawl of knitted black yarn draped around her shoulders. She was severe, powerful looking, and beautiful... And the young performer desperately wanted to know who she was. 

This woman was related to Cockerell in some way, that much he could easily tell, and he had a feeling from the candle covered altar below the painting that she was no longer alive. Her loss obviously hit the Lord hard.... He felt as though he was learning something about the man just looking on this portrait, and he wanted to know more.... However it was unfortunate, but little surprise when his thought process was cut short by a fierce, almost animalistic growl from behind him. "Dustfinger!" Shit. He stumbled a bit as he spun around, eyes falling on the man he'd been hoping to avoid. "Lor-" He wasn't even able to get the title out before the furious redhead was stalking into his space, causing him to back up until he hit the table, bottles clanking together. He glanced once over his shoulder trying to be careful of the candles and not light himself on fire. 

"What the hell are ya doin' up 'ere?!" His voice was loud, and the blond felt himself cowering before the wave of rage that enveloped the entirety of the small room. The taller man leaned over him, his teeth bared in a snarl, eyes nearly glowing milky blue. "I said everywhere but the bleedin' top floor! I gave you one fuckin' rule Dustfinger, an ya couldn' even follow tha'!?" After much effort to find his voice, he managed to spit out a strangled answer in return. "I'm s-sorry!" Cockerell's hands slammed down hard on the table, on either side of the younger man, and he tensed up all the more, trapped. He was shaking with his anger, teeth clenched tightly. "Ya certainly fuckin' will be! Go back downstairs!" It took an effort for the older man to move aside and allow Dustfinger to go, but the firedancer didn't move immediately. "....The woman in the portrait who-" 

The blond was crossing a line, after already crossing far too many, that question was not welcome, and it was none of his damned business. "Out!" He jolted at the growling voice and took the command to heart this time, his boots tapping on the stairs as he did his best to rush back down without tripping himself up. What would Cockerell do this time? He wasn't safe here anymore was he? Things had always felt shaky, on the edge of a precipice, but now... He'd gone too far hadn't he? Would the man really kill him this time for disobeying? There was no more waiting on the plan, he had to get out now. He didn't look back, catching himself on a wall when he stumbled, before running on. 

The halls passed in a dark blur, and he only paused to take a breath when his boots hit the marble of the ground floor. Finally looking back, he couldn't see the redhead, but a deep seated unease told him that the man was still after him or would be before long. He took the time to catch his breath, before striding quickly toward the dining hall. "Dustfinger!" There he was, still far away, but that violent voice echoed. The vines weren't budging as he yanked on the window frame. With a huff of frustration, his fingers gripped into them, the thorns doing no favors to his skin, but he couldn't think of that right now. He managed to tear away some of them finally, his fingers getting scratched up in the process. Though as he moved back to make an attempt again, he saw the plants immediately regrow to fill the spaces. Of course, the house was keeping him there, just as Cockerell had been for weeks, possibly even months.... He had no concept at this point. 

"No you don't! I'm getting the hell out of here!" The firedancers voice was panicked and he didn't care about attempting to hide his feelings. He was getting out, he couldn't stay a damn day longer here. His hands trembled, gaze flicking back towards the entry of the dining hall. The furious Lord was on the stairs, he could hear the click of those pointed boots heels, and his heart was in his throat, fluttering wildly like the wings of a hummingbird. Damn it all, fire was his friend, and the house wouldn't keep him here any longer! He allowed the flames to lick across his palms, sparking with a snap of his fingers, warm and glowing, familiar. Hands pressing into the vines, the roses immediately lit up. He distantly heard a loud screeching creak, as if the manor itself was crying in pain, the thorned roses making an attempt to grow back, but immediately turning to blackened char under his fiery grip. 

The weakened window frame was the only thing between him and the snowy chill of the evening and he didn't think a second more before his boot was kicking at it. The wood broke easily, splintering with the force, and he was free. Dustfinger didn't wait, didn't consider the swirling snow, or the icy cold. Climbing out the window, he took flight towards the trees, his suit coat whipping in the freezing wind behind himself. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care, because he was out of the black manor, he was no longer a caged bird. 

It was mere minutes that he'd fled when Cockerell came upon the sight of the broken open window, the rose vines struggling to grow back with a huge chunk replaced by ash and dying embers. Fury burned hotter in his chest seeing the state of his manors rose vines, and he was quickly striding with the slight hitch toward the window. His pale hands came down upon the last of the embers snuffing them out. The firedancer had harmed his manor, when he disobeyed he truly went to great lengths now didn't he? Shaking in his anger, his hands curved around the edges of the broken window. "Hush now, hush... I don' blame you." The redhead took three great steps back before reaching to remove his flowing black shirt. At the now open window, the vines pulled themselves away, making room. 

His pointed boots were next, thrown in an half hazard pile atop his tossed shirt. Dropping to his knees, he breathed out. Teeth clenching tight, when the first crackle of bones echoed about the hall. Long claws tore from the tips of his fingers, hooking dangerously. Ebony fur drew up over pale skin, filling in, hands and feet becoming huge deadly paws. His eyes took on a shining blue glow, bright against coal fur. Clenched teeth ripped into a large maw, replaced with sharp fangs able to render flesh and muscle. The sickening crunch and contortion of bones caused little more than a grunt from the Lord, as a thick black mane grew where his styled hair once was. From the sides of his head curled two sharp and strong ram horns, and the hearty fur was interspersed with long, bright red feathers that called similarities to a cardinal. 

With a hot breath from the beasts maw, he stood again, stalking towards the window that allowed in small swirls of snow. Paws curling around either side, Cockerell launched himself out, hitting the ground in a curved stance, with haunches raised. He had the blond's scent, Dustfinger wouldn't get far. 

Chapter Text

Now you know who I am, tell me again that I repulse you... Tell me. -La Belle et la Bete (2014)

He'd slowed his pace marginally, legs already starting to ache, regretting some that he didn't have his coat. There had been no time for such a thing though. He just needed to keep moving, the town would soon come into view right? He cursed as he slipped on the snowy ground and righted himself by gripping on a tree. The town, he hadn't thought about the town for a while.... They'd kidnapped him, Godfrey had him brought to the manor at the Lord's demand... If he did get back would they even help him? Would they just hold him until Cockerell came by? Or even take him back themselves? His troupe..... Had they really moved on? As he jogged through the trees, a sudden chill traveled up his spine that had nothing to do with the weather, dread shooting into his stomach like a spear. Something... was coming after him. 

He shouldn't look back, just focus on moving, his logic bade him... But some small part told him to look, to look on the beast that hunted him, and the urge won out. Glancing over a shoulder, a huge hulking lion like creature burst from the trees sending splinters of branches flying all directions. It towered, a dark shadow lit only by the hint of moonlight that cascaded through clouds and trees. Eyes like glacial shards, and breath heated like fire. Dustfinger pushed himself harder, a half shout escaping in surprise and horror before it was smothered again. This man, this animal, this creature, what was he? The blond fell into the snow, tripping on a root, but didn't let it slow him, pulling himself up again immediately. His lungs burned, and the wind made his eyes water but he couldn't stop now, to stop now would mean death. 

A loud snarl sent birds calling into the sky, and his heart felt like it stopped beating a moment hearing the heavy footfalls of huge paws behind him. The creature easily kept up with him, bad leg hardly a hindrance and though Dustfinger's own legs ached with exertion he tried to push himself that much faster. Scraped by branches and rose thorns, exhausted, terrified, but it didn't matter as he finally got out into a clearing. His boots hit ice, but he didn't stop running, the monstrous Lord hot on his tail like a bear on the hunt. He lept with an animalistic grace, down on all fours, paw extending, so close to grabbing his gorgeous prey. A crack sounded across the ice and the beastly man saw what was coming before it even happened. His wild eyes widened, and a growling curse escaped him before he slid on his knees in an attempt to stop.

A half frozen lake, it was foolish to run across, but he'd just needed to get away, thought had nothing on panic... Now he was paying the price. It broke under the firedancers feet, and he was plunging into icy water with little more than a small splash. Pulled under despite his attempts to fight, his body wasn't cooperating after being forced to it's limits. His lungs fought for breath, and darkness crawled at the edge of his vision. Would this be it? Would he succumb to an untimely end? Would the afterlife be his only form of freedom? The cold water buckled down on his body and he could fight no more. Just before he lost consciousness, a large black paw wrapped around his waist. He was hoisted up from the water with one firm but caring yank, and pressed to a warm furry chest. 

A coughing gasp woke Dustfinger, the vision of his bedroom at the manor swimming into view. The fireplace crackled and movement at the left of his bedside drew his eyes. There sat the Lord in the elegant crimson armchair, his bad right leg crossed over the left. Nothing of that once inhuman visage remained. A man was before him now, redressed in elegant black, and fiery red hair styled precise.... The feral creature was tucked away once more like it had never existed... But he knew now, he knew the truth. "You... Are a beast..." His voice was hoarse, and though he now felt warm, wrapped in blankets, his hair was still damp. No doubt only an hour or so since he'd been pulled from the dreadful waters. The older man's contemplative features turned to him, that deep english tone tender, instead of possessive, for the first time he could ever recall. "Rest Dustfinger......Jus' rest..... Shhh." The trying evening took hold of him once more and he dropped into unconsciousness again like a sinking stone. 

When next he woke, the scent of cigarettes pervaded the air. Blue green hues stared up at the canopy of his bed, his mind attemping to puzzle together the events he'd just experienced. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but Cockerell was still there at the bedside. "I'm alive..." He knew it didn't need to be stated, he knew he was... But the stark realization was still there... He'd really survived his drop into the icy lake. Though knowing the man was there in his room, he startled slightly at the rough voice nonetheless. "....Tha' ya are." It became quiet again between them, the older man tapping ash from his cigarette into a metallic tray, before he took another long drag. With some effort, Dustfinger pulled himself into a leaning position against the pillows. He felt weak still, so very drained. His gaze drew toward the redhead who was still in the armchair... Or possibly back in the armchair, he wasn't completely sure. Really it wouldn't surprise him if Cockerell had watched him sleep. It was decidedly something the man would do. 

His eyes weren't met this time, the blue grey hues instead locked on the flames eating up the logs in the fireplace. There was so much that wasn't discernable there, a chained up book with words in a language that kept changing. "....You..." He couldn't find how to express his shock and confusion, unable to form a cohesive sentence, just half formed thoughts. "So its true... What...how.." The older man finally did look at him, but was quiet still for a time. He knew what his firebird was attempting to ask, but he wouldn't be recieving an answer. What was he? How had he become this? Instead he took one last drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray, hand indicating toward the bedside table. "Eat, you'll start ta feel better. N' I'd appreciate if ya apologized ta me manor for lightin' them vines up." 

Dustfinger glanced where indicated, a bowl of hot soup sitting with some bread on a serving tray, ready to be devoured. The Lord drew to his feet, preparing to leave. His limp was more prominent and the blond wondered if the transformation and the running had an effect on it....what even happened anyway to give him the old injury? So many questions, and every day he seemed to have more. Admittedly though he felt some guilt....despite knowing he shouldn't. He'd angered the Beast, he'd gone running, and the man had to hunt him down, and then....his voice was soft, hands twisting the edge of the blankets draped over himself. ".... Cockerell...." Even with the lack of title, the older man stopped at the doorway. Though he didn't turn around, the performer knew he was being heard. "...You saved my life.." 

The silence stretched on, edging on uncomfortable, and for a while he wasn't sure if the other man would say anything....would even acknowledge him. Maybe he was still angry, he supposed he couldn't blame him completely.... Dustfinger had pried into his personal life, then run off into the woods aimlessly before nearly freezing to death. But, he had his reasons, good reasons, things just....went wrong, lacked proper planning. The bearded man's voice was low when he finally replied, he sounded tired and no doubt could use just as much of a proper rest as Dustfinger could. "... Don' mention it.." He was then leaving, the door closing behind himself with a light thump, and his uneven steps retreating down the hall. 

Left alone, the firedancer moved to pull the tray into his lap, his stomach grumbling at the thought of decent warming food. Reaching for the spoon however, he stilled, seeing the beautiful full red rose that was placed next to the bowl. It felt like an apology....the closest thing to one he'd get he supposed.

He was bed ridden for another two days, more so at the command of the Lord than anything, which astounded the firedancer to no end that he even cared enough. He'd caught a mild cold, but the bed rest did him well and he was back on his feet quickly. Conversation lacked and was stilted between them, and though neither of them spoke of it, the fear of Cockerell's other self had shaken Dustfinger to his bones. He'd been able to review everything with his rest time, the portrait up in that tower room, the chase through the snowy woods, the beastly creature that could rip through his wardens human veneer at any moment were his rage to awaken it. He'd pushed and pulled, and he was back where he'd begun, the Beasts caged Firebird. Now, with a terrifying truth beheld before him if he ever thought of acting up again. 

Blue green eyes hadn't moved from the once broken open window. Thick boards of wood had been set in tightly, sealing off the snowy weather outside and preventing a repeat of Dustfinger's attempted escape. Rose vines were amassed across them, wrapping in thick growth, almost a bramble build now, that dared the blond's still healing fingers to try again. The manor wasn't pleased with him, and he could feel it all around. In the walls, in the roses, in the very silverware he held but had yet to use. "Eat Dustfinger. I won't tell ya 'gain." The Lord's tone was impatient from his seat to the right at the table, and with a heavy sad sigh he began to do as bade.... No argument this time. His bites were small, and his gaze fell onto his plate, not moving up again for some time. Though the older man had apologized, as well as forgiven him in his own way.... He knew every unspoken demand without the need of having them said. Don't ever go up to the tower room again, don't ask about the portrait, don't ever ever try to escape again...... But the wish to do all of them still clung to his mind despite everything. Castano would have shaken his head at his stubbornness. Castano, his troupe, the town.... He really couldn't go back could he?

"Ya will perform fo' me 'gain soon. When ya feelin' stronger." Cockerell paused to knock back the last of his wine, before pouring himself some more, deep red like blood. The younger man set down his fork and wiped his mouth with the napkin, finally giving the redhead his attention for the first time that evening. "I haven't my things to perform, they were in my tent back with my....the troupe." He flinched slightly as the completely clean bones of the pheasant they were eating clanked against the man's silver plate. "I'll see ta gettin' yor things then, can't have me firebird not bein' able ta dance fo' his master." It took a few moments, but when the words clicked fully in the blond's brain he looked back to the Lord with both shock and confusion. "My troupe is still here? In town?" They'd stayed? 

The redhead leaned back in his chair, tongue running across his teeth and leg crossing over the other. He looked annoyed, and a slight grunt escaped him. "Tha' they are, tha' bleedin' heart Godfrey went n' put em up in the Inn after he felt so damned 'sorry' fo' them n' wot he was forced ta do. Pathetic old geezer, his father was better at keepin' tha' dreg to himself n' jus' doin' as told." The thick accent dripped with sarcasm and distaste, but Dustfinger's mouth snapped shut, not speaking back this time. In truth he was just happy to know they'd stayed for him, it was so terribly kind, and unexpected. He wasn't alone, he still had allies out there, waiting for him. Maybe, there was still a chance of escape, but he couldn't get ahead of himself again. 

Chapter Text

"What do you enjoy reading sir?" Cockerell had been watching him closer since that night four days ago. His dangerous observant shadow, he lingered about in silence and discontent and more often than not Dustfinger felt a chill of knowing his presence. It was disconcerting to say the very least, but it was obvious the man wasn't going to allow him to try such an escape again, even going so far as to stalk him about the manor if he deemed it necessary. Still, they hardly spoke, because he knew that the man wallowed in his upset. It was a part of his disposition, the brooding. They'd settled in the library that afternoon, the pretty performer passing the time with a thick poetry book in hand as he leaned his side against the arm of his chair, knees pulled up. The silence had been getting to him, the tall form of the redhead a hindrance to his attempt at relaxation, though he supposed that was the subconscious point of this whole thing was it not?

The question had his jailer turning his intent gaze from the fireplace a moment, seeming to consider if the firedancer was actually addressing him.... But it wasn't as if there was anyone else there for him to converse with. Instead of an answer however, his piercing eyes settled back on the flames and he gave a noncommittal grunt. "Wot are ya readin'?" A question to a question, he never liked that avoidance but he wasn't about to get annoyed with the other for not wanting to answer him.... This was Lord Cockerell after all, the man never properly answered questions if they were about himself, especially if they were about himself . "Poetry.... You seem to have many books of poetry in your library, I assume it to be one of your favorite genres of writing?" The older man finally moved from his statued position, lowering himself into the armchair beside Dustfinger's. He tried to hide the subtle cringe as he stretched out his legs before the fireplace, but now that there was no weight being placed on his right leg, it was a mild relief.

"Read for me pet..." His voice held half request and half demand, but it was soft so the firedancer didn't particularly mind following it this time. The redhead hadn't agreed to his query, but he hadn't disagreed either and that was answer enough for him. He was deciding Cockerell enjoyed poetry, and it was a oddly sweet thing to know about him. After a small clearing of his throat he began to read the page he'd turned to aloud. "It was not death, for I stood up...and all the dead lie down... It was not night, for all the bells put out their tongues, for noon... It was not frost, for on my flesh I felt siroccos crawl....nor fire, for just my marble feet could keep a chancel cool... and yet it tasted like them all.... The figures I have seen, set orderly for burial, reminded me of mine..." The poem held a dark solemn air to it, and though each word saddened him some, he didn't stop reading.

"As if my life were shaven, and fitted to a frame, and could not breathe without a key, and twas like midnight some...when everything that ticked, has stopped...and space stares all around.... Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground....but most, like chaos, stopless, cool...without a chance or spar, or even a report of land, to justify despair..." As Dustfinger's voice faded out, Cockerell seem to come back to life from his eerily still position. It had been some time since he'd heard that one... Or more precisely read. A sad one true, yet the prose held such beauty, even in the words of death and despair. It was an understanding of the sorrows of existence that drove one into a deep pit of a mere simmering that could hardly be called life...or more simply put, melancholic depression.

The younger man read another three of the poems for the beastly man before a ravens muffled, croaking call broke through the somberly tense atmosphere. The bird was perched just outside one of the windows in the branch of a tree, waiting patiently. The Lord drew himself to his feet and walked the expanse of the library. Without a word, the shutters of the window unlocked and opened to allow the big black bird to swoop in. Cockerell's arm raised as a perch, all of it smooth as a step to step symphony, and Dustfinger couldn't help but half admire the synchrony they all held with one another. "Ello there pretty." Gently, his fingers untied the note from around the bird's leg, before the raven flitted to land on his shoulder. The paper crinkled as he unfolded it, bright eyes sliding quickly over the words before he refolded it. "Yor things will be here this evenin'... N' yes 'fore ya ask, yor troupe knows ya alive n' well.

He hadn't expected the other to even mention him to Godfrey, let alone convey to him to tell his troupe. It was again that strange feeling between a minor true tenderness and the literal bare minimum of decency. He never knew if he should allow that small feelings of gratitude, or just be absolutely furious that Cockerell giving the slightest scrap of kindness got to him so thoroughly. He couldn't find words, mouth opening and closing a few times, before he finally sighed softly and just said. "Thank you Lord Cockerell." The letter was pressed into an inner pocket, before the older man reached up to stroke the raven's feathers. "Good lad, ya rememberin' yor manners again." The blond felt himself trembling with that old friend, restrained anger, and tried to convince himself it was just a shiver from the open window despite being far away from it.

He wanted to snap back, tell the man where he could shove his damned 'manners'.... But there was no telling what would happen, especially with the less than congenial mood his warden had been in for the past few days. "I'll give ya time ta reacquaint ya self, but ya will perform fo' me after supper." That wasn't much time, especially since he didn't know when his things would arrive except for in the evening. It had been a while, a month or more without him performing, he may be a bit rusty, but he knew the man wouldn't take no for an answer. The bird shifted back down to Cockerell's arm and he gave the animal one more affectionate scritch before letting the raven take flight back out the window. The shutters closed and a few clicks indicated them locking tightly back up.

There was a scratch followed by the small woosh sound of a match lighting, a recently rolled cigarette perched between the Lord's lips. He watched the redhead turn on a heel, making his way back to the armchair. The burning cherry of his cigarette casting a glow on his sharp features as he shook out the match. "Read on, little firebird." He retook his seat and Dustfinger cracked open the book of poetry once more. He could only be pleased Cockerell's current demands were tame.

It was around five when Godfrey showed up outside the manor doors. Summoned yet again to the unsettling home that he'd done so well in avoiding for so long. He already missed his warm home, the crackling fire, a nice cup of tea, his dear wife who he'd have to delay dinner for in order to please the Lord's demand. He tugged his scarf up around his face more and glanced back to his travel companion, the younger brunette man staring in awe and intimidation. "This is where Dustfinger has been...." The mayor nodded, looking up to the manor as well. "We must be quick, Lord Cockerell doesn't like to be kept waiting, don't try to wander please.... I shouldn't have even brought you..." The younger man shook himself from his astonishment and nodded to the mustached man. "Right, I promise I won't try anything."

Godfrey headed up the steps and raised his hand to knock. This time the knock landed, and it took a time for the doors to open.... Or more precisely a door. It creaked open, just enough for the two men to enter, before snapping shut behind. "How strange..." Godfrey glanced around the main hall, which was brighter and more welcoming than he'd ever seen it in his years. They passed the dining hall, that was lit up as well and even he paused to glance in, the fireplace crackling against the back wall. "This place is... breathtaking." The brunette's gaze kept flicking around, taking in as much as he possibly could, feeling as if he'd just walked into a storybook. "Thank ya. I'll let em know ya think so..." Both men jumped at the sudden rough and familiar voice, the greyed mayor immediately narrowing his sights on the imposing figure of the pale redhead.

He stood firm on the spiral stairwell, dressed in an elegant black suit, thick black feathers around the collar of his vest, one gloved hand resting on the banister, as he stared them both down, icy blue grey eyes lined with kohl. "Lord Cockerell." Godfrey gave a small head nod in respectful greeting, but the beastly man's gaze was settled on the younger man beside him. "I see ya brought a rat inta me home Mr. Mayor.... don' believe I mentioned he was welcome." The nervous older gentleman was about to defend himself, beg if need be when they were all interrupted by a shocked and joyous voice. "Castano?!" Dustfinger looked radiant in a burnt orange suit, much more silky and effeminate than that of Cockerell's. His dinner coat was pleated and long in the back, looking almost like tail feathers, and his heeled boots tapped audibly on the steps as he rushed down them.

"Dustfinger!" The troupe leader was all smiles, his focus on his friend as the blond immediately thumped into him for a hug. The two men laughed as they hugged tightly after the long time away, and Godfrey was both pleased for them and horribly nervous that the Lord was about to snap and snarl. He just prayed all fur, fangs and feathers stayed at bay for the time being. "It's so wonderful to see you." Castano pulled back to look him over before his hands cupped the firedancers face affectionately. "And you, you look well. Everyone misses you." A growl broke up the happy reunion, causing all eyes to turn on the black clad man. He had fury in his eyes, hand gripping the marble banister tightly, as his teeth clenched. The blond knew what had set him off, and he quickly moved away from the troupe leaders touch on him for his friend's safety.

Castano broke the tense atmosphere by clearing his throat, sliding the rucksack off his shoulder and passing it to the long haired man. "Everything should be in here that you need.... I'm glad you'll be performing again... It's just a shame we won't get to see it." His smile was a bit sad, and the other performer gave a similar smile. It was so good to see him, even if he knew their meeting was going to be cut short.... His warden wasn't known for his patience after all, and they were already on the precipice. "Thank you Castano..." He took the rucksack and put it over his own shoulder before tugging the brunette man into another hug. His voice became a whisper and he pressed his lips near the other mans ear, the desperation he was hiding slipping out in a plea. "Help me, get me out please."

Rose vines scrambled across the floor, before suddenly wrapping around the troupe leaders limbs and torso. "W-what.... Dustfinger we'll try to help I promise you!" He was then roughly yanked away, a grunt escaping as he hit the floor. "Lord Cockerell please don't hurt him!" The blond looked on with a plea in his gaze, and though the redhead's teeth were bared in a snarl, the rose vines did little more than drag Castano back out the door, dropping him in the snow unharmed. The door closed roughly and Cockerell turned his gaze on the trembling mayor. "Don' ya ever do somethin' like tha' again Godfrey!" The firedancer clutched the strap of his rucksack, gaze longing on the doors that Castano was just forcefully thrown out. He knew the man would be alright, the vines had been relatively gentle with him, but it didn't make the feeling of seeing his first friend in months, snatched away any better.

"I simply thought..." Godfrey knew the young man was missing his friends, even without being here, and the troupe missed him as well. He'd only hoped to give them some time together, see one another again....though Castano himself had to do a lot of convincing on his part. "You thought?! You don' think ya ridiculous old fool, ya do as I bleedin' tell ya too!" Godfrey flinched as the Lord stalked down the last few steps to get in his space, the candles and torches flickering around them before stilling again. This time it was the blond that looked on the old Mayor apologetically, a veritable flip of roles from his first night in the manor. The greyed man met his gaze and Dustfinger mouthed a 'Thank you' to him for his dangerous efforts. It mattered, despite the rage he was subjected to, it mattered. "M-my apologies Lord Cockerell... It won't happen again."

"It best not! Get out a me sight, N' take tha' scurryin' lil' rat with ya, if he comes by again, I'll blame ya personally! An ya won't like what I'll do!" Godfrey stumbled back and nodded. "R-right, apologies Lord." Frantically he was rushing toward the doors again as fast as he could, the both of them opening this time. The blond performer saw a glimpse of his friend climbing out of the snow before the doors shut hard and loud, locking, and he was again left alone with the fuming master of the manor. As was what his life had become he supposed. Turning on a boot heel, he wanted nothing more than to get away for the time being, knowing his jailer had heard his plea for help. "An jus' where are ya going?" Of course though, his arm was grabbed firmly in a gloved hand, and ever so slight he could feel the poke of claws through the gloves and the layers of his suit. It made his stomach churn with anxiety, but he managed to speak up. "To the ballroom, to practice as you wished of me Sir."

"You've an hour an a half, make it count." His voice rumbled with an animalistic growl under it, and the younger man quickly nodded before he was released. He felt the phantom touch on his arm, as he fled from the entrance hall toward the ballroom. There was no doubt in his mind the redhead was going to be more possessive with him than ever before.

Chapter Text

You dress in the finery of a prince, you claim you're a man, but you're just a cruel and lonely beast. Try whatever you want, to enchant me, to bribe me, you'll always repulse me!  -La Belle et la Bete (2014)

Dinner was an uncomfortably quiet affair, the Lord roiling in the rage of seeing another man touch his pet with such a familiarity and affection. He'd wanted to choke the life from the fool, or break his neck under the strength of his black paws so he could never lay his hands on Dustfinger in such a way again. He may have imbibed a bit too much wine but the food helped in keeping him at a decent level, not quite drunk. The blond on the other hand wasn't as hungry, he picked at his food like the feathery being which he was referred as, and lost interest not long through. Sorrow hung heavy around the table, and this time the older man didn't demand his eating. Tonight would have gone so well if Godfrey had never brought that boy along, now he had to deal with an even more unruly pet. 

The blond finally just set down his silverware, giving up completely on eating. He said nothing, just allowing the Lord to finish his own meal, and the older man said nothing to him. He'd noticed all through dinner how much the man drank and it gave him a slight twinge of nerves, not knowing what kind of man or beast the other could be when drunk. He wasn't exactly going to cut him off the wine, and he doubted he'd be heard anyway, had he even been brave enough to make the attempt of course. His blue green hues settled on the redhead properly for the first time since supper began, he took in the firm scowl, thin lips parting to take ocassional bites, and he swore he could see sharp teeth....fangs... Like a partial transformation.... He wasn't aware he could do that, now the precisely cleaned bones of so many meals made sense. He was upset, and it was obvious why, Castano really did a number in ruffling his feathers.

His gaze moved up towards the lines of age on the older man's features, crows feet at the corners of his eyes, and of course the defined smile lines. His vibrant red hair and sharp widows peak, his curved pointed goatee-like beard of the same bright color. Those eyes, lined in kohl, and always so chilling, angry, the intensity of them. Now however, that gaze held something else, a touch of bleariness due to the drink, and it was turning toward him. "M' flattered love..." Caught staring, Dustfinger quickly glanced back down towards his clasped hands that rested on the edge of the table. He could almost see the animal there, behind the man now, and the sharp teeth definitely made it more obvious. Though he wanted to speak, to tell the Lord he had nothing to be flattered about and he wasn't looking because he was attracted, he kept his self imposed silence. The man would believe whatever he wanted 

Cockerell was tiring of the blond man's quiet, in fact it was frankly begining to annoy him. However, he could deal with it for now since the lovely man was going to perform for him. Let him sulk, as long as he did as he was told. "Another bottle." He spoke to the open air, and the manor obliged, another bottle of red appearing beside the cup that he only took a moment more to empty. He'd already gone through one bottle on his own, as his pretty prisoner hadn't much interest that evening in drinking, after all he needed to keep a clear head whilst messing with fire. "C'mon then." With a nod toward the open space between the table and the fireplace, the Lord drew to his feet, grabbing the bottle in one hand. Without a bit of effort he then carried his highbacked chair from the table with the other, and set it facing the area where his firebird was to begin. 

Settled, relaxed in the chair, with wine bottle in hand he watched the younger remove his boots and suit coat, taking his things from the rucksack. "Shirts s'well." Dustfinger paused and took a settling breath, it seemed his jailer was in a mood to leer, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Standing again, he removed his vest then paused with his hands on the buttons of the silky ruffled shirt. He'd been shirtless before in front of the redhead a few times.... why did this time feel so different? Perhaps it was the fact he'd requested it, as opposed to Dusfinger doing it by choice? Shaking his head, he proceeded until his lovely unmarred skin was revealed, nipples peaking in the cooler atmosphere. Cockerell discreetly slid his tongue over his lips before allowing himself a drink of wine. With the layers out of the way, his firebird moved into place. 

This time, Dustfinger began with some acrobatics, it was more preparation stretches than anything but he doubted the man would mind as he was most likely enjoying looking. Limber little thing wasn't he? Seeing him twist and turn, flip into a hand stand, it was causing a low level warmth to start in the Lord's belly. With a cartwheel forward, he landed low and picked up three small torches. Drawing to his feet he then got a swing started before begining to juggle the torches. He knew Cockerell would be looking for better than the taste he gave him that time ago in the town square, he had to step up his game. He picked up the pace on his juggling, and even caught one of the torches behind his back a couple times. When he felt he'd done well in warming up, he took them into one hand. Lighting a flame in the palm of his left hand, he caught a quirk of a smirk from the redhead out of the corner of his eye. The three torches were lit, the fire waving hotly, before he took up the motion again. With an ease he was grateful for, he began to juggle the flaming torches. His practice earlier in the night had done him well, he hoped it kept up.

Cockerell watched on, one gloved hand perched against the side of his face, where he leaned on the arm of his chair. On ocassion, the bottle was lifted so he could take a sip. He chuckled as Dustfinger made the extra effort to catch the flaming torches behind his back as well. They were put out and he traded them for a torch baton, not even waiting this time to light up the ends. This made the Lord move forward in his seat more, and a grin pulled up his lips at the first toss of the flaming baton into the air. The blond caught it and spun it around his body, the fire just teasing across his skin but leaving him unharmed. It felt so freeing to work with the flames once again, an extension of himself where he could focus, and the pretty prison around him melted away. 

He kicked a second baton into the air and caught it, lighting the tips on the other, before spinning them in unison. The glow between the fireplace and the warmth of the fire swirling around the blond cast the area in orange light. It bounced off the sharp beaks and glinting ruby eyes of the raven statues, and eerily defined the features of the manors master. The older man was transfixed by only his pet bird however, a gorgeous sight to behold, that he wanted to possess and keep all to himself. His body was perfection, his lean muscles clenching with each movement. His form curved almost snake-like, and when he slipped to the floor arching his back, the batons twirling in his hands.... Cockerell wanted to slide above him, and press their bodies together, have those legs wrap around his waist, he didn't even care about the danger of the fire. He even craved it, the lick of the heat and the chance of burning. He'd always liked to play with fire.

Tantalizing, like the most decadent dessert he wanted to sink his teeth into Dustfinger's long neck and leave lasting marks, maybe even taste blood. The firedancer flipped himself over back onto his feet and tossed one of the batons up, spinning around before catching it again. He did this move a few more times, almost dropping the baton on the fourth time, but he caught himself at the last moment. It got a bit of a mean chuckle from his jailer, but he ignored it. Cockerell was getting drunk, if he hadn't already been, that is. The blond decided to move this along to the end of his performance, in the hopes of being allowed to leave to his room. He bowed and put out the batons, moving instead to the sparks of flames in his hands. He wasn't sure if the other man had even blinked the whole time he'd been performing and it made him shiver despite the heat that surrounded him.

The black clad Lord finished off the wine, the clank of dark green glass as he set the bottle to the side of his chair. A burst of flames from the blond's hands lit up the air, and for just a moment Dustfinger thought he saw those blue grey hues glow in a catlike manner, the animal prowling just on the edge of the human cage. Fire swirled upwards, but this time he was careful to keep it under control and not mistakenly burn any of the manors vines.... There was no telling how insanely furious that would make the beastly man, even if it was by mistake. He breathed out the fire, and let it burn out into the air, before snuffing the sparks in his hands. With a low bow he then finished his performance. "Gorg'eous.... Jus' brillian'..." His accent was thicker now, and the firebird no longer had to wonder if he was drunk. 

Leather clad hands clapped kindly, and Dustfinger gave another small bow in thanks. Admittedly it was nice to perform again, even if his audience consisted only of his warden. "C'mere pet." Shit. The long haired man paused, the slight smile that he'd managed, immediately slipping off his full lips. He didn't want to do that, he'd much rather be dismissed.... But the look on the older man's face was telling him he should do as said. With a small sigh, he finally approached the highbacked chair, though in slow cautious steps. Cockerell wasted no time in grabbing the pretty blond about the waist when he was within reach and sat him on his lap, pulling him close. "Me talented lil bird..." One of those black gloved hands pressed to his inner thigh, caressing and he was reminded again of how fitted the breeches that he was given were. "You flatter me Lord Cockerell..... However I am rather tired..." He wanted to get away, he could smell the wine on the redheads breath. This was the beast of human, not of animal. 

"Performance like tha'earns ya a gift love." Dustfinger tensed as his chin was gripped in a firm hold and his face was turned. Gods, he knew what was coming. "Lord Cockerell, please... You're drunk." Before his lips almost connected with the other man's, he shoved at him. The sudden hard shove caused him to be able to pull away, even as he fell from the man's lap, he could care less. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to gather his things and clothes, only taking the time to put his boots back on when he realized he wasn't being pursued. In fact, the Lord of the manor had become very still. Without another look back, Dustfinger put his rucksack over a shoulder and jogged from the dining hall, the sound of his heeled boots disappearing up the stairs not long after. 

"Fuck..." He was drunk, the firedancer was right, however he wasn't drunk enough not to realize what he'd just almost done. He let his head roll back and he closed his eyes, the wine making him spin a bit. He wanted Dustfinger so badly, it had been so long, but he even he had his limits.... Despite what others thought of him. Feeling a light nudge against his hand, he opened his eyes to see a rose vine holding out a cup of water and couldn't help the smirk that pulled up his lips. "Thank ya..." 

Nothing had happened, sure he pushed away, but it seemed even Cockerell had stopped himself, choosing not to go after him. His heart though wasn't listening, and he still had to come down from the adrenaline. Kicking off his boots, and dropping the rucksack near the wardrobe, he fell onto the bed with a sigh. He'd gotten a bit handsy, nothing too terrible gladly. The last thing he wanted was his first kiss in about two years to be with some drunken, cruel, jailer. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and took another deep calming breath. His heart had slowly started to settle back to its usual pace after a time. An almost kiss was better than a slap to the ass in the long run he supposed, and the man had been sober when he'd done that, not a comforting thought. That man really knew how to rile emotions in all the wrong ways, he was infuriating and so strange.

The morning grey sun fell through the window, reflecting off the snow and trees. It was this that roused Dustfinger first, the manor since getting a read on his habits and helping him to wake with the sunrise by gently opening the curtains. The second thing that drew him from the bleariness of sleep however was the feeling of eyes on him, leaving him immediately jilted fully awake, as he sat up in bed. The beast looked down at him this time, the being he'd never properly seen in the light till that moment. His next breath caught in his throat and he scrambled back on the bed, his knees pulled against his chest, and just catching himself from falling off.

A black lion with both terrifying and beautiful features. The black ram horns curling to sharp points at the side of his head, the bright lovely cardinal red feathers interspersed through out the silky, thick black fur. He wasn't sure what brought on the transformation this time, but seeing the man... The beast... Calm was a change for him. He didn't know how long Cockerell had been there, how long he'd been watched as he slept, but the light tap of claws on the stone flooring was soon muffled as he walked across the carpet. A black paw with long bony, clawed digits extended to place a rose on the blankets before the firedancer. The petals were yellow this time, like buttercream....an apology for the night before... Though how much the Lord was apologizing for he was unsure. 

He offered a small, quiet nod to the hulking beast in understanding, before the creature was turning on his heel. With the thump of the closing door he was left alone attempting to calm his heart yet again with only hours between each adrenaline burst. This place was bad for him on far too many levels. 

Chapter Text

"Stay out of my room, and if you would like to enter, knock like a grown man." It was both terrifying and invigorating saying those words, but Dustfinger stuck by his rise of bravery. After what happened the night before, he was too frustrated to allow his fear to get the best of him again. "You are a grown man after all, older than myself if I'm not mistaken, surely someone in your life must have taught you manners at some point?" There was a stillness in the air, that felt like even the manor was metaphorically holding its breath. He was preparing himself for a horrible backlash, though he did his best to remain calm. Cockerell was at the window, back turned toward him with the scent of smoke in the air, his first ever demand of the Lord almost echoing through the dining hall.

"Pardon me?!" He didn't like that one bit. Try to remain unbothered, the young performer reminded himself, as he picked up his fork to dig into breakfast. The redhead was back to the table in four long strides, but as he moved into his prisoners space again, leaning on the table, it took everything in Dustfinger not to immediately lean away and cower. "I think someone is forgettin' who's in charge here yet again!" His cigarette was perched between two fingers where he leaned, the smoke rising around the blond, who made it a point to cover his nose and mouth. He doubted he ever could forget, as the man enjoyed constantly reminding him. Though scowling, the older man moved back and took up his own seat, putting some space between them again. "I suppose we'll see about that." It was subtle, a movement from the man so his cigarette smoke wasn't invading Dustfinger's air as much.... But each slight motion and action like that proved there was still some decency buried in him.

He'd gotten the other man to move away without saying a word, just as the night before when Cockerell stopped himself after stating he was drunk. Was there a chance of reminding him of those bits of restraint, to nurture them? A snarl met his words but the bad tempered Lord said nothing, going back to his smoke, and what looked like a cup of strong black coffee. Someone was feeling it from the mild overindulgences last night it seemed, good he hoped the man had an aching headache for his transgressions. Sitting more upright in his chair, the blond munched away on his breakfast, thoroughly enjoying the other man paying for his actions through a hangover, mild or not it didn't matter. "Are you not going to eat? Breakfast is quite delicious this morning." At even the mention of food, the Lord gave a disinterested grumble, and Dustfinger had to hide his subtle smirk.

"I should like to go outside for a while... I feel stifled in this manor of yours..." He sipped his morning tea, enjoying the robust flavor. He wasn't even being sarcastic, breakfast really was wonderful that morning. "You may be content here in your darkness and brooding, but I'm used to travelling under the open sky, Lord Cockerell...." A pale, black clawed hand slammed down on the table suddenly, the cutlery and dishes clattering, causing the young performer to jolt and drop his toast back onto his plate. His eyes settled on the beastly claws that were curving from the tips of the mans bony fingers, a gradient of pale skin to coal black. "Will ya shut it?!" He did go silent then, looking down to his plate and focusing only on eating. The older man definitely had a headache.

Cockerell took another deep drag from his cigarette, the excess smoke slipping from his nostrils before he sipped his coffee. He hadn't seemed to have noticed the appearance of the claws right away, glancing then to the hand holding his cup. With a curling of his fingers, an ever so slight crackle sound indicated the shiny black points disappearing from sight once more. The younger man didn't speak again until he was finishing breakfast, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin and setting it down on the table. Cockerell had finished off another cigarette by that time and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray that looked like it had been taken from his lounge. "I can't stay behind these walls much longer...." A growl of growing annoyance was the answer to this statement, but the redhead remained quiet otherwise.

He was probably pushing it, but he needed to breathe, and the damn windows only opened for the older man. Yes it was cold but he didn't care, being stuck in this infuriating manor with the lewd and nasty tempered master of it was too much after a while. ".....Are you even listening to me, do you even give a damn about my happiness?" He should care, shouldn't he? Even if Dustfinger was only a pet to him, a plaything in his eyes, he should care enough that he was relatively happy. It seemed the older man had reached his limit, unable to ignore the blond any longer, chair pushing out loudly and harshly as he stood. "Enough! Ya 'ave rich clothes, a library of tens of thousands of tomes at ya disposal, a very wealth of meals eaten off pure fuckin' silver, every single rose I've given a piece a me manor, and still ya ask me fo' more?!"

Cockerell wasn't getting it, he really thought Dustfinger gave a damn about all those riches when he was a prisoner? "Yes thank you, my cage is so lovely.... and your roses only offer so much solace. There comes a time when their petals are just empty apologies for what you refuse me Lord Cockerell!" His voice oozed resentment and sarcasm as he stood too, though much less violently than the older man. The redhead stalked a few paces closer, and he almost made a retreat in the opposite direction, but stopped himself at the last minute. It was getting heated, but really he hadn't expected any different. "I've no need ta apologize! Ya will learn yor place or I will continue ta deal with these childish outbursts accordingly, Dustfinger!" The blond almost wanted to laugh at the use of 'childish' from the very man who had been nothing but possessive with him as if he were an object from the day they met, the man who even now was having an outrage over him merely wanting to get some air.

Instead he adressed the absolute hypocrisy of his former statement. "Apologies mean nothing to you then?! And yet you wish me to apologize to your manor for the damage I caused? I've seen your halls, your bedchamber! You've done more damage than I could ever accomplish!" This time he did move back a couple steps. Cockerell was exceedingly close now, breath scenting of coffee and cigarettes, a glow of danger in his eyes. "Ya are too bold! Ya talk back far too fuckin' much! 'Ave ya learned nothin'?! Yor demands are crossing the line boy!" He was being backed up, and tripped over the leg of the chair, almost spilling himself to the floor but just managing his footing again. It was hard not to feel like a small prey animal in the presence of the beastly man, but he was not going to let himself be a coward and back down on this, despite the intimidation.

As he was backed up toward the closest wall something occurred to him, and he didn't hesitate to snap back, he may be frightened but he had his words. "And what will you do to me should I continue?! Cut out my tongue?! I fill an agonizing lonely silence you have suffered with for years, maybe even decades!" Shoved against the wall he could hear the movement of the rose vines as if the manor wanted to intervene but was unsure how or if it should. A strong bony hand wrapped around his throat, just a presence there to keep him in place more than anything. They were practically chest to chest, and instead of the disgust from the evening before, it was instead the odd, not fully unpleasant feeling he'd first encountered in Cockerell's office that day with his ravens. He recalled the way the man had almost cuddled against him needily and it made something in him strike with sympathy he wasn't interested in analyzing.

However, he was getting tired of arguments, of having to fight so much for the simplest requests, and he wondered if some part of his warden was getting tired as well. "Quit pushing me little firebird... Ya know I can be cruel... Ya fight so much bout bein' locked away, would ya like me ta actually put ya in a cage? I can be accommodatin'." He knew then he'd hit the nail on the head, but it didn't surprise him. The older man was lonely, so terribly lonely, and Dustfinger helped that loneliness if even through their arguments.... He just didn't want the fact shoved back in his face. His voice was frustrated more than furious now, and the younger performer knew those words were not only an empty threat but the older man acting out defensively. A heavy, sad sigh escaped Dustfinger, and it obviously wasn't the reaction that Cockerell was expecting, his brows furrowing over icy grey blue hues.

"I just need air, please... I won't try to run this time... But I need to be outside... At least for a bit." He felt a tremble in the others hand that held him pinned, before it moved, releasing him. A punch sailed into the wall near his head and a small crack in the stone appeared, the needed release of built anger making him tense marginally. "....Fine... I'll take ya out ta the gardens... bu' I'll be watchin' closely." He couldn't discern what all went through the redheads mind with each of their interactions, he was such a confusing man, his emotions so flippant. He hated him, and yet some small part of him didn't.... Some tiny part in his heart and mind pitied the Lord. He held so much rage, and resentment. He didn't want to believe there might be more to his captor.... But the cagey attitude about anything personal proved there was. "....Thank you Lord Cockerell..." Damn this man, he was developing sympathy for the Devil, if only a bit.

Dusfinger picked out something to wear from the clothes he'd been given, but grabbed the coat he'd arrived at the manor with. It had always served him well enough, though it was a bit threadbare at this point it was still a good woolen coat. It may have clashed with the rich clothing that he was given but he didn't care much, and it was the only coat he had anyway. As he pondered, a knock sounded on the door and it took him a few moments to realize that the Lord actually took his part demand part request to heart. A half smile twitched at his lips before he shook his head and called out. "Come in." The heavy door creaked as the tall redhead entered his room. "Hm, no' tha', you'll freeze ya cock off, love, an' tha'd be a damn shame."

The blond almost called him out for the inappropriate comment, but really it wasn't worth it, he'd do as he wanted. He turned from the mirror on the wall to see Cockerell holding out a coat to him, and slipped his own off, setting it on the bed. He recognized the one he was handed over, the long thick black coat with the collar of black feathers. "Course if ya don' mind wearin' one a mine princess." The tone was sarcastic, but he didn't rise to it. The older man did have a point anyway, his coat was a lot warmer, even if it did drag on the floor just a bit for he wasn't as tall as the other. It smelled of cigarette smoke, and sage, the two scents he'd begun to associate with Cockerell. "Looks good on ya." The Lord was donning a black fur coat himself that was reminiscent of his beastly side, which was decidedly a tad odd if one thought about it for too long, so he didn't try.

The doors to the back garden were almost as heavy looking as the front doors, and bound up with rose vines, however as they approached, the manor pulled back the vines and the doors slowly opened. Some snow tumbled in as they moved, but Cockerell slid one of his pointed boots across the floor to kick it back out. It was indeed cold, and Dustfinger could only be thankful he had the thick jacket to wear. Stepping out, they made way down the steps, snow crunching under boot falls, two dark silhouette's against the bright white. The chilly air hit his lungs but it felt so good to be outside, among nature, and free to walk around.... Well to an extent, but it was better than nothing for the time being, until he could get away from here. The grounds were a huge swath of land, and he could only see the tall stone walls of their end in the distance, Cockerell proceeding to hold out a gloved hand in offer for him to explore.

Dustfinger rushed into the gardens like a child off to play, treading through the high snow the best he could in his excitement. He was so happy to be outside under the sky, that he didn't fully register until he looked around himself a second time. There was no snow on any of the plants in sight despite it covering the ground, everything was thriving as if it were spring, and his confusion became evident in the surprised raise of his light brows. "It's incredible...the gardens are still in bloom....even with all this snow..... How is it possible?" He called out across to the master of the Black Manor who had settled himself on a stone bench some ways away. "...The snow doesn' matter much to em. Part a the manor like everythin' else..." Well that made sense in the way that it sort of didn't, but he'd stopped questioning the magic of the manor. Dark leafed hedges doused in deep purple flowers, overgrown sorrowful willow trees, bramble rose vines and rose bushes of varying colors, they'd gone rampant but a stone path still weaved its way through them, a mildly controlled chaos.... It was almost a poetic symbolism.

"... They've grown so wild, why not have someone tend them?" There was a small grunt as the older man pulled himself back to his feet, and limped toward his pet. "Hm, why should I restrain their wildness.... would be hypocritical a me, now wouldn' it?" Hm, that was an interesting way of putting it.... But also he knew that Cockerell was referencing earlier in their argument, though he tried not to acknowledge it. He didn't sound angry per say.... But he wondered if the man was recognizing he had been hypocritical without actually saying it, after all he'd come to know the idea of apologizing wasn't easy for him. " ..... I suppose it would... Lord Cockerell..." There was a pause from the redhead as if he were considering something to himself, before he gave a humph and regarded the blond again. "....Call me Rell... Jus' Rell. S' a bleedin' task sayin' me title every damn time..."

The offer of a nickname is not what he expected, but he was always kept on his toes with his warden, though more often than not in a negative manner. Something like a nickname felt so personal though, and he wondered if he shouldn't deny the request.... Then again, he did tire of having to say the man's title consistently, if it even was his given title, Dustfinger still wasn't sure. After a moment he managed a small smile, nodding to the older man. "Rell then." 

Chapter Text

A smile, damn he loved seeing a smile on those often pouty lips. When had he last seen the other smile at him, had he ever? It may have been soft, there and gone, hell might not have even been technically directed towards him, but it didn't matter. He basked in the image of that smile as much as he could, ruminating there in the cold snow until he'd burned it into his mind. The sound of movement then caught his ear, Dustfinger's booted strides hitting the cobblestone path, where the snow could only reach so much through the garden thicket. The younger didn't seem bothered when he followed, so they settled into a comfortable quiet, walking along one of the pathways beside one another. Cockerell hadn't actually been out in his own gardens for some time, not since the begining of Autumn. Though he knew them well, it was almost like rediscovery seeing someone else look around with a wonder.

The rose vines twined along marble statues, most broken down by time and forgotten to join the rubble of black stone pillars. Dustfinger was curious at who's features once bore image there, but felt he wouldn't get much of an answer. The former owner of the manor was his guess, someone who not even the manor itself missed, so no one of import he supposed. His hands rubbed together and a glow of yellow orange light danced over his palms, the begining spark of fire to keep him warm against the chill. He noticed the older man pause in the corner of his vision and lean himself against the base of a tree, it was the second time he'd stopped in a few mintutes of them wandering, but he didn't much mind the slow pace, he hadn't been kept on a short leash anyway.... Which was admittedly surprising in of itself.

He was free to explore rather far from his jailer, though that probably was based on the fact that the manor could drag him back near instantly if he tried anything.... Though he wasn't very interested in running off into the cold again without a clue, and wasn't keen to figure out how to get over the high looking walls that enclosed the spanning gardens. Fallen pillars, dry fountains, arches wrapped in roses. The gardens held a sort of dilapidated form of beauty, a dark romantic air, complimented by the snow. A stretching pond was iced over, and his blue green hues cast out to one of the few intact statues at the center. A young man carved in marble with his gaze up to the sky and leaned against a pillar, drapes of cloth only just covering his modesty. It didn't surprise him that the majority of the statues still looking relatively together were of young men, Cockerell had never been quiet about his interest in the male figure, and apparently only the male figure. Then again those statues could have been brought in long after the former owner of the manor was gone.

After the fourth time the Lord paused for a break along their walk, Dustfinger felt immediately foolish for not realizing sooner. "It's your leg isn't it?" Of course he'd be aching in the cold, and of course he'd be too stubborn to say something.... Though as winter and autumn were apparently the man's favorite months to descend upon the town, maybe it was more the fact he was used to it, than to do with any kind of stubbornness. He must have been living with the slight hitch in his step for a while after all. "The cold makes it act up." It was a confirmation more so than a question, and it was obvious that the redhead didn't like to talk about it, or mention it much. His grunt in reply was noncommittal, but he did nod after a moment. "Is wot it is.... nothin' new." He rubbed a gloved hand down over his calve, in an attempt to get some heat into the area, and the younger man considered if they should head back inside soon. He could only stay so long out here as well anyway.

"May I ask... That is... I'd like to know what happened if you'll tell me?" He himself had to realize that prying would do no good, it had only led to rage from the beastly man. A question however..... It was worth a try, right? He was immediately rethinking however at the look of annoyance he recieved. He was ready to backtrack, perhaps even apologize, however after a moment Cockerell heaved a sigh and spoke again. "...Was years ago, I was much younger, twenties a' the most if I'm rememberin' righ'..... Few twats though' I needed ta be taught a lesson... I won a fight, they didn' like tha'. Three against one.... didn' fight fair.....They mangled up me leg righ' good... Didn' heal proper..." It sounded like a summarized version of the story, but the blond wasn't about to call him out on anything, considering he hadn't expected the man to even tell him in the first place.

"I'm...sorry." It was the first apology he'd ever offered to the other man, a genuine sadness on his features. It made him believe all the more that Cockerell had his reasons for being so unapproachable and mean. Did it make his holding the town hostage any better, of course not..... Though now that he thought of it, could there be reason for that as well? Or, was he possibly giving the man too much credit? This was becoming a tad confusing, and assuming always got him into trouble, so he'd best not get expectations. "Is wot it is." The older man just sounded resigned when he repeated and it made sense, he'd been dealing with this old injury for some time after all. "Let's go in."

"It's cold, and I feel better now, so let's go in." Dustfinger either didn't want to say he was doing this for him, or he was indeed cold.... Possibly both. Neither of them voiced any questions or comments as they made their way back into the manor. The blond man shook off the snow and rubbed his hands together, while Cockerell pulled the doors closed, the rose vines sliding across them and curling into comfortable place again. He shrugged off the black fur coat and it was grabbed up by a pair of vines. Dustfinger jumped in surprise when he was nudged by another pair of vines and took off the coat, letting it be taken as well. "Oh, thank you."

The firedancer then oddly followed him this time, he'd expected their closeness to end there for the day, as the man could never wait to get away from him, instead he was joined in climbing the stairs. In the sitting room a fire crackled warmly, with two new logs tossed on, and Cockerell all too pleased took a seat in his armchair. With a sigh of relief he stretched out his leg by the fireplace. He'd warm in time and the pain would fade again. It was quiet and he wondered when his little firebird had skipped off from his side. The morning had been rough, Dustfinger seemed to enjoy getting under his skin.... He somehow always knew what to say to cross lines, to make his rage boil.... And yet he couldn't stay angry with him, all because of that pretty face and fiesty personality. He craved nothing more than to claim that fire, to possess him body and soul.

It angered him that it was all so terribly nice, so damn nice to have someone in the manor with him. Even someone that yelled at him and made the beast in him want to tear through and destroy everything in sight. Someone that talked too damn much, pried into his past, and hardly listened to his demands, even with threats to his person. It angered him because it made him cling more to the blond man, he was getting attached.... Who the hell was he kidding? He was attached from the first moment he saw him in the square. He really was a lonely pathetic beastly man. Heaving a grumbling sigh, his thoughts were interrupted by the return of the younger man. Which alone surprised him, he didn't expect him to come back at all. "Shall I read more, Rell?" He seemed shocked into silence for a time, seeing the other there with the poetry book he'd been reading days ago in the library. After taking a moment to gather himself he managed a lightly hopeful nod.

Rell, he knew he told the other to call him that but it still felt truly strange to hear it. He'd never had a nickname..... Or friends for that matter.... But he imagined if he'd had, that's what they would have called him. Dustfinger settled himself on the soft fur carpet in front of the fireplace and cracked open the book to where he'd last stopped, as the redhead sunk lower in his highbacked chair, broodingly. The idea that Dustfinger felt closer to him after he revealed something about himself..... Frankly did not bode well, being known... He hadn't been really known by anyone in a very very long time, and he liked it that way... Didn't he? It was better that way. Attachments only led to heartache, and heartache led to rage, rage led to his beast taking control.... rage was easier, he understood rage, it was familiar. He should never slip up like that again, he was the one in control here. Him.

It was two days with this strange slightly more agreeable disposition between them, something that either man didn't know quite what to do with. It shouldn't effect him so, it wasn't as if Cockerell had offered him the secrets to the universe, but it just made him feel good that he somehow managed to get something out of the man besides anger or lewdness. They'd just talked, then he'd even willingly read poetry to the man until the manor was rousing them both from their warm stupor for lunch. The redhead still kept a close eye on him, but it had returned to a more ocassional watching than the fierce one he'd been subjected too for a time. In fact it seemed as if he was being avoided more, as if his warden were becoming uncomfortable around him, which was certainly a change.

Dust, it was everywhere, though it seemed the manor attempted marginally to keep things in some amount of order so it wasn't a disaster. That wasn't exactly easy to do with a careless beast haunting the many rooms and halls. It hadn't been a big worry until he started sneezing and then he had just about enough. With a cloth he'd found in the kitchens in hand, the blond performer had set about trying to remedy the situation, though needless to say he was no expert in such things. It felt odd to be cleaning, even if he could only do so much, but the idea of staying somewhere for this long was a strange one as well. He wondered often if Castano would be able to do anything, or if he'd begged to his friend in vain. He felt sort of foolish for it in truth, Castano shouldn't be so worried about him, even if it was nice to see the man. He had a whole troupe of people to look after.

"Wot in the hell are ya doin'?" The thick accent brought him out of his thoughts, where he was half focused on dusting. A precarious spot standing atop a set of shelves, in the middle of the hallway on the third floor. "I'm attempting to tidy up a bit." He grabbed onto the heavy curtains hanging from one of the windows to balance himself, pushing some blond waves out of his face with a few fingers as he looked down at the baffled Lord. "Why?" He scoffed, obviously not seeing the point in such a thing. "Because...." The firedancer huffed and waved his hand in the air at the cloud of dust puffing out from merely grabbing the curtain. "...It's bleeding dusty in here and I can't stop sneezing." The shelf wobbled and Cockerell moved to brace it out of instinct more than thought. "Yor gonna fall on yor arse or break something, pet." His tone held a sarcastically amused, disbelief, and the younger man came to the blunt conclusion he wouldn't be getting any help with the cleaning. "Oh, I'll be fine."

Of course as Dustfinger had settled himself back into his focused cleaning, he misstepped, which wasn't terribly difficult to do considering his situation. It was quick, but the beastly man was quicker and thankfully close. Catching the firedancer bridal style wasn't something either of them expected, but it was certainly something Cockerell wasn't complaining about. He'd subconsciously clung to his savior as he was caught mid air, and it took him a few moments to realize he hadn't hit the ground. "Ha, nice catch." He tried to pretend the adrenaline hadn't given him a fright, an awkward chuckle masking the instance of panic. "Yor a fuckin' hazard ta yorself." Holding Dustfinger this way made his heart speed up a bit, but he did his best to remain controlled on the outside.

"I was doing rather fine before you came along I might say." The blond tried to defend himself, having a moment of embarrassment as he realized their position. His face colored a bit, pink on the apples of his cheeks. Hell, he smelled like that lavender soap, and slightly smoky as if he'd been lighting matches....the older man loved it, gaze intent on the man in his arms. "Don' make me drop ya." It was a growly but ultimately empty threat, and the other saw right through it, giving an ever so slight smile. "You won't." No he wouldn't, but the words made Cockerell want to drop him on principle alone. He hated this feeling, and he knew well what he was starting to feel.... But it didn't matter, because it wouldn't go anywhere good. "....Stop fuckin' bein' so stupid."

Firmly he set the firedancer on his feet before turning on his heel, long somewhat stomping strides taking him off down the hall. He hated how incredible it felt to hold the man who didn't want him in return, his firebird who wanted only to escape him any chance he could get. In his wake the blond blinked. "Where are you going?" A snapped and grumbly response echoed down the hall as he walked away. "I have work ta do! Don' ge' ya self killed in the meantime!"

Chapter Text

He was still stuck on this blasted cleaning kick, tidying up any chance he could get and it was begining to drive the older man a tad insane. After finishing breakfast that morning, Dustfinger stood up almost immediately, dropping his napkin on the table. He'd been rather chipper since getting his way about the whole personal space, knock on the door thing, and Cockerell wasn't sure if he liked the other in this self satisfied mood much. This was just... Strange to him, was the blond nesting or something? Did he even realize he was doing it? He'd considered once or twice just to yell at the younger to make sure he stayed afraid. People were easier to handle when they were afraid of him, he could control things more, but he was restraining himself. "Do you have a broom?"

"A what?" The redhead feigned the most perplexed look he could manage and glanced over to his pet, leaning back in his chair. He had a cup of black tea in one hand taking a bite from his toast with the other. The blond stared at him, trying to gauge if he was being serious, and the beastly Brit eventually cracked. A smirk pulled up his features, and he received something deadpan from the performer. "Very funny." Okay, well it was nice to be able to tease and joke with the other, Cockerell could admit that.... At least to himself. "I thought so.... Why do ya need a broom?" He sipped his tea before lightly dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Because I'm going to sweep the ballroom." The ballroom floor was covered in leaves and dried rose petals after all, and even the Lord had to admit it probably did need a sweeping, however....He didn't understand why the blond was going to such trouble. "I don' see the reason yor doin' all this..."

With a cross of his arms, Dustfinger looked oddly sassy, not something he'd expect the other to show around him, but he was getting bolder, even more so than he already had been. "Of course you don't." To be fair, he himself had no real idea why he was doing it either. He supposed it was the need to do something, to keep himself occupied so he didn't get depressed again..... And there was a lot of home to clean up, so why not? With firmly furrowed brows he cast a look back to the younger man. Slight annoyance made itself known in his chest, but he didn't allow himself to overreact, let the other have his little teasing just this once. "What the hell does tha' even mean?" He received no answer, as rose vines slipped out of the kitchen, moving across the expanse to offer an old but sturdy broom to the firebird. "Why thank you, excuse me."

With that the blond was stalking away with broom in hand, his eyes set ahead. Cockerell huffed a sardonic laugh at his departure, shaking his head before he went back to finishing breakfast. If he was so intent, let him have at it he supposed. Cleaning his plate he took a moment to make sure nothing was in his beard before getting up as well. Hopefully Dustfinger would be distracted enough for a while with his needing to clean, for he had a few things to deal with in town. He'd been avoiding leaving as much with the other here alone. Though he trusted his manor to keep the younger man inside, he'd already proved he could cause his manor some decent strife if he so worked for it. A pale hand came to rest on some vines as he paused at the doorway to the hall. "I won't be long, jus' try ta keep em busy, n' look out for em while I'm away. Make sure he doesn' try anythin', best ya can." From the wall a bud of purple bloomed, the rose looking velvety as it was revealed. "Thank ya." His smile held a fondness, before he moved to take up the stairs.

It was a bigger project than he was expecting, the accumulation of years, maybe even decades worth of fallen rose petals and leaves that had piled into tight corners. Well, he wanted a distraction and he certainly got one.... Alright that was a partial lie... Even doing something it was difficult not to think of Castano and his troupe, of being free... But now he found himself also reluctantly thinking of the redheaded Lord. He missed them dearly, they were like his family, and though he felt warmth in his heart that they'd stayed to wait and try to help him any way they could.... he worried about them in kind. Some part of Dustfinger wished they'd escaped the town, wished that Castano wasn't so damn caring.... As for Cockerell, he'd become this unwanted fixture in the blond performers life, and now his mind. Like a small shard of metal, difficult to find and pull away without causing damage. He considered the man more and more ever since their walk in the garden.

In his time with the older man, he'd come to understand something about him. He didn't lie, he wasn't completely sure how he knew that.... But there was just something about the other that told him he always told the truth. Sure, he avoided things he didn't wish to talk about... But he never lied. The things he said were blunt, real and the story he told along the cobblestones that day was true, even if he had an inkling that parts were left out. He wasn't sure which would have more unsettling connotations if he were to find out more. Three men had jumped Cockerell, left his leg mangled..... The question was, what happened to them? Did they get punished for it? Did Cockerell himself take care of them? His thoughts were held at bay to see a set of vines attempting to put one of the swept piles into a burlap bag, possibly to take outside, but the plants were decidedly struggling, without appendages. It was charming, and sweet of them to try, and he couldn't stop a smile coming to his lips.

A small chuckle escaped him and he finally just went to offer a hand. "I appreciate the help." He told the manor at large, but a sad sigh escaped his pink lips. "I never apologized to you.... I am sorry... Despite everything, I didn't wish to hurt you." He knew the manor couldn't completely understand the intricacies of his and the Lord's twisted connection, it was just doing what it was supposed to do at the man's behest. He had to be patient, like with a child. Regard that even if he was upset with them, they had no comprehension that what they did was unfair or wrong. "Could I ask some questions?" Against one of the pillars, a small bundle of white roses bloomed in answer and he handed the bag to the vines to be emptied before stepping over to the roses. "Do you know how many years you've known Rell....uh Lord Cockerell?" The group of little roses immediately closed and Dustfinger gave a nod at the No. "Hm yes I suppose you wouldn't judge time the same as we do...."

He was back to contemplating if the manor had a way of seeing, or hearing, or was it touch that gave it the recognition? There was some form of sense, there had to be, but he doubted he'd ever get an answer to how it all worked. "Has he always been kind to you?" Almost immediately the roses bloomed, and Dustfinger couldn't help the small huff of amusement. However it was followed by a bit of a sympathetic sigh this time, so it was people that Cockerell had issues with.... That wasn't too much of a shocker, he'd admittedly figured. His next line of questions were less pleasant, but he wanted to know. "....Has anyone ever died here?...... and was Lord Cockerell the one that killed them?" He felt he already knew the answer to both, but he wanted confirmation. His gaze fell back on the roses to find they hadn't moved, remaining open, an answer of yes to both.

The blond nodded to himself, gaze dropping to the marble flooring, that was also expected. He took up the broom again and swept more dried petals into a pile. Considerations swirling, a thought was plucked to mind and he looked to the roses again, seeming in wait for any more questions. Would he be another victim in time, would something he did eventually push the Lord too far, or was there more to it like he was guessing? "Tell me.... Did he ever kill more than one?" Could this manor be drenched in blood after all? Townspeople disappearing in its dark halls, to meet a grisly fate like the rumors and stories had come to suggest? To his absolute bafflement the white petals closed, almost curling back into buds. The beastly Brit had only ever killed one person, of course that just meant within the manor. He knew they couldn't speak for what their master did when out, but it was still surprising none the less. One rumor dispelled, at least partially as far as he was aware.

Realization struck then and he distractedly dropped the broom, shuffling over to place his hands along the cracked and vine covered stone. It made perfect sense and he didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before."Your former master, Rell killed them, they were the one that knew magic, the alchemy and spell books in the library belonged to them, they were the one who-..." He was on a thread of thought when the ballroom doors opened. Like scissors cutting the thread he jumped, startled and fell silent thoughts folding back into his mind like a drawer. His eyes flicked over to see the very man he'd been speaking of enter and knew his conversation with the manor was over. He didn't get to see their confirmation, but he didn't feel it was needed, almost certain of his theory.

That man shook him to his bones still, in all bad ways..... And recently in ways he was having trouble describing, and didn't want to think about if he was completely honest with himself. He was doing well, he thought, in being brave and stubborn, that even with the fear he still often felt in the redheads presence he was learning how to handle himself better.... And he had an odd sneaking suspicion that Cockerell was making attempts as well to be... better? Though it was hard to say for sure when the man had that same mean and brooding disposition a majority of the time. "Still at it I see." The words made the younger man wonder just how long he'd been 'at it' in fact, and felt he really didn't have much to show. Though, that didn't matter, he reminded himself. It wasn't as if the Lord was eyeing his progress intently, he didn't even care if the place was tidy or not.

Cockerell swayed across the expanse and the long haired man noticed he was wearing the feathered coat and his black leather gloves. Had the redhead left the manor without him even knowing? Could he really have been trying an escape again within the time offered instead of sweeping it away like a housewife? The thought made his features contort in annoyance that he hadn't payed closer attention. "No need fo' poutin' beautiful..... I brought ya a gift." A gloved finger tilt up his chin and blue green hues met the slight quirk of a smirk on the pale man's thin lips. He felt the hungry gaze he'd become all too familiar with, devour him visually, before a wrapped package was offered in a gloved hand. More gifts, even after their argument of him telling the man he didn't need or want them. Window dressing for him and his prison.

He considered denying it for just a second, but had a feeling that might anger the beast. Taking the package, he was unsure if he should say thank you.... In the past, Cockerell had more forced gifts of rich clothes on him as opposed to giving them, as he was now.... Another change that he was uncertain how to approach. He pulled the twine, and unfolded the paper letting it fall to the floor as he took out a pair of burnt orange gloves, lined with a soft, light brown fur. They accompanied a long coat of the same color, with a matching fur inner layer, and fur around the collar. His brows arched as he held the coat and gloves. It was specially made, just like the suits, and he had to admit it did feel a lot warmer than his old woolen coat. "I...." His voice trailed off, not sure what to say. This gift felt... Different, just like when the man had loaned his own coat so he stayed warmer in the snow.

"If ya insist on stalkin' bout in the freezin' cold, ya should at least have these." Dustfinger nodded slowly with some hesitancy at the older man's words, the Lord taking a moment to pick up the fallen paper the gift had been wrapped in. Soon holding the coat and gloves to his chest, he managed to find his voice again. "Ah... Thank you...Rell." What followed was likewise not the expected response he'd come to know. "Yor welcome." Not a bit of snark about Dustfinger's improved manners, and none of his own brand of snark needing to be returned. It was a civil and simple interaction, it felt.... Nice....and he was terrified by what that could imply.

Chapter Text

"Have you lived in this town all your life?" The question was posed over a hearty potato soup at dinner that evening, and Cockerell was again thrown off by the younger man actually choosing to speak with him. He didn't like personal questions, and the other knew that.... Knew how he'd gotten.... But he himself had also made the choice to tell him a portion of the story about his injury. Curiosity, such a dangerous thing, especially with him. Though, Dustfinger had already seen the portrait and his rooms... He knew now there was more story there. Ugh, should he just answer or tell the man to be quiet? As long as he didn't try to shove his nose into too much, he supposed it would be alright. Licking his teeth, the redhead finally addressed him. "I have.... Was born here... Only took a small travel few towns over fo' some... Business."

"I believe this is the longest I've stayed in one place since I was a boy." He wanted to pry, to push, to snap that it was no thanks to the other man that he was even stuck there.... But he wisely did none of those things. Conversation, he could do this.... Maybe he could wait this out, civilly until he got help or figured another way out of the manor. The plan had started to brew after Cockerell had left him once more to clean about half the ballroom. To approach this differently, he didn't have to like being trapped here, but he could make things a little easier for himself. The gift of his new coat and gloves had held a level of thoughtfulness, as well as implying to him that his warden wouldn't mind him going out to the gardens again at some point. Sure it was still frustrating there had to be so much tug of war to even get to this point, but if he could play his cards right.... Maybe just maybe there was a chance of the wild beast letting down his guard, at least marginally, maybe even enough for him to slip away.

Conversation, he couldn't fucking do this. He hadn't had a proper conversation with anyone in years, especially with someone he was attracted too, and he doubted the reprimanding and demands towards those in the town counted as conversation, annoying bastards they were. Why couldn't Dustfinger just listen to him, do as he said, be his lovely eye candy, with the ocassional play of feistiness between them, was that so damn difficult?..... Why was he suddenly trying to do things like be nice and have conversations? Okay..... he was being foolish wasn't he? That's what this was, if he wanted any kind of closeness with his pretty pet he had to get well... Close, he could still have full control of the situation, he decided what personal information was known, when he was ready to open up. Get him to open up as well, if even a little bit, stay in control. "Have ya always traveled with a troupe?"

A question in return, no tense silences, or threats, no demands to shut up..... this day had been full of changes to the expected. "No, when I was younger I was settled, I've joined up with a few performing troupe's over the years.... Though I've been with Castano's the longest. A fair few years in fact." Replying to the man, made him slightly sadder, but he collected himself with a small sip of wine. He was glad to see the redhead was pacing himself this time, sipping the wine instead of downing it like water, so he'd felt comfortable enough to have a bit as well. He was reminded of Jeza and the way she got giggly when drunk, so smiley and warm, hugging everyone. In an attempt to bite back the heartache he pushed the conversation forward. "....Could I ask why you hate the town so much?" Those blue grey eyes settled on him and seemed to flash with hardly restrained annoyance, he was losing the other man with only one question, that was an obvious no.

"Alright..." The blond nodded and finished the last spoonful of his soup, it only took a few minutes for the empty bowls to be replaced with plates full of the main course. "If you hate it here so much... Why do you stay?" He could have viewed such a question as silly, shoved it off, or just told the man he wouldn't understand and leave it at that.... There was so much behind that question, personal reasons.... But there were parts he could explain, could willfully offer up. His fingers tapped a light staccato on the table, brow curved in thought before he answered. "When I took up Lordship it came with certain responsibilities, I saw n' opportunity ta change things ta me liking, things tha' sorely needed ta be changed. Ya mentioned how nice it must be ta have the money I do.... N' sure it is now, bu' I didn' grow up with this Dustfinger, I wasn' born inta this.... I made it mine, n' I reshaped this town. The lot a them can call me cruel, a monster, a beast, bu' without me they'd be righ' fucked n' they don' even realize it. There were multiple times I'd thought a leavin'..... Bu' I'm no coward n' I don' run...."

There was such an intensity on the older man's features as he spoke, and the firedancer found himself startled at the sudden sound of Cockerell's knife slicing through his steak rather violently. It hit the plate, and he thought for just a moment that the man cut straight through, which wouldn't be a terrible shock considering his obvious strength. Cockerell stayed because he felt he needed to change things in the town, he said he was no coward, and that he hadn't grown up rich.... There was much behind those words, the implication that things had been bad, that they needed changing, that he'd run from something or somethings before but didn't this time, that Cockerell.... Young Cockerell had been just another of the townspeople at one point. If this was shaping more into a heroic story... Then how did he eventually become the villain? He was filled with resentment for some reason, that was clear..... something happened to him to make him like this.

Picking up his own fork and knife, he began eating as well, mulling over the nibbles of information he'd been given and how it was all fitting together. The former master of this manor had once held control over the town, that was obvious now, Lord or not they had held sway. Cockerell had killed them, possibly because they'd cursed him to be a Beast, and upon their death he decided to take up the mantle of Lordship. He wasn't sure how it got to a point with strict rules and a town living in fear of him.... Though it could have been purely because of the man's curse, and that he despised people. He hoped he was piecing this together in some way that was close to the truth, though he still wouldn't voice it just for the sake that he knew the older man would hate him assuming anything about his personal history.

He considered a form of the question for a bit more before giving in and voicing it. "....Why the rules, the curfew, the clearing out when you journey into town?" A slight distaste twisted at the corner of Cockerell's lips, and Dustfinger was getting the distinct feeling he'd used up his questions for the evening. Frustrating, but he knew well not to push anymore if he wanted things to remain civil. "As I said.... They needed the structure..." The redhead took a deep drink of his wine, and the pretty blond said no more, finishing their conversation with a simple nod. At least the beastly man was being lenient with him, he'd gotten some information, and some was better than none. After that, dinner continued in relative silence until they were finished.

It was late, very late, though he couldn't gauge just how late at that moment. He had no idea why he was awake, or what, if anything had woken him. Sure he'd never slept completely soundly in the manor, but he'd always managed to get enough rest through the night that it wasn't a problem. Now however, he'd been having trouble falling back asleep after being roused for no discernable reason. After a few more minutes of feeling uncomfortable, tossing and turning, Dustfinger gave up. Putting on a pair of breeches and one of his flowing shirts he made way into the hall. It was so still, so quiet, and he wondered if even the manor was asleep in some way. Slivers of moonlight fell through the edges of the closed curtains, and with eyes already adjusted to the dim he shuffled along.

Being out in the manor so late in the evening had never really occurred to him, which was funny. Though he supposed the idea of wandering around the large home with his beastly warden's temper and shouting, had doused his curiosity slightly. It was chilly in the dark hallway, and he almost retreated back into the room to just stay by the fire, but a gentle glow caught his eye. He kept his steps light, approaching the door to the sitting room where he could hear the fireplace crackling warmly, the door sitting ajar. Cigarette smoke tickled his senses, as the blond leaned around the door. A subtle blush became rosy on the apples of his cheeks at the sight to greet him. Cockerell had worn shirts showing part of his chest before, a glimpse that was obvious comfort in his home.... But Dustfinger had never seen him completely shirtless before.

His body wasn't bulky, more lean muscled and lithe, but the firedancer knew that form to be deceivingly much stronger than it looked. His pale skin held traces of scars, knife swipes and stabs that told even more stories than he could fathom. What held his attention the most however was the pure black of multiple tattoos, running along his arms, back and sides where the man stood staring out into the dark of night as he smoked. He couldn't even begin to translate the symbols, runes of some kind that he felt held a definite magic in the permanence of their ink. "Did I wake ya...?" The man's voice pulled him from his staring and he cleared his throat, attempting to rid himself of the bashfulness. "N-no... I was having trouble sleeping is all... I was unaware you were even awake." The Lord had known he was there, of course he did, somehow he always knew.

Dustfinger stepped fully into the room, as Cockerell snuffed out the last of his cigarette into the ashtray, a courtesy to him or because he was truly done, he couldn't say. The blond contently settled himself on the soft fur rug and let the warmth from the fire wash over him, a spark of his own flames warming his palms almost absentmindedly. The older man picked up a book from the seat of his highbacked chair, before slipping into place where it had been, relaxing back. "How do you always know when I'm around? Does the manor tell you?" Pretty blue green hues flicked toward the other, who met his curious gaze. A twitch of amusement pulled at the redheads lips, as he wondered if the younger man truly would want to know.... But he did ask. "They tell me when ya on the other side a' the house sure..... Bu' when ya closer... I can hear ya, n' scent ya."

The firedancers eyes widened marginally. That made sense, his beastly side was a part of him even in his more human visage, but to have it spoken so plainly was.... Odd. Cockerell could smell him, and his hearing was so keen, the man probably heard him the second he left his room. "May I ask.... Do you hate it, your beastly side?" As soon as the question was voiced he wanted to take it back, that was crossing a line wasn't it? He'd set the man up for rage. Visibly cringing, a heaved sigh met the quiet of the air instead, and his eyes slowly opened again with a cautious optimism. The bearded man appeared contemplative, hues of grey blue settled on the flickering orange flames. "I did, at one time.... I was furious.... Bu' now..." His voice trailed off and he stared down at the book he held, starting to flick through the pages, as something for his hands to do. He didn't say he liked it, but he denied that he hated it, Dustfinger couldn't really imagine the complicated emotions that came with something like that, so he didn't continue questioning on the subject.

Instead, after a moment or so a slight smile came to his curvy lips. "So... What do I smell like?" A huff of laughter did escape Cockerell this time, some astounded disbelief touching his brow into a small furrow. He knew the blond would have balked in disgust and horror at hearing such a thing not long ago, and yet here he was asking him about his own scent with even a touch of amusement coloring his tone. "It depends on the day..... lavender oftentimes, bu' yor specific scent..... sweet n' musky all in one....like honey n' woodsmoke." Looking back over, he expected to see distaste, discomfort.... Instead the younger man's face was lit up with a rosy hue, before he was quickly shifting his gaze away and swallowing hard. "Oh..." It was all that could come to mind, and the blond remembered well all the times the older man scented him, leaning into his space. Sometimes he was more animal than man, but he doubted at this point that either of them could be parted from one another.

Cockerell was really unlike anyone he'd met before, terrifying, mean, somber, amusing and flippant through all of them at a rate he couldn't always keep up with. After a few calming breaths he managed to do away with the worst of the embarrassment. Like honey and woodsmoke he said.... As something to be devoured in hunger upon a silver platter. A shiver traveled up his spine and he swallowed, deciding to change his topic again. "Do you often struggle to sleep?" He recalled when his sights first settled on the man's bedchamber, and the state of his sheets and pillow, tossed about as if the sleep itself was a violent being to fight against. It became quiet at his question and for a time he wasn't sure if he'd receive an answer, or if he'd be ignored. The smack of the book closing cut the silence finally and the redheads voice was low and solemn. "I do... nightmares..."

The idea of mental torments hurtful enough to keep a dangerous beast of a man like Cockerell away from sleep was both frightening and disheartening, his saddened gaze falling back upon the man perched in the arm chair. Such an honest and upfront answer didn't surprise him, but the fact he'd mentioned the reason at all was what did it. Looking for something, anything to soothe the upset beastly man he made a move to take the poetry book from the Lord, before he could really think. "I could read... For the both of us.... That is, if you'd like?" Milky blue hues meeting Dustfinger's, something so soft and hopeful passed over his sharp features that the firedancer wasn't sure if he'd actually seen it at all. "Why don' I read ta you fo' a change of pace, hm Dust?" A nickname, he supposed it was only fair, as he was now allowed to use one. With a small nod of acceptance, he settled himself more comfortably on the rug. "If you'd like, Rell."

Chapter Text

"Does it hurt?" They had been getting better at conversing, slowly but surely. Though a tension still hung between them, it had simmered down to something safer. Dustfinger knew better how to regard it and when to pull back on questions or a topic, and with the older man being more amenable he didn't mind as much when something was avoided. He'd caught the redhead staring at him, not an uncommon occurrence per say, but this gaze held such an intensity as of late that he decided to draw the man into conversation. It was an attempt to break a sight holding wanting.... Maybe even a level of obsession, which caused chills up and down his spine. "Hm, wot?" Cockerell finally took a sip of his tea that had been going lukewarm in his hold with distraction. 

"Transformation into.... The beast? Does it hurt?" The firedancer relaxed marginally now that the intense gaze wasn't on him, the Lord instead considering his question. He finished the last bite of his fruit and reached for his own cup of tea that the manor immediately refreshed for him, hot and perfect against the chilly morning. "Hm ya, s' no' agonizin' like the very first time... Bu' still hurts a bit...." His bones would shift and reshape, muscles expanding and pulling into the form of a being much bigger than his human body. It ached every time, but he'd become so used to it over the years, it hardly drew more than a grunt of discomfort these days. Blond brows furrowed in confusion and the redhead had a feeling he knew the next question that was coming. "So why continue to do so?" 

There it was, just as he expected. Why continue to let the beast take over, to indulge in the ferocity and feral being if the transformation was painful....."Even if I didn' do it willingly, I'd still lose control.... Me rage causes the change...." It was just as the blond had suspected, the beast took over with the rise of rage and upset, and the bearded man couldn't always control it. He sipped his tea in quiet for a bit, digesting the information. He wondered if Cockerell had lost control more often in the early days of his curse.... And another thought lit up his eyes, brows raising. Was that part of the reason for the curfew, and the rules in town? Had Cockerell actively tried to keep the townspeople from getting hurt or worse due to his beasts rage? None of this was fair, why did all these thoughtful possibilities make his jailer seem so much more sympathetic, hold so much more reason? ....was he losing his mind? 

"What of the slight changes?" The Lord finished off his breakfast tea then set the cup down, before leaning back into his chair. "Nah, they don' really hurt... Subtle enough tha' I hardly notice em most a the time." That made some sense, he could tell the man didn't even realize much of the time when such changes kicked in, at least not right away. It was evidenced by that morning he was on a thin thread of patience and his claws made themselves known. "If you'll S'cuse me love, I've some work ta do..." The man clad in black was up on his pointed boots before the pretty blond could even say another word. He gave a half gentlemanly bow, that caused a confused blinking from Dustfinger, before he seemed to almost retreat out of the dining hall. It was another thing that he'd noticed, for all his wanting staring he also rushed away from situations with his so called pet much faster these days. 

Love was not a foreign concept to Cockerell, despite what others might say. He'd become known for his violence, his rage, his control.....but love was coveted, held close and handled with such a care that it was as dear to him as one of his birds. Love though was more rare than a rarity in his life, and wasn't something he took lightly. He could admit to himself in the dark recesses of his mind that a shift had happened, or was happening between Dustfinger and himself....but the claim of being fearful he would never even allow. Fear didn't play into it because he wasn't a man to fear love.... No in fact he was the opposite, he craved it in every aspect of his existence..... And his aching and lonely heart begged for it to be only truth. He had approached Dustfinger initially with lust, with a heady craving for sensuality and company.....but now... He found himself lost in thoughts more often than not of how the blond was truly causing him to feel. 

Poetry flowed from the ink of his pen more than he meant for it, and every glance from vibrant blue green hues sent blood pounding in his ears. He knew what was going on, and he despised how his control slipped, but he wanted it so badly, even if he was fooling himself. No one could love him, no one had, not for many long years, not since he was still a mere lad. Lovers passed, a long time since the last and he'd given it all up.... Because no man wanted to love him, the way he'd loved them..... He'd come to terms with it, and he didn't want to hope, hoping only caused heartache. It had been so simple an idea, capture a pretty piece of eye candy to hold onto, to perform for him, and please him..... He hadn't wanted to start feeling. The journal in his hand snapped closed with vitriol and he leaned back in the chair at his desk, he had paperwork to tend and here he was scratching line after line of heart wrenching ridiculousness. 

He adored poetry, reading or writing it.... And he hadn't taken the time to write any in a while, maybe he shouldn't have started up again if this is the effect it was going to have on him. Forcing himself to put the journal away, it dropped noisily into the drawer before he slammed it closed in frustration, the desk rattling. Get yourself together you romantic fool. Drawing himself to his feet he made way to the window, as it opened to allow in the large flock of black birds. The chilly air and affectionate attention from his dear raven's would distract him from such thoughts and refocus his mind on what he should be doing. He wasn't a young man anymore, flights of fancy wouldn't make him blind again. 

Winter had dug its icy claws into the land, seeming intent on staying. Though Dustfinger was quite sure the month of December was close to ending, he was rather fed up with the cold already..... However that was probably his unintended dip in an icy lake earlier in the season that made him resentful of it, Or, perhaps he was just resentful of his whole situation. The day before, he'd finished tidying up the ballroom, and it was perfect in his opinion, though it had made his thoughts turn back to the manor.... A needed distraction from the Lord who had been on his mind much too often as of late. The wanting stares, the almost nervous retreating, the enjoyment of poetry readings, and most of all the conversating that had given him a chance to truly learn who Cockerell was. 

Pulling from his absentmindedness, the blond looked at the book he'd picked up from one of the library shelves. His heart seemed to stop for just a moment as he stared down at the cover of a poetry book.... The very book that Rell had been reading to him the night when sleep escaped them both. Thousands of tomes to grab from the tall shelves and his fingers had alighted on this one....how.... With a huff of frustration, he pushed the book back on the shelf and turned to address the manor. No reading for him today, obviously his subconscious mind couldn't be trusted right now. "I had wondered, the evening I came here, you were able to....heal yourself, close the cracks in the window I caused, however there is so much breakage elsewhere here.... Are you simply not able to heal them all?" 

He wasn't sure what was a limit on the manors magics, what the unspoken 'rules' consisted of, and if the manor itself could even answer, did it have an idea of it's own limits? A vine grew its way down the wall, curling into the air beside him, and a rose bud of deep red grew before his eyes. The flower seemed to hesitate in fully blooming before closing again, and Dustfinger realized the manor itself couldn't answer the question with a yes or no. A small smile came to his lips after a moment, his curiosity piqued. "You're not sure... Have you perhaps tried?" The rose stayed closed and kindly the blond man reached out to almost pet the vine affectionately. He recalled the damage up in the halls of Cockerell's rooms, but he wasn't going to risk getting caught up there again, so his thoughts turned to the ballroom instead. 

"Perhaps we can try?" He suggested, and left the library. Making his way through the halls, he came upon the long dark hall that led to the ballroom and soon pushed open the doors. "We can start here." Stepping up to one of the more badly damaged walls that was unused by the vines growth, he watched them move across the stone and out of the way to reveal the large crack that ran from floor to ceiling with spiderweb cracks that branched off on each side. He wasn't sure exactly how the manor did it, if it was a focus sort of thing or just a movement of magic from one place to another, but he could be there for......uh moral support, or something? He wasn't sure exactly what he could do, if anything, but he did pose the thought to the manor so he supposed that was enough? 

It had become quiet, and he waited, curious and hopeful. A small crackling sound indicated that something was happening and a smile came to his lips as he saw the fractures in the wall begin to close, the stone slowly mending. "It's working." A louder crackle came next and though Dustfinger jumped slightly, he laughed as the larger damage began to slowly reform. A satisfied creaking sounded from the house, as if it too was excited for the realization of what it could do. "You really are astounding." 

A startled croak from one of the big black birds distracted Cockerell from his managed focus on work, drawing his gaze. "Wots the-..." A loud cracking sound cut him off and he looked upwards to see the stone walling in the corner that had been damaged by time, begin reforming. His brows raised in surprise, and he pushed to his feet, setting his pen distractedly on the desk top. He didn't know his manor was even able to reform such extensive damage, and from the sounds of it down the halls, they were rebuilding as much of the damage as they could and wanted. What brought this on? He felt the light weight of one of his ravens land on his shoulder, before another landed on the other shoulder. It looked as though more of the birds wanted to come with him and though he was slightly amused he put up a halting hand. "I can't carry all of ya now, jus' the one, they'll tell ya wots goin' on." The bird on his right shoulder seemed to sulk a moment before gliding down back to his place of perching at the desk. 

"I know, I know s'not fair." The bearded man chuckled and scritched the birds feathers before he headed out of the office, the rest of the flock croaking after their companion on his left shoulder. He decended the stairs, following his hearing until he entered the ballroom where Dustfinger was talking with the manor. He was smiling, and it made Cockerell's steps stop dead. With the quiet of a stalking lion he moved backwards until he could somewhat hide in the dim of the hallway, watching instead from the doorway. His manor knew where he was, they always knew, but he was glad they seemed far too distracted by the firedancer praising their abilities. If his home could blush from embarrassment he knew it would be rosy pink at the moment, and he smirked, keeping any chuckle wanting to slip out, silent. 

"He's gorgeous...." His voice was kept low, eyes focused completely on each movement from the young performer. How he gently pushed his wavy hair from his face, the way his green blue hues were filled with light and joy in a way Cockerell himself couldn't quite bring to him, but so wished too. His pale hand reached back to scritch the feathers of his raven companion in a somewhat absentminded and sad manner. He had an idea, seeing the man here.... One he hoped to pose, one he hoped would be recieved well. Sliding once more into the dark hall, he made way back toward the stairs. 

Chapter Text

You're playing with me like I'm a toy in your paws

If you'd only permit me too, I'd fulfill all your desires...  -La Belle et la Bete (2014)

Chocolate cake, it was a rare treat in itself, especially from a town in the mountains like this one...... But for a town that was admittedly not struggling either, chocolate was possibly easier to get a hold of, as well as the fact Cockerell had the money for such a luxury. What he didn't understand however was why such an offer was at the table after they'd finished dinner. Wine had been sparse as well when they ate, the Lord of the manor only sipping at the one cup all through, the bottle not even on the table this time, like he was restraining himself. The man had formerly requested he don one of the nicer suits that evening, but really.... It wasn't as if he'd been given anything else but nice. He himself had dressed a bit more elegantly as well, and all of it was making Dustfinger wonder what the hell was going on. 

The cake was perfection, so moist and rich it almost melted on his tongue. He couldn't recall properly when the last time he'd even had chocolate was, but it must have been a taste when he was a boy, a lucky treat from his mothers hard work as a milkmaid. Cockerell was watching him again, enjoying a cigarette as he lounged back in his chair. A small smile was quirked on his lips, tender even, and Dustfinger was trying his best to understand all of this. "Do you not want a taste?" The manor hadn't given them both a slice of the cake, only himself, and he thought maybe the older man wasn't interested. After a moment however, the bearded man leaned across the slight expanse of the table between them, holding his cigarette aside in the other hand. He didn't know what the older man wanted right away, but couldn't help the small blush color his face when he realized. 

Cutting a bite with his fork he offered it out, and watched Cockerell's lips wrap around the utensil to take it. Had he planned it that way? Probably, the lewd man....alright fine, it wasn't that bad considering some of the things he'd already done, and Dustfinger didn't have to go through with it.... But the action still made his stomach flip flop none the less. "Hm, s' delicious..." Chills ran up his arms and he quickly looked away from that gaze that felt like it was staring into his soul with a fiery ice. He most likely wasn't talking about the cake, but the firedancer himself. "Do ya like it?" The Lord went back to his cigarette, smoke swirling around him like some kind of demon ascended from hell.... Not that the blond had ever really been a religious man though.

"It's very good...." He nodded, wanting to ask what exactly he had planned, but maybe there was nothing and he was reading into it too much. The man seemed pleased with his response, obviously glad to hear that he was enjoying the treat. It always felt strange the way Cockerell doted on him, and it had made him upset, however the man hadn't stopped. It was one of the better ways for him to show his attentions though, much more welcome than anything physical or forced. "Do ya dance?" Looking up, he was halfway through his slice of cake when the question came. The Lord snuffed out his cigarette and seemed to be considering another, before giving in. The stick slipped between his lips after he lit it up off one of the candelabra's on the table. 

Dustfinger blinked lightly at the sudden question and thought a few moments, finishing his bite before speaking. "I do, it has been a while, but I do recall learning a dance when I was younger, a waltz of some sort." The older man nodded and went silent again, making his table companion curious at the question, but he went back to his slice of cake. By the time he was setting his fork down on the empty plate, Cockerell had snuffed out his second cigarette. He made sure there were no smears of chocolate on his mouth, then set his napkin on the table. The Lord's chair slid back and he stepped up to the firedancers side. "May I ask ya for a dance n' the ballroom?" Oh...that made sense now, and it made him unsure as well. It was just a dance though, just one dance wasn't so bad right?

The man clad in black held out an arm, as the blond drew to his feet. "You may, though I'm honestly a tad rusty....." He'd given in, and after a few seconds of hesitation, took the others arm. Cockerell felt a lurch in his heart with only the simple touch, leading the younger man from the dining hall and to the ballroom. It came to life with candles, sending out a warm glow, a dim but beautifully different sight in the world of night, especially all cleaned up as it was now. "M' a bit rusty meself.... I promise I won't laugh at ya." A smile, a genuine soft smile tugged up Dustfinger's full lips and the older man felt another clench in his heart at the sight. In the center of the ballroom they stood, one gloved hand coming to rest along the light curvature of the other man's waist. A hand lay upon a black clad shoulder, while the other gloved one took up his last free hand. Positioned and prepared as they could be, the piano teased out a few test notes before begining to play at the behest of the manor. 

The firedancer had to watch their feet on the first few steps, and even the Lord glanced down to make sure his bad leg didn't trip them up. It took some time to learn one anothers movements, and the younger man paced himself to follow with the others said limp. However as they slowly got the hang of one anothers skill and dancing after so long, it became smoother even simpatico. "You're not bad." Cockerell huffed a laugh at the comment and playfully needled back. "Not so bad yorself little bird." He subconsciously pulled the blond closer as they moved, turning together into the next step. The music was a lovely tone carried around the ballroom, and Dustfinger soon felt confident enough to lean into it, let himself be taken by it. It felt nice, to be regarded, to enjoy an evening like this, he was actually having fun.

Cockerell was falling hard, the man had him leashed and he wasn't even aware of it. Damn his heart for the way it pounded, he hoped that the performer couldn't hear it. It hurt, he hadn't felt this way in years and it hurt so badly.....yet felt incredible at the same time. Warmth, an almost dreamlike hazy disconnected in the air between them, and he could tell his dance partner was feeling it as well. A world away from everything as they waltzed, it was wonderful. Dustfinger let himself lean into the growing comfort, it had been some time since he'd felt like this, and before he knew it, his head came to rest upon the Lord's shoulder. Their dance slowed slightly into a sway, the closeness more than welcome, even if the beastly man's heart was in his throat. They spun together once again and his breath caught at the chuckle that his young partner allowed to escape. A charming and sweet laugh, that caused him to smile in kind. 

He leaned that bit down to rest his cheek against golden curls, scenting the man. Honey and smoke, the lavender not overpowering this time. He felt perfect pressed so close, and the Lord never wanted this moment to end. "Dust..." He wanted to kiss him, keep him forever in his hold. "Hm?" Green blue hues had drooped, until they closed, the air heady with the scent of roses and beeswax. The taller man was warm, and he could hear his heart beat under the music of the piano, speeding up marginally. Swallowing, Cockerell found his voice again, attempting to not let it waver.... Even as it came out so hopeful. "....Do ya think... In time... With some patience... Ya could love me?" The words were like ice water down Dustfinger's spine, his eyes opening, alert immediately. He realized what he was doing, how close he was to the redhead, and everything came rushing back to him. This man was not his lover, he was his jailer. The dance came to a violent halt, and the blond put some space between them by pushing at the beastly man's chest, parting them. 

Cockerell stumbled back slightly, his reactionary instinct catching him. The piano melody cut off, and the firedancer stood there with anger and horror on his features. Stupid, stupid, how did he allow himself to become comfortable with this man? With this monster, how did he let it all get to him as if they were on friendly terms? "You...you had me kidnapped, you locked me up in this manor of yours, threatened me, terrified me, turned me into a performing pet...." He couldn't decide if he was more astounded by Cockerell's words, or himself for allowing all of this. "..And now... now you ask for my love, for my heart?.... The worst part of all of this... is I'm not even angry with you, not really....I'm angry with myself for.... Feeling anything for you but hate. I should despise you, I have every right too!" 

No, no it wasn't supposed to happen this way. Why was he being yelled at? Why was it falling apart? ".....Dustfinger....please.." He tried to reach out as he felt his heart fracture, a desperation welling up until it it prevented him from saying another word. "Don't touch me..." It shouldn't have stung so much when the blond pulled away from his reach.... He could have grabbed for him, forced the other to look him in the eye, and some part of him wanted that... Some part of him wanted to shake the firedancer by the shoulders, and demand his love but he didn't.... He let the man step away from him. "I-...I'm tired..." A feeble excuse to get away, they both knew it, but he couldn't be around Cockerell at the moment, not after that. His boots tapped on the marble flooring as he rushed from the ballroom, anxiety and confusion running through his veins right beside the red of his blood. 

The damage was done, though it was hard to say who dealt the official blow. The Lord trembled, his gloved hands clenching into tight fists. His breaths were stilted, and rage wanted to overtake him, the beast wishing to snarl in fury and bare its teeth in a nasty reveal to his agony. Despair nestled in the build of his ribcage like a fearful animal however, and tears were attempting to build at the corners of his eyes. He hadn't cried in many long years. Not able to hold himself up anymore he fell to his knees, hands slamming down to cause two cracks in the marble flooring. The manor didn't intervene, though everything had gone deathly quiet. They knew Cockerell too well at this point that even if they attempted to comfort him, he needed his space, still the manor mourned for him. His pain was like a fog cast along the halls, heavy and stifling, familiar to the home around him. They knew this hurt, this rage, they knew the beastly sorrow well. 

In a disheartened and distracted haze, Cockerell's stumbling steps soon carried him down that darkened, destroyed hallway, and up the stairs to the tower room. The candles came alight as he sunk to the floor before the piled table and portrait of the severe and beautiful woman. "I should've known better... I should've known.... I'm not meant fo' love.... Why was I given this damn heart.... These feelings of want, of need, if'm only good at squanderin' em....." His gaze met those painted eyes, so like his own, and his heart ached all the more. "I miss ya.... Every damn day... I don' know wot I'm doin'..." 

Dustfinger's heart felt heavy with a well of emotions. He wanted out now more than ever, trapped here in this manor with his jailer, who now had the audacity to ask for his heart, his love. He lay on his side in bed, curled up tightly like a child and praying for the world around himself to disappear if just for a while, to be left alone. Why him? Why did Cockerell choose him to snatch up, to romance, to fall in love with? He was no one, and if the man's heart was breaking he had only himself to blame. It was sad, but he was justified as well..... This was not a situation of love, of passion.... And still he couldn't bring himself to hate the man as he once did. Despite what he'd already been put through, he carried no hate.... And was that not the most insane part of all of this? 

He could hear the dragging steps of the Manor's Lord, before he was disappearing up the stairs. He knew where the man would go.... And knew already the following days would be tense. He wouldn't apologize, Cockerell needed to hear those words, needed to realize truly just how hurt Dustfinger was, he needed to know what he'd done. Still, as tears fell unbidden, some deep part of him felt symathy for the monster.

Chapter Text

The darkness presses close, why can't they feel it? The darkness weighs so heavily, shadows fall across my soul, so much rage... Where is the hope? - Beauty and the Beast, Of Love and Hope

He was well and truly drunk, and had been for some time. He wasn't sure how long it had been already, but he hardly left the tower, and didn't leave the fourth floor at all. He drank, and that was it......This was a familiar feeling, this rejection, this all consuming loneliness ...... At least his life was consistent he supposed. When he did leave the tower room it was only to fall into bed for a sleep that was unsurprisingy fitfull. He hadn't cried, though he thought he would, the tears didn't come or maybe wouldn't. Instead he resigned himself to it. Dustfinger was left in peace, he didn't ask the manor where he was.... And for all he knew his firebird could have escaped and he'd be none the wiser. At that moment he couldn't bring himself to care, because he'd already been rejected

His bones ached from laying on the stone flooring, but it's where he often ended up from drinking too much and wallowing. He tried hadn't he? He'd been romantic, (though that wasn't difficult for him) kind as he could manage, he'd even opened up some..... And yet here he was. The beast in him held resentment, or maybe it was the man.... He wasn't sure actually, he just knew he was hurting. There had been a time so long ago when he may have considered the beast not part of himself.... A frustration he couldn't control.... But he'd learned over the years, that wasn't the case. The beast was as much a part of him, as he was of them, and he knew mostly how to control it at this point. He cared for his beast, and his beast cared for his safety and his heart in situations like this, perhaps that's why he got this way. Shifting finally from his spot on the floor, he realized he'd gone somewhat numb from the cold. He knew though as soon as he moved his bad leg, it was going to be in pain.

Trying not to think about it he instead reached out to the bottle of whiskey he'd raided from the alcohol cupboard, dragging it closer. The amber liquid sloshed inside and he gratefully sat up a bit to take a drink. When was the last time he'd eaten? How much time had he spent only in his rooms? Questions that passed through his mind without answer or much concern. He would have haunted the halls of the manor as a specter if not for the possibility of seeing Dustfinger.... He couldn't bear to see those beautiful green blue hues, like ocean water against alge....or those golden curly locks like strong fields of wheat, the way they silkily ran through his fingers. Fuck... A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed it down with another drink from the bottle. He knew there would be no smile on those full lips now, just a curve of upset, and distaste.... distaste for him.

The following morning after the rejected confession, Dustfinger had been nervous about leaving his room, not wanting to run into the Lord of the manor. He worried there would be a violent reaction waiting for him just on the other side of the door.... But there was nothing, in fact there had been absolutely nothing the whole entire day. He hadn't seen a glimpse of the redhead, or heard his boots on any stairwell, no animalistic roars, or cursing. It had gone all so eerily silent, even the manor itself seemed quieter. Every meal was taken alone, and when dinner had rolled around he felt almost.... Lonely. Though the feeling lingered, he'd been doing his best to dismiss it and remind himself that was just because Cockerell was the only other person in the manor. He told himself he'd be fine without the other man to talk to, that he'd get used to it again....that was two days ago.

It was depression, he knew that's what it was.... But he had to say the truth that night, Rell needed to know he couldn't just get away with thinking they were friendly and nothing was amiss. Did he really not recognize the things he did were wrong.... still? He asked for patience and love... But that was perhaps more patience than he could muster. Surely there was some part of him that recognized all he'd done, he'd been making the effort to do better after all. The firedancer huffed to himself frustrated and went back to his lunch. He hadn't meant to be so distracted, it was just strange not to have the man at meals.... Was he even eating? After a moment more he gave in to curiosity and spoke up with a waver of reluctance. "Rell is still up in his rooms isn't he?" The expected vine grew down from a wall and slithered up, a rose blooming an odd color of grey.

He'd never seen that color before, as if the manor were feeling it's master's sorrow, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy in return, despite his resolution. "Has he eaten at all?.... Slept?" The grey flower closed in answer to the first question, but reopened for the second. Dustfinger shook his head. Was the man trying to kill himself? The ironic thought was not lost on him, remembering when Cockerell had asked him the same thing on his first days in the manor. His voice was small as he glanced back down to his plate, absentmindedly moving around the last of his vegetables with the fork. "He's been drinking, hasn't he?" The flower seemed almost to hesitate on an answer before finally blooming, and the blond heaved a sigh. No eating, just drinking himself into a stupor and ocassionally sleeping or more passing out, for two days now. Maybe he should check on the man... But it felt strange to do so, and he was decidedly wary if the man was drinking... After all Cockerell had already proven he couldn't behave when on the drink.

As he thought fiercely on how to handle this ridiculous mess, he found himself suddenly pulled to his feet by a vine lightly wrapping around his wrist. The manor had never handled him in such a way and he was blindsided by the sudden movement. "What are you doing?" As he was gently tugged on, he then understood. "No, I'm not going up there, especially while he's drunk. I have nothing to apologize for, he's the one in the wrong here, not me...." He wasn't sure if the manor understood but the rose vine did stop tugging on him. "Look.... I realize you don't understand the intricacies of all these human emotions and actions....you just want your master to feel better..." The rose returned in full bloom, and the firedancer placed a hand caringly onto the vine unsure how to explain his upset or why this was all so complicated.

He shouldn't make a promise he might not keep, but he did feel a little sympathetic.... Though more so for the manor than the man who caused all this.... At least thats what he told himself. Rubbing his temples for a bit he considered, before finally speaking again. "If you can get him to sober up, stay sober, eat something and come down on his own.... I will perhaps....consider speaking with him." It wasn't much of a deal, for such an endeavor would be difficult for anyone, even a being who'd known him so long. However, the rose seemed to instantly perk up, and before he knew the vine was retreating out of sight, leaving him once more to his lunch. Good luck to the manor he supposed. He felt they were definitely going to need it.

With bleary eyes he woke again, not even remembering that he'd passed out. Something was in his vision, and it took him a moment to realize it was the manors vines, a bundle of roses hitting his senses with the flowery fresh scent. Had the vines really twined all the way up the stairwell to get to him? They must have because they'd never broken his isolation on this floor before. "Wot..." He was suddenly wrapped in the vines and pulled into a sitting position, before another offered up a plate of fruit and toast to him. Was his manor really trying to get him to eat? "Fuckin' quit. M' not hungry." Cockerell leaned on his hands and took a few breaths, the manor giving him only a moment to catch his bearings, then the vines were nudging at his back in an attempt to get him up on his feet.

He wasn't sure why all of this was suddenly a concern to the manor.... Well at least a concern to this extent anyway, his home did care for him, but they had never tried to pull him out of a drop before. Dustfinger came to mind as the culprit behind changing the manors attitude, and his heart ached again. "Agh! Fine! I'll get up!" With a grumble of frustration he moved to get to his feet, using the altar table behind him as a support. Just as he'd thought, pain shot through his bad leg, but he managed to get up finally, leaning against the table for a breather. He felt weaker, but only slightly...a boon of his beastly side was an ability to sustain long lengths of time without food... And two days was really nothing compared to some of his past depressive drops.

The rose vines offered up the plate again and he pushed it away with a shake of his head. When he felt stronger, he took his steps towards the stairs. He was led back down from the tower by the manor, a heavier hitch in his step. Curtains pulled aside and he stumbled slightly, blinking at the daylight filtering into his bedchamber. Catching his features in the wall mirror, he sighed tiredly. Dark circles, smeared eyeliner, an unkempt goatee with red scruff up his jawline, sharper cheekbones, and a hazy half drunken half hungover look in his eyes. Alright...... He was a bit of a mess he'd admit that. The bud of a red rose slithered up to smack at his face and he waved his hand in annoyance. "Oi, alrigh' alrigh'.... I don' know wot's bloody gotten inta ya. Yes, I look like hell, wot of it?"

Another vine disappeared into the washroom before returning with a shaving razor, and Cockerell stared for a long moment. He didn't see the point in getting cleaned up, but his manor was being very adamant about it suddenly. Realization filled his gaze and his brows furrowed tightly over grey blue eyes. "I'm no' interested in talkin' to em if tha's yor aim." With a shake of his head he turned on his heel, ready to go find that bottle of whiskey again, but one of the free vines wrapped around his upper arm and tugged. He was stopped in his tracks and he growled. "I told ya no." The vines seemed quite finished with the argument however, and the Lord's eyes went wide as he was yanked roughly into the washroom. There was the sound of the tub filling, and his jaw was firmly tilted before the manor set about tidying his beard and doing away with the scruff all on it's own. Though grumbling, he allowed it with minimal complaints. However the vines weren't done with him, and when his facial hair had been tended, they immediately started wriggling him out of his clothes. "Oi enough!" When they couldn't get off his breeches however he was simply nudged into the warm tub with them on.

Huffing with annoyance, he tugged off the waterlogged pants and his undershorts, dropping them beside the tub. "Ya bleedin' happy now, ya nuisance?" The vines gleefully grabbed up soaps and passed them off to the man, seeming to answer the frustrated question. With a resigned sigh, the Lord set about cleaning up. His manor was indeed rather proud of itself.

So lost in his own thoughts, Dustfinger didn't notice anything around as he wandered back from the library. A set of familiar pointed black boots however yanked him from his distractedness and he tensed up completely, sights drawing upward to the Lord at the base of the stairs. The manor had actually gotten him to come down, and he looked to be relatively sober as well. He could tell the man had cleaned up a bit, his beard freshly trimmed, but he still didn't look fantastic. The despair was evident in his features, and the dark circles made the lack of proper rest obvious. Damn it, he was there, in front of Dustfinger.... And he'd made a promise... Sort of. He had said he maybe would try to speak with Rell, he never confirmed for sure. However, it was still a promise and if he didn't at least try then... Well he was sure the manor wouldn't give any sort of backlash, but they would be upset.....and admittedly he hadn't liked when they were upset with him.

The older man seemed to come back to himself, realizing he wasn't alone in the hall, and swallowed hard at the strange tension in the air. They were silent, just watching one another, neither sure how to start this conversation.... Or if they even wanted to speak. Both the men felt watched, and they knew the manor was waiting for one of them to make a move of some kind. His gaze dropped to his boots, as he tried to think of what to say, wondered if he should even say anything. He didn't realize how drained he truly felt until that moment.... His emotions had taken a hit, he hadn't really expected, and it all came rushing back seeing Dustfinger again. He really was in love, at least the beginnings of it anyway.... And it didn't matter because it was completely unrequited. Suddenly he didn't want to be there, he regret ever being covinced by the manor to come down in the first place. He wanted to lose himself in a mist of any alcohol he could get his hands on and not feel for a while like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on.

The blond absentmindedly tugged at one of his coat sleeves, his gaze dropping downward as well. The man wasn't saying anything but he couldn't look into those intense eyes overwhelmed by heartbreak, he couldn't pretend it didn't make him feel something.... Sympathy, pity... Perhaps a bit of both. He knew the man was lonely, but he couldn't be the balm to his damaged heart. He managed finally to find his voice, though it came out small and stilted at first. With a clearing of his throat he forced himself to look up again. "You should eat Lord Cockerell." He'd fulfilled his promise at least, he spoke to the other. The redheads eyes closed at his words. No, he didn't want to hear that... Hear his title again from the other, as if they would just go back to before. As if he could ever disregard those days of poetry between their lips, the conversations and sharing, catching the other when he fell, the dance in the ballroom with the blond's head resting against his shoulder..... The genuine laughter, and smiles from the younger man.

As the performer ascended the stairs, walking around him to do so....he wanted to reach out, yank the other close and never let him go... But he buried it, only moving when the sound of his heeled boots faded. Yes... He should eat.

Chapter Text

Love can turn a man into a beast.. -Belle et la Bete (1946)

The silence was stifling in a way no mere quiet should be. It carried such weight, the tense atmosphere like a sack of rocks pressing down on them. It was only broken by the light taps of silverware and cups..... But spaced in a way that was evidentiary both men were lacking the interest they usually held in eating. The Lord of the manor was really considering drowning himself in the bottle of wine or feigning a headache just to escape this awfully painful dinner. He was sick, with a sort of grief that was settling into his bones, making a carved out home. His beastly side wanted to roar out his heartache and destroy everything on the table before them, and he was becoming more and more tempted to allow that side of himself to do so without apologies. This had to be the most uncomfortable dinner they'd both ever had, and that was even counting the ones in which they'd quarreled.

Dustfinger wouldn't meet his eyes, even for a glimpse, acting as though his plate was the most fascinating object in existence..... And that hurt all the more. Maybe he should let the man go.... No, though it hurt seeing him, it would be devastating not having him there. If he let the man go, Dustfinger would be gone with his troupe within a fortnight and he'd never see him again. Call him selfish, but that would truly break him. Finally his firebird just pushed away his plate, wiping his mouth with the napkin and placing it down. "Goodnight Lord Cockerell." Again he didn't look at the other man before he was up and leaving the table. No, no, no he couldn't let the other walk away..... Maybe he was ready to talk, maybe he did need to take the first step. His chair clattered as he almost knocked it over in his haste to follow. His boot steps fell behind the blond, and Dustfinger sped up toward the stairs. He didn't want to know what the redhead had to say, he just needed to get through the evening and start working on getting out of this place, again. He'd lost sight of his goal, foolishly, and that wouldn't happen again. 

"'M sorry!" Two steps up, the long haired performer came to a complete halt. He was unsure if he even heard properly at first, brows furrowing over blue green hues. Did the Lord really, truly, apologize to him? Slowly he turned on his heel, gaze finally landing on the older man. He looked pained, those eyes often full of ice, instead had melted into a plea. Cockerell was relieved to see the younger man turn to face him. Eye contact, even if confusion and slight shock were there.... At least he knew he was being heard. The manor around them had been quiet since earlier that afternoon when they'd pulled the Lord down from his isolation, cleaned up and sober, and still the silence stretched on. It was waiting and watching their interactions no doubt, hoping for good things..... But they may be dissatisfied with the results. "'M not a good man.... I don' think I ever have been...... Bu' I remember at one time.....long ago, I was a good son... A decent lad." He hoped the firedancer could understand, that the possibility, maybe was still there. There was more to him than the violent cretin, there had to be, even if he himself didn't know if that were true anymore. 

Reading the older man had become slightly easier in their time together, he wasn't as much of a mystery to the other as he once had been ....though there was always more to discover. This though, there was a waver somewhere in that gaze.... Not a lie, because the man never lied, but he wasn't entirely sure of something he hadn't voiced. He could only imagine what was going through the older man's head however, Cockerell was never forthcoming with information until he was damn well good and ready to express it. Dustfinger sighed and gently shook his head after a moment, some sympathy leaking into his tone. "Well, whoever that boy was, he's long gone...." Was that sympathy or pity? Did the blond pity him, pity his pathetic heart? Pity him for falling in love with a man who didn't return his feelings? He didn't want to believe that's where they'd ended up.... Disgust and pity.... Like he were some, wild.... mongrel beast... oh. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, and his brows tightened over his narrowed gaze. That brought back cruel memories from before he even knew the blond. "Don' ya say tha'.... Don' ya fucking say tha'... If ya knew, if ya only fuckin' knew..." 

His own thoughts had been echoed back at him, and even though Dustfinger was right, it hurt like hell to hear. He was becoming angry, all his heartache slamming against his ribcage, demanding to be released. Anger was easier, it had always been a reliable reaction...... It hid the true vulnerability in his heart like a fortified shield. Frowning, the younger man shook his head, a hand pushing through his golden waves in a stress reaction. "Thank you for apologizing..... but you'll have to do better, especially after you've told me your apologies don't mean a damned thing....." More of his past transgressions tossed in his face, that wasn't fair to bring that up. Hadn't they moved on from that? Weren't they doing better? A huff of stress escaped him and he felt as though he was on a precipice, about to fall. With a shaking voice he tried to speak but the upset couldn't be held back. "I'm tryin'.... I'm really fuckin' tryin'... I can't change wot I've already done an' said, be fuckin' realistic!" 

Dustfinger was ready to talk back, but he saw the rage in the man's eyes steadily boiling over. Instead he braced himself, mentally counting down. It took all of five seconds before the Lord snapped. He'd been holding it back as much as he could apparently, and this well of emotions was the last push.... Dustfinger's words were the last push. "Rell, wait... Please." He wasn't heard as the sudden and nauseating sound of crackling bones filled the air. His coat and shirt fell to the stone flooring in shreds, the older man not even bothering this time to remove them before the change took hold. "Everything I've given ya, everything I've done for ya..... Why can't ya see how much I'm tryin'?! All of this is fo' you!" His voice had dropped into that rough growl, fur, fangs and claws coming to the surface with deadly quick ferocity. He wasn't going to be able to get through to the other now, not like this.

"Shit." With a huff of frustration Dustfinger was turning quickly on his heel and scrambling up the stairs in an attempt to get a head start. It was even harder to get his footing on the marble stairs than it was when he was on snow in the forest, especially at such an incline, but he made it to the second floor. It was just in time as he heard the heavy paws hit the steps, tossing off the leather pieces of what was once his pointed boots. It was lucky he too was having trouble with the stairs though. The blond tripped, more annoyed by the fact his legs were choosing now to make him stumble about so ungracefully. He could go to his room, slam the door and hope for the best? However he had a feeling the beastly man would just break his way in. To the next set of stairs he ran, hoping maybe he could tire the other out, he'd probably lost a little weight after all with not eating. Perhaps that was a little mean to use against him, but Cockerell wasn't exactly playing fair and never really had. 

As he turned the corner in the next hall up, he heard a loud thump behind him, glancing back to see the damage. The feathered and furred man was having even more trouble than himself it seemed, though it made sense considering his sheer size within the narrow halls and that bad leg of his on the stairs. His paws slid over the stone, and he slammed into a wall, knocking the wood of his office door and attempting to right himself again. "Fuck!" It came out more like an animalistic lions roar, hardly a word at all in his rage, before he managed to get back up on all fours and go after the firedancer again. The younger man was running out of places to go, there was only one more floor.... And that was the Lord's personal floor. He was coming in hot, and the performer heaved a sigh at the base of the last stairwell. Fuck it, he may not have been wanted up there, but Cockerell was giving him no choice. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, he heard the scrape of claws on the stone as the beast came for him. He was close, so much closer than Dustfinger would have expected him to be, and he hadn't tired as expected. The man was impressive in truth, his beast was dedicated to the hunt. Exceedingly unfortunate for him considering he'd have nowhere else to go soon. His lungs ached from the awkward run climb up the many stairs and he could almost feel the paws on his heels. Ahead of him the hall lit up with the dim glow of candles and he wanted to huff at the manor, that's the way they were choosing to intervene? By lighting his way? The pause seemed to be a bad decision however, as he felt hot breath at the nape of his neck. He'd been snuck up on. He attempted to make a break for it, but Cockerell easily grabbed his arms and shoved him against a wall. He was pinned there and looked up into the maw of the fearsome black and red hued beast. 

He'd never been that close to the man transformed before, well conscious anyway, and in that moment, as two large and dangerously clawed paws slammed against the stone on either side of him he realized one thing...... He wasn't afraid. His heart didn't pound with fear, but had even begun leveling slowly from his running. He didn't care to scream or shield himself in horror, he was in fact more frustrated than anything. Even as those sharp fangs were bared to him, yellowed slightly and spittle dripping to the floor. His eyes more humanlike than any creature, shards of ice filled with a striking pain. He should be cowering, knowing how deadly this man, this being was.... And yet. "Ya will love me.... Ya have ta love me.... I need ya ta love me!.... Please..." The voice dropped, trailing off with nothing but hurt and something twisted in Dustfinger's chest at the tone. "Cause... if ya don't love me.... Then I know 'm truly no' worthy a' love... Tha' I'm everythin' they think I am, tha' you think I am!" The growl that followed held more personal anger than anything outward, and it told him all he needed to know. 

Cockerell struggled with the beast in him.... And no, not the being he transformed into... The beast that resided in the man himself. Maybe he couldn't fix the other, be his savior, but he could help him, if only a little ..... Show him if he tried he could be more than the cruel and emotionally locked up Lord he'd become. Maybe there was actually something more in Dustfinger than the upset and hurt he felt...... More that he too tried to bury and hide. They stood there, seemingly at a stalemate, and the blond only half wondering when the other would make another move.... If he would. Staring into those blue grey eyes he saw a redness that made him realize the older man had been crying, the fur around his eyes damp with tears he'd been unable to hold back. Whether it was from anger, or despair, or a bit of both, he'd let it out.... He'd shown his hearts truth. 

The sudden crackle of bones, broke their gazes for a time and startled the firebird. He didn't recognize immediately what the sound was, until he saw the man's human visage begin to reappear. His claws slid away and his fur faded, his height reducing back to the 6'2 he naturally was, curling ram horns the last to disappear from the sides of his head, until he stood before Dustfinger in not but his torn up black breeches. He still leaned over the young performer, but now they were once again closer in height, and he no longer needed to hunch. His breath was heavy from the change, due to the energy it no doubt expended, and they settled in the silence between them for a time. The writhing anger seemed spent, and Dustfinger allowed his gaze to wander over the man he called warden and.... Something he didn't quite have a word for yet. That lean muscled body, the rune tattoos that he couldn't even begin to discern what the meaning behind them was, the scars so numerous they told the story of a true fighter. Seeing him shirtless again was doing things to the younger man..... Things he really didn't want to acknowledge but was struggling to ignore. 

When Cockerell spoke again, his tone was low, wavering slightly, with a question. "Ya don' fear me... I can't see it in yor eyes any longer.... Why?" Blue green hues flitted back to meet icy grey, but the other wasn't looking at him, his gaze was on the floor between them, brows furrowed with disbelief and confusion. He'd noticed it as well had he? The lack of fear, and the blond wasn't sure how to explain for a time, attempting to get his thoughts in order. "I believe..... I know now you won't hurt me, not enough to do any lasting damage of course... It would hurt you in turn far too much." The fist to the left of his head slammed hard into the stone with aggression, but it was obvious that what Dustfinger said was true, even with the older man's annoyance of hearing it voiced aloud. His blue grey hues fell back to the floor, and he heaved a sigh of resignation. "Ya know how I feel..... Bu' do I really mean nothin' to ya? Do I jus' disgust ya?" He could say no, he could demand to be let go, tell the beastly man that he was ridiculous and there was nothing between them.... Or he could give in to that small feeling that made his stomach flip, the feeling he'd been ignoring and disbelieving was even real. Reaching out, the firedancer tilt the bearded chin up, light eyes meeting his own. With a breath of courage he surged upward, arms wrapping around Cockerell's neck as their lips collided in a full and sudden kiss. 

The Lord did nothing but blink a moment, his mind attempting to catch up with what was happening. When he realized that Dustfinger was willingly and gladly kissing him, he melted immediately into it. Eyes fluttering closed, his arms wrapped around the blonds waist and he deepened the press of their lips. A kiss, a real kiss from the man he loved, for him.... It felt unreal. A gift on his lips, soft as rose petals. The firebird could taste the linger of smoked meat on the Lord's tongue, though not unpleasant. In truth, he may have been a tad pleased that the older man had finally eaten... Though he wasn't going to voice that... Not now, not at that moment. He leaned his body into the pale tattooed form, and the hands along his waist tugged him closer. Cockerell mapped his mouth with an eagerness finally released, before his tongue pulled back, in order for his teeth to nip along the blond's lips. He couldn't catch the sigh that escaped him with such a motion, something between rough and tender. He wasn't even surprised with the heat and unrestrained skill with which he was kissed. For the beastly man had proved his poetic and passion filled soul.

The redhead allowed a breath between them before he decended upon the shorter man's lips once again, to taste the gentle lingers of dinner wine. A calloused hand cupped Dustfinger's cheek to turn his face and claim more of his lips, while his heart felt as though it might dissolve out of his bones to join the flow of blood in his body. The dirty blond scruff lightly scratched against his palm and face, each moment feeling as though it could stretch into years and he wouldn't even notice, before their lips ever so slowly parted. Forehead to forehead, eyes closed, they breathed one anothers air. His pet, his little firebird, his Dusty.... His. With a show of smooth and easy strength he lifted the blond into his arms, causing him to give a small yelp of shock with the sudden movement. On bare feet, across the cold stone he then carried the younger man into his bedchamber.

Chapter Text

Slipping down from his arms, Dustfinger surprised the Lord of the Manor by pushing him instead back towards the bed once free. He discarded his golden hued dinner coat, heeled boots following before he wrapped his arms around Cockerell's neck again, sealing a kiss to his lips. The older man was all too pleased with the continued kisses, pressing his want into each lock of lips, while he lifted the firedancer into his arms once more. The fireplace came to life with a sudden woosh of flames, eating up the wood until it flickered warmly. He was lain out on the black bedsheets, his golden curls spreading in bright contrast, as the redhead decended upon his neck to press needy kisses and taste his skin. The younger encouraged it, his fingers fidgeting with the fastenings of his vest until he could get it open. Pulling back, the beastly man helped him out of the vest then fumbled with his flowing white shirt, tugging if off over his head until they could get skin pressed to skin.

"Rell.." It was a soft sigh from peachy lips, the firedancers fingers gripping into his blood red hair, their lips lightly smacking and teeth clicking on ocassion, though neither man was bothered. Heat stirred up, like encouraging embers into flames, and they both floated up into the breathy high of one anothers touches. Dustfinger let his hands slide over tattooed arms, and down the man's sides, thumbs caressing over the ocassional rough skin of a scar. "Beautiful..." He shivered at the husky tone, just on the edge of that often oh so terrifying growl, somewhere between human and animal, always. He'd been called that by the other man before... But now it held such a different feeling to it. The shift of everything, the things he'd refused to allow himself to see, to understand.... it was all flowing freely in that moment like a waterfall let loose. Almost angrily, the Master of the Manor drug the blond's breeches from his legs, throwing them aside as if they offended him.

His lips were a tickle of warmth across the firedancers thighs, eyes meeting one another's with equal fever..... equal, it sent Cockerell's heart pounding in his chest like the beat of hummingbird wings, knowing he was wanted in turn. If this was all just some sensual dream his baser instincts had conjured up.... He didn't want to wake up, the cruelty of such a thing would be too much to bear. Dustfinger tugged him back up his body to take his lips again, sighing into the kiss. With eager fingers he yanked at the fastenings on the redheads torn up breeches, and shoved at them until they were out of the way. With a surprising show of impassioned strength, the older man was then shoved down on the bed and straddled by the lean muscled performer. A huff of an amused laugh came from thin lips and his calloused hands grasped around the curve of Dustfinger's waist.

"I'm guessin' ya been with a man..." It was worded more as a statement than a question, since Cockerell had been given much of his information already based on the evidence of Dustfinger being rather fine with kissing him, and taking initiative. Though granted the other probably shouldn't assume, the blond offered a nod of confirmation to him nonetheless. "If you're asking whether I'm aware of the workings, I quite am." His hands ran warmly down over the older man's chest, causing him to sigh, and his gaze dropping to half lids. His fingers touched curiously on the light prominence of ribs, and he distantly hoped the beastly man would begin taking care of himself again.... He cared for him.... He actually really cared for him, when had that snuck in? Distracted as he was by his own exploring, he didn't notice the redheads own wandering hands until his nipples were given an arousing pinch. "Ah, Rell..." He chuckled and soothed the subtle rough motion with his thumbs, circling the pointed peaks. His lovely bony hands then caressed upward to wrap about the firedancers neck.

He didn't feel in danger, despite the beasts hands wrapped around his neck, his eyes instead flickered closed to enjoy the firm but not unkind sensation. His own moving to feel over those wonderful long fingered hands until they parted again. The arousal was heightened in the room, and the younger man knew both their bodies were becoming tired of waiting. His own erection was making itself known, pressing in an obvious bulge against his shorts, and immediately catching his partners attention. One of the hands moved with a sensual slowness down his round pec's and over his lightly muscled stomach until his palm wrapped around the tip of the hidden treat. "Ah, yes, please..." It was enough permission for the man, who tugged down his shorts, that pretty cock bobbing out, with a thatch of blond hair at his base. It made Cockerell's eyes widen, and his mouth water. He didn't waste any more time, pulling at the shorts with the wriggling aide of the blond in order to toss them out of sight with the rest of their discarded clothes.

That was when a certain, second, special treat made itself known in full arousal against the curve of Dustfinger's bubbly perky ass, causing a small noise to fall from those pouty pink lips. He'd been avoiding looking down since the remainder of the older man's clothes had been tugged away, but he couldn't say he was particularly surprised at how big the other felt against him. With a slightly bashful, yet brave bite to his bottom lip, he tilt his hips and rubbed backwards against the impressive shaft. "Ah, Dust... fuck." Those wide blue grey eyes held awe and lust, the man overcome by the simplest movement..... He wouldn't ask how long it had been, it had obviously been some time since Rell had a partner.... No doubt much longer than himself. The man's long cock pressed between the globes of his perky ass as he slid himself up and down along the hardened skin, ever so gradually. With a shaking, grasping hand the redhead attempted to reach out towards the bedside table, his other hand suddenly grabbing the firedancer's hip with a level of force, half trying to stop his motions. "Be patient with me love.... S' been a while..."

Breathing out, he pushed strands of curly golden hair from his eyes, and gave his partner a moment to collect himself. His warm palms moved instead to caringly rub up and down that pale chest before he leaned down to kiss the older man. A shaky breath through his nose, he happily kissed back, just holding the other for a time as their lips danced intimately in the glow of firelight. Dustfinger's mouth then travelled away from the older man's in order to taste his neck in a mutual exploration, pressing kisses like the soft flick of moth wings, slowly downward. Cockerell wanted him badly, he was being consumed by his need, and as his fingers finally closed around the bottle he'd been searching for in the top drawer, the wanting was stoked into a wild brush fire in his loins. The firebird gasped when his back again hit the bed, the Lord's stomach pressing against his own arousal full and wet at the tip.

His fingers immediately went into red hair as the older man decended to nip more fiercely along his clavicle. He whined when the teeth bit a little too hard, but it was quickly soothed by a tender tongue, each bite certain to leave a lasting mark. "Ah... Oh!" Surprise filled him, along with one of Cockerell's long fingers slicked in oil. So that's what his distracted reach had been up to getting.... What a sweet beast to take the time for such things. Then again, the man had proved he could still be decent, he was indeed trying... Cockerell was right, he was trying. A man who had been stuck in this cycle of resentment, heartache, and rage wouldn't be able to change overnight. There was no telling how long he'd been this way, and maybe he did need to be more patient with the other, give him at least some credit for how far he'd come along already. The blue glass bottle tilted over the man's long fingers, the scent of orchids cascading around them. His slicked hand returned, and this time Dustfinger was more prepared for the ensuing feeling. A kiss pressed over his sternum and he sighed as two digits entered his body this time, stretching him with careful and fantastic strokes.

He lifted one leg higher, sliding it over the Lord's shoulder to give him more room, and it wasn't long before a third finger entered his body. "Mmm." The slightly pitched moan caused Cockerell's erection to twitch, he wanted to hear more of those sounds badly. Skilled jugglers hands wrapped into the sheets when his fingers caressed deep over the blond's sweet spot, and he knew that was it.... It was time to move on to the main event, neither of them could wait anymore. With a half rushed quality, he huffed an overly eager breath and fumbled with the bottle. Possibly pouring too much oil in his palm, he finally got a hand on himself. The grumbly moan that escaped the redhead caused Dustfinger to grin, and his bedroom eyes watched as the dexterous hand stroked over that decidedly perfect, long, cock. He was in the moment, so terribly enraptured by the man that once terrified him, yet now was setting his body aflame with desire. The stoppered bottle slipped off the sheets, though neither man noticed as it thumped to the rug. Teeth nipped along Dustfinger's thigh to leave more possessive marks, before the redhead was shifting into position, a hungry and biting kiss on his lips.

The younger man helped him line up before he pressed forward into the firm body. "Ah, Cockerell..." Breathy and whispered he gasped when entered for the first time. Despite the preparation his partner was still snug, and the beastly man had to take a couple of breaths and pauses before filling him completely. He dropped kisses to the blond's forehead, then at his temples, starving in his love for the other. "I could devour ya Dustfinger, I could leave only bones in me passion for ya, what ya do ta me... 's tha sweetest drink I've quenched meself with." The firedancers hands moved to grasp his shoulders, one then cupping his cheek, thumb running over his jawline and stroking through his cherry red beard. "I know... You've been waiting.... You've been so lonely.... For longer than I can imagine.." His voice was hardly above a whisper, green blue eyes settled completely on grey blue. Delving forward the firebird let out a moan of lust when their lips locked together. With eyes dropping closed, the Lord of the manor began to move his hips, sliding his cock from the youngers slicked heat before pressing back in. Hands flailed before they gripped around Cockerell's back, the firedancers legs wrapping around his waist, as he picked up the motion in kind.

Long fingers linked in Dustfinger's and both his hands were moved, pinned among the silky sheets like a insect in a spiders web. He was completely held in place whilst his body was ravaged by electrifying passion. "Ahh, R-Rell." The thrusts weren't as fast as they could be, but he was pushing into his beautiful firebird deeply, his slightly smaller form giving small jerks upwards with each hit inside himself. Rolling his head, he choked on a slight shout, breath picking up. Dustfinger felt wet, warm and was clenching just right. There was probably too much oil, for the slick sounds were not the least bit subtle, but he wasn't about to call that a bad thing. "Dust... Ah... Mine..." His hips sped up and a whining whimper filled the air, followed by a lion's growl. He was going rougher now, but he knew that the redhead was still holding back, and admittedly that felt wrong. Though he was struggling to form a coherent thought, a small part of his mind wanted the other to let go. It was perhaps foolish, but through huffed breaths and moans, Dustfinger managed finally to speak. "Don't hold.... Back..."

Cockerell wanted to, wanted to release his beast, bring the ferocity of his soul into play with his torrid love.... Dustfinger didn't know what he was asking for though, and he could regard that... Even in his absolutely love drunk state of being. He couldn't get the words out to explain especially when the blond man tipped his hips just right and thrust upward onto him, the twin sensations completely destroying any proper thought process. He could only drop himself atop the other and roll his hips as he buried his face into that long neck. "Ah Cockerell!" The thrusts sped up, shorter and rougher, and in his pinned place Dustfinger could only hold on for the ride the best he could. His head was spinning, hazy, and though his thighs began to ache from the constant position, he was lost in bliss. He never thought he'd be here, making love with the redhead, but it was true.... The love the older man had for him was undeniable. "Me bird, me beautiful pet...." Voice husky, his back arched and he growled his pleasure as the younger clenched tight around him, the blond' toes curling where his legs were wrapped around the others body.

Keep the beast at bay, the Lord reminded himself, even as his sharp teeth slid into view. He wouldn't change, not fully, but the scent of heat, sweat, and skin between them made his animal salivate. He couldn't hold back from wanting at least a taste, teeth sinking into a spot high on Dustfinger's shoulder before he could stop himself. "Oh fuck!" It stung, but clashed with the pleasure to the point the pain didn't matter. He was completely lost in Cockerell, just as the older man was utterly lost in him. Each thrust built up the grinding lust, burning hot, and the Lord of the manor wasn't sure if he could handle much more. Copper dripped into his mouth, and he was careful not to crunch straight through or tear, not his pretty bird. He only wanted to taste, to mark, to claim, not kill. He breathily licked at the spot as his hands finally released the ones he'd restrained. Gripping Dustfinger's trembling thighs he tilt the man's hips and began to completely bear down into him.

His sweet spot was hit perfectly on the second thrust, and the blond jerked back his head with a cry of ecstasy. His fingers fumbled along the lightly scarred and tattooed back, and the man making love to him growled when he clenched up. "There, oh, please there.... I'm g-getting close.." Hearing such a stilted and needy tone made the older man groan, one of his hands reaching between them to wrap around Dustfinger's neglected cock, slick with precum and red with restraint. The rhythm was breaking, as the blond coaxed his warden's lips back to his own, where they swallowed one anothers moans and breaths. He wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer and he wanted to get his partner there, fingers jerkily caressing over the pretty cock in his hold. Heat burned in his gut, and after one more tight clench around his shaft within the wet heat he lost it. Cockerell pulled his lips away from the kiss, roaring his release, his body completely tensing up as a shudder wracked through him. He hadn't wanted to spill first but it was no surprise he was, it had been a long time. "Fuckin' hell... Dust! Ah love!" Warm cum filled the firedancers body, causing him to give a bit of an undignified squeal, before his hand clasped over kiss bitten lips with a slight of embarrassment.

"Ah.... Ah fuck... Sorry... S-sorry.." Cockerell stumbled on words breathily, dazed from his orgasm, but after taking a moment to collect himself, his hand started up the ministrations once more. He wasn't about to leave the pretty boy hanging when he was so close after all, that would just be rude, and he wanted to see his lovers pleasure. He shifted his hips again and grinded up into that sweet spot the best he could, thumb stroking over the youngers tip at the same time. It was all the blond needed before he too fell from the precipice, fingers yanking at the sheets above his head when his own warm release made a mess between their bodies, his toes curling as a loud moan passed from pinkened lips. The pair of men collapsed together onto the black bed dressing, the Lord in that moment wanting only to stay inside his lover for as long as he could, and laying his weight atop the performer. The exhaustion was heavy in their limbs, but he managed to turn his head and kiss along the bite mark he'd left, the blood already ceasing it's light flow. "Mmm..." A trembling hand moved to rest on the back of his head, blue green eyes already starting to drop closed. "Ah... Dusty... I love ya..." Hardly a whisper, the younger man couldn't catch them before he was passing out, though such words wouldn't hold disgust or rage for him.... Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Silence, besides the crackle of the fire, tended by the manor through the evening. The dim glow of dawn fell ever so slightly passed the damaged curtains, onto the black stone flooring and blood red rugs. His sleepy gaze just stared ahead, mind catching up with the last twelve hours or so. He lay on his side, black blankets pulled up under his arms. Feeling so warm, content and comfortable, he was almost falling back into the grip of sleep. Gentle fingers caressed his shoulder in a half absentminded manner, and he knew his bed partner had probably been awake for some time now..... He'd honestly had yet to see the Lord actually sleeping, and hoped he hadn't been suffering nightmares again. A sleepy smile quirked on Dustfinger's lips then as he felt a kiss pressed to the back of his neck, his golden hair moved aside by the long fingered hand. He felt giddy, and mayhaps even a little crazy but there was no anger or upset burning in his body anymore. The night before had been intense, but incredible.

"I'd worried last night was jus' a vivid dream..." Cockerell's voice was a low toned rasp as his hand paused in it's caress to simply rest on the performers bicep. "When I woke, I though' fo' jus' a moment me mind had toyed with me...." Dustfinger turned over on his back, meeting the older man's eyes, before his warm palm cupped his cheek. "I'm here Rell.... I'm real." The redhead then pressed into the hand, his eyes drooping to half lids, and he swore he could hear the rumbling of a deep purr. Leaning down the older man then kissed him, his younger partner returning it in kind, gently. Moving his other arm, Dustfinger suddenly flinched in slight pain, a whine gently muffled between their lips. Parting, the Lord eased his left arm back into the blankets. "Righ'... Sorry bout tha'..." The performer couldn't think for a moment why he was hurting, but realization came and he felt immediately foolish, the bite mark of course. Ow, that's right Cockerell had bitten his shoulder after he told him not to hold back.... Dustfinger, you idiot... What had he been thinking saying that? Right... He hadn't been thinking, he'd been lost in the moment.

"You'll be alrigh' love, jus' gonna smart fo' a bit." The tone of his voice was reassuring and Dustfinger did his best to relax despite the man's staring. Rell's gaze was fixed on the mark he'd left, his fingers touching around the edge with a careful and affectionate motion. It might well scar, and he couldn't help the flip of possessiveness that clenched in his gut at the thought. His firebird, he'd made sure of that now. Shifting, the redhead lay himself back down, resting his head against the blond's uninjured shoulder. Slight amusement quirked at the edge of the younger man's lips, apparently they weren't getting out of bed yet.... He couldn't say he was displeased by the notion of staying there for a while. As he lay among the dark bed clothes, he drifted in and out of sleep, dozing for a time before his green blue hues opened again. "She's me mum.... Was me mum..." The voice gave him a small jolt of surprise, gaze casting over to the Lord where he was still lying his head against his shoulder.

He'd thought perhaps the other had fallen asleep as well, he'd been so quiet for some time. As his own half asleep brain caught up to the words, he couldn't discern what was being referenced, until Cockerell spoke again, and it clicked into place. "The portrait up the stairs." His mother, that's why he looked so much like the woman. A small frown marred Dustfinger's lips, brows furrowing.... 'Was' his mother... In the past tense. He wasn't sure if he should say something, if he should ask.... Or if breaking the man's thought process would cause him to close up again. He needn't worry though, because it seemed his lover was in a sharing mood.... Possibly because Dustfinger was in fact now his lover. "Me mum was a witch.... I grew up with everyone fearin' an' hatin' us..." The redhead moved, sitting up a bit against the pillows and stretching out his legs more with a small grunt. "A magic user had power here in those days. He had a title, money, referred ta as an alchemist by the bastard manipulated public... Less scary word for people I suppose, than witch..." He shook his head with a scoff of distaste, and the concern on the blond's features grew. This story was bad, he could tell.... And he wondered how much the man would be able to express then and there.

"She was..." Cockerell took a shuddering breath, and the firedancer turned on his side to rest a comforting hand on the man's scarred chest, showing he was there for him and listening. "....a beautiful woman, so kind, carin', she taught me so much about life, love.... I adored her, she was one a the only truly decent people I knew.... Everyone else hated, and feared her so fuckin' much an' they didn' even know a damn thing bout her.... she raised a good n' gentle lad, but they.... made me this... Fuck... I made me this...." The younger man's heart clenched, as the Lord pinched the bridge of his nose trying to recollect himself. He could hear the waver in that voice, shaking between anger and sorrow. He gave him all the time he needed, his fingers moving to link with the others pale long digits. He could tell how much this was taking out of the other attempting to explain things, but it felt so nice to hear it, to finally get on the path towards the mysterious beast being solved.

He felt the older man squeeze his hand for comfort, and a slight smile came to his lips, glad he could be that for him. "What was her name?" Though he asked the question in the vulnerable moment, a small part of him was worried there would be anger, however he immediately mentally chastised himself.... Rell wouldn't let his rage get the best of him anymore.... Right? Well he'd try. "Minerva.... Her name was Minerva...." Heartbreak was there, instead of rage. They really were at ease with one another now, and he felt privileged that Cockerell was trusting him with fully opening up, finally. "She taught me how ta read, write, bout plants, tarot cards, skryin', an how ta talk ta ravens..." A half sad smile tugged at the redhead's lips, and his gaze fell on the blond. So that's where he learned it, from Minerva. "Bein' hated as we were.... I didn' exactly have any mates growin' up... Bu' the ravens, after I learned how ta get close, how ta talk with em, feed em.... Me mum an' the birds... They're all I needed."

"When you said you've known them for generations.... Oh..." His blue green eyes widened in amazement and understanding. He really had known generations of these raven families, watched them grow, have partners, tend their young, then continued befriending the next group from a young age. That was a friendship he couldn't even fathom the connection of. It was so terribly sweet. Slowly, as if he were in fact charming a bird, the older man moved an arm around Dustfinger. The blond didn't hesitate to curl against him this time, burying his face into the Lord's neck, even though the movement tugged a bit at the bite along his shoulder. ".... It feels so good ta hold ya..." His deep voice was a murmur, but heard from the others close position. Tilting his head a bit, the fiery red beard tickled at the youngers ear, and he huffed a laugh pulling away and rubbing said ear. "Oh wot? Ya ticklish. I'll 'ave ta keep tha' in mind I will." He decended upon the firedancer who couldn't hold back a gasp when the beard tickled over his neck, followed by a playfully growling pair of lips. "Cockerell! Ah you Beast!" He laughed and wiggled in the man's hold, before finally given some space to breathe again.

With an arm wrapped around the blond, he leaned over him, staring down into that beautiful face, and those bright eyes. Beast.... He'd been called a Beast by the other man..... And yet, there was no animosity in it. It was the first time he'd heard it from anyone in such a jovial and playful tone, and for a moment he couldn't wrap his head around it. Just a few months ago this man despised him right down to his marrow, hell just last night he was still frustrated and at his wits end.... And now, they were in bed together, smiling, kissing, holding eachother, and talking like proper lovers. It felt so incredible and so surreal. "What?" The more elegant English tone made him focus again on the lovely man under him. "Ya really aren't afraid a me anymore are ya?" His tone was both filled with astonishment and disbelief in equal measure, and Dustfinger reached up to stroke his cheek. So much had happened within the last twelve or so hours, and despite the slight inner conflict he still needed to take the time puzzling through.... He felt increasingly and astoundingly at ease in a way that he perhaps shouldn't, yet felt nice.

Much like a cat the redhead pushed into the touch again, starved for it, and this time he knew for sure the man really was legitimately purring, cute. "Do you wish me to be?" As he posed the question, Cockerell seemed to be thinking before he rolled over onto his back, arm slipping behind his head, where his crimson hair was sticking wildly upwards from sleep. "I've no idea..." Shifting back to lay down beside the other man in a similar position, Dustfinger actually smiled to the response he received, he'd been expecting an answer like that. It was quiet again for a time, as he collected his thoughts, before finally speaking up once more. "Fear and even hate protect us do they not?.... Being known.... that's the truly terrifying thing." The silence felt as if it dragged on before Cockerell audibly sighed, pursing his lips, and for a moment the firedancer worried he'd said something wrong. "....Hm ya.... I think I want ya afraid again, ya were less bloody insightful." His tone however was full of teasing and the blond huffed amusedly, giving the now smirking man a light smack to the arm. "Oh do hush."

At some point there was the gentle crunching sound of plants growing, that Dustfinger only half heard. Over the side of the bed a cluster of roses appeared, vines holding up a large tray with two plates full of breakfast foods. It smelled delicious, and his stomach gave a needy grumble, causing him to chuckle softly. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until food was on offer. Cockerell sat up with his bed partner against the pillows, while the vines slid across the sheets to set down the tray among the dark silk. Another set of vines then appeared on the other side of the bed to the Lord's right, pouring the two men cups of tea. "Ya ya, don' look so bleedin' pleased with yorself." He scoffed, passing one of the cups to the blond and taking one for himself. The firedancer glanced over, the cup of tea warming his palms, to see the vines were in full bloom with multiple different colors of roses, and he couldn't help but laugh softly.

It also made him think of all the questions he still had, though he felt there was only so much of the emotionally heavier stories his lover could cover at one time, he wouldn't force any of that.... However he could ask other things. "The manor... How does all of that work anyway?" He asked picking up one of the plates and forks, begining to dig in. The potatoes tasted wonderful, or maybe he was just hungry from working up an appetite the evening before. "It's obviously not usual... Of course some kind of magic." The older man ate for a moment, then took a sip of his tea before speaking. "As far as I can tell, the stones an everythin' in an about the place S'enchanted. I couldn' tell ya the true source a it cause I wasn' the one ta do it, bu' I doubt even tha' righ' cunt, Elphias, knew the length a' the magic. Anticipates all wants an needs, even if ya don' agree with em at the time." A bundle of roses lightly smacked Cockerell's shoulder and he pushed it away, giving the vines a scolding look. The playfulness between manor and master made Dustfinger giggle and the redhead melted a little more hearing it. He smiled and sipped his tea, mentally folding away the mention of that name for later. 'Elphias' the alchemist who had this place built, who the manor didn't miss, who Cockerell killed, and who may well have had a hand in the loss of Minerva. He was a pivotal villain in all of this... And yes, Dustfinger did in fact consider him the villain.

"It truly is impressive, I've never lived in such an incredible place." The vines waved about as if bashful, and Cockerell snickered. "Ya gonna give em an ego if ya keep up the compliments love." This time he smirked as the bundle of roses smacked his shoulder again. When breakfast was finished, the two men satisfied and full, the Manor's vines took away the trays and emptied pot of tea. Dustfinger was debating if he was tired enough to fall back asleep when the bed shifted. Cockerell drew himself up, standing and stretching his arms above his head. His bones gave satisfying cracks, causing him to sigh. Despite his sleepy state, the younger man wasn't about to deny himself a good view of his pale tattooed partner in all his glory. That lean muscled form, the strong ass, firm legs and arms.... Scars... He scooted across the bed, closer to get a better look. His eyes now settling in more curiosity upon the leg with the old injury. He hadn't exactly been focused on looking there the night before.

His right leg was indeed the most scarred part on Cockerell's body. From his knee down to his ankle where it faded, like tree roots twined prominent long scarring. Just from the look of it, it had been terrible, just an awful wound.... And he mentally cursed the men who would go so far as to injure someone so badly for winning a stupid fighting match. The strike of a match pulled his attentions back up, the Lord lighting himself a cigarette, and taking a long drag. "Does your leg hurt?" He questioned tenderly and received a small shrug, the man taking another deep drag before speaking. "No more than usual.... M' gonna have a bath. Come join me." The voice edged on demand but only just. More than likely, old habits.... After all it wasn't as if those were going to be disappearing overnight. "Alright, I'll be on in a moment." Dustfinger nodded to the man who lightly limped his way into the washroom, the scent of cigarette smoke following him. He heard the water turn on and the tub began filling. A warm bath, truly did sound nice at that moment.... But he hadn't been given a chance to really think about everything.

A small part of Dustfinger was telling him to leave it alone, to not dwell, enjoy the moments and just climb into the bath with his new lover.... But a larger part of his mind was yelling at him to recollect himself, to understand what had happened and what Cockerell was to him now. Things had gone far past jailer and kept pet, no there was more between them than the blond man had ever expected. The question he had to ask himself now however was.... Did he really want this? As he started to consider this new relationship with Cockerell, his thoughts were almost immediately interrupted. A rose vine twined upward holding out a silky black robe that he was quite certain belonged to the redhead. It seemed even the manor wasn't wanting to wait around, urging him to go join the man in the bath. Well.... he was sure the hot water would feel wonderful right then. With an amused huff, the blond sat up in bed and reached out for the robe. He'd think more about all this later.

Chapter Text

There was the small shifting of water, a gentle splash as he entered the washroom wrapped in the embroidered black dressing gown. His ocean hues took in the scene before him and he couldn't help but sigh, just taking the time to watch his now lover in a moment of quiet calm. The bath was perhaps a tad larger than his own downstairs, a curve cornered square, filled with hot, sage and lavender scented water. The Lord of the household was settled with one knee propped up, and his eyes closed, the level of the water coming up to just below his ribs. The fingers of his left hand absentmindedly swirled through the water, as he breathed easy. Little glows of candles gave the room a soft orange light, that he had a feeling was more the doing of the manor itself than any effort on the redheads part..... the manor seemed to have been encouraging their being together more and more, as if it had been cautiously playing matchmaker. Though the subtle satisfaction earlier at breakfast displayed in the vines made it all the more obvious how pleased the manor was. They had seemingly won.

He watched for a short time longer, before making way to the bath, the glows of amber warming the room all the more. "Looks good on ya." The blond startled slightly at the man's sudden voice, those striking eyes now open and locked on him. "Oh of course, thank you... It's quite comfortable..." His smile was soft and bashful, accepting of the compliments and flirtations now. The tie of the robe slipped through his fingers, and he lay it on the sink counter before stepping into the tub. The warm water rose up around him and he sighed in relief at the feeling, scooting close to the Lord's side. He felt a tattooed arm wrap around him, and couldn't deny how delightful it felt to be held, there in a warm bath with the man who'd made such passionate love to him. Leaning into the other man, they kissed softly, eyes closed until parting. There were only the slight lingers of cigarette smoke, mostly overwhelmed by the sage and lavender as well as the beeswax from the candles flickering gently. He'd actually become so used to scent, that it hardly bothered him anymore.

Sinking down lower, the water went up to his chest, and tenderly a pale hand moved, washing away the dried blood along his neck. Dustfinger gasped slightly at the touch to the bite mark but soon relaxed into Cockerell's care. With the blood washed away it didn't look as bad, but it would leave a mark nonetheless, something that made the beast within the Lord purr. All of this still felt so surreal, and some tiny part of him still believed it was all made up, that maybe he'd finally snapped and spiraled into his own hopeful fantasy. His fingers mapped over the others collarbones, sliding up then to run over his scruffy jawline. The skin felt so real and warm under his hand, and even he knew his most vivid imagination couldn't be this good. "I'm here." It was as if the blond read his mind, and he met his gaze again. "Ya are." He was, this was real, and by his own volition. He wanted to keep the blond, possess him completely, no one else would have him again... He wouldn't let them.

A rosy reddened blush casted over Dustfinger's cheeks as the strong hands wandered instead to his body. Intimately, they slid with a gentleness to scrub away all traces of the evenings lovemaking. The blond's hands pressed to the lightly red furred chest, a sigh falling from pinkened lips. It was difficult not to get aroused with the touches and the closeness, but the younger man did his best. When the older man began placing kisses along his neck, making the bite mark ache, he knew the others intention may well have been to get him aroused. He gave in some, tilting the others face to press up into him for a deep kiss. It subdued the beastly man's appetite for now, deepening the press of lips, as their eyes closed. Tongues slipping together, the blond moaned his satisfaction, parting only when his lungs began to burn for air. The pair caught their breath together, pale bony fingers sliding through damp strands of blond hair.

"I love ya..." He hoped the man would say it in turn one day, if he never heard it.... It would break his heart. Still though, a hand clenched tightly under the water, betraying his wish to grip the other roughly and force him to say those words. Instead, his forehead came to rest on the firedancer's unbitten shoulder and damp fingers pushed through his untamed red hair. Just as expected, no response came.... But he'd make Dustfinger love him too one day. They enjoyed the bath for some time longer, scrubbing up the rest of the way, before allowing the water to drain. Sensing their departure, the candles snuffed out behind them, and they settled themselves in the Lord's bedroom once again. On the newly made bed, lay a folded pile of clothes for the blond and he smiled gently, giving the manor at large a small thank you. In truth, Cockerell would much rather drag his lover back into bed for another few rounds, but it seemed he was ready to get dressed and begin the day.... Unfortunately.

He dressed as well, but didn't bother buttoning up the black flowing shirt he'd tossed on, sinking back into his armchair with a sigh. "May I?" Blue grey hues drifted up towards the performer with a hint of question, until the man realized he was indicating his leg. He wanted to see it? Why? The old injury didn't look great, just like it didn't always feel great.... But... He also didn't see any reason not too, he'd already seen it earlier anyway. After a moment he managed a half shrug, and Dustfinger took it for what it was, settling down of the rug to take the others foot into his lap. Gently his hands tugged up the pant leg to his knee, before the fingers gingerly ran over scarred skin. It felt strange to have someone else touching the area, and it made him realize just how sensitive the old injury still was, even after all these years. "Did I hurt you?" The fingers immediately twitched away, the tone anxious. However, the older man lightly shook his head, he'd must have unwittingly tensed. Love, yes he could say he loved the younger man, he felt it pound in his heart with his blood.... Felt it rush through him with levels of lust and heat, passion, and a craving that made his beasts teeth ache.... But this, this was an intimacy he'd never experienced nor expected.

The emotional side of it was always more difficult to be open about, and there was an emotional aspect to even this subtle touch, this exploration of his scarring. He frowned markedly as his partner put pressure along the area, but after a few moments he felt heat. There was a passing thought that Dustfinger would light him on fire, and his hands tensed on the arms of the chair, wood creaking. However, the thought fizzled just as swiftly when he began to instead massage the area with a warm touch. A milky blue gaze followed the hands, the others palms glowing with a restrained fire, only the unharming spark there. He was both fascinated and dropping quickly into relaxation. It felt wonderful, his aching bones sung out in such relief. "Hmm.... Thank ya..." A soft smile met his words, and ocean hues looked up to him. "You're quite welcome, I do hope it's helping." It was, more than the younger man could imagine, and he didn't feel intent on moving from that spot any time soon.

The fireplace flickered not far from them, and the Lord allowed his head to fall into a palm, eyes sliding to half lids. He was given a chance to just admire the man at his feet as he was tended too. Some bit of him reveled in the almost subservient way he was being taken care of..... He liked when people jumped to attention to satisfy him, liked the fear.... But his pretty blond bird had proven he was no longer afraid. He'd been joking earlier somewhat when he said he liked the blond afraid of him.... but at the same time he sort of hadn't been, because being so open with himself was terrifying. It wasn't that showing his emotions was the frightening part, it was putting his heart on the line, revealing the truth of what a broken man he was.... He warred with himself still about saying things to the firedancer, even still his gut feelings told him he shouldn't get too comfortable. That it could all be torn away from him in an instant. Dustfinger was so focused, glad to help the older man.... It reminded the performer somewhat of that story of the lion with the thorn in its paw.... But one thing was for sure, he was certainly no mouse, at least not anymore. He'd stood up for himself and he wouldn't put up with the Lord's nasty attitude or temper again, even if or more precisely, when it did bare it's fangs and toss it's horns again.

Looking up into those half lidded grey blue hues, he realized he couldn't discern what was going on behind them.... It made him feel like when he'd first gotten to the black manor, causing his touch to falter some. He didn't want to think that the man was locking himself up again, but whatever was there spiraling about he wasn't ready to share. Give him the time, the blond reminded himself....he was sure it had taken a lot to reveal what he had already, and he might not be ready to open up more. It was all about patience and delicacy, and.... Sharing in return. "You know... My mum raised me on her own as well... Never knew my father..." The blue grey hues became more focused, an indicator he was being listened to attentively. "We were never rich, but we made do... She was a milkmaid, I expect she might still be... Though it's been some time since I've seen her."

"Did somethin' happen?" Cockerell's voice betrayed his lethargy, a bit hoarse and low..... And admittedly rather sexy. "No, she just told me one day to see the world... She knew I wished to travel and she told me to go. I was worried for her, tried to say I ought to stay but she wouldn't have it." His hands simply lay on the man's leg warming over the scarring, as he got a bit of a faraway gaze. The redhead pondered for a time in silence, before perching his bearded chin on his hand. "Ya ever write her?" Well it had been a while... He hadn't done so in months, not since arriving in this town..... Was she worried about him? "Not in some time, it's rather difficult for her to write back due to how much we move... I do hope she's received all my letters." A silent nod met his words, and he tugged the man's pant leg back into place before drawing to his feet again. Dustfinger had a permanent address, at least for the time being... Perhaps he could... The Lord of the manor considered for a while. It would undoubtedly be a long trip for one of his ravens, but they were smart and he was sure they could round up some friends along the way.

Reaching out he tugged the blond into his lap, the firebird giving a gasp at the sudden movement but catching himself so he didn't go tumbling. He allowed himself to curl up against the older man, and let the others arms wrap around him. "Would ya like ta write her?" The firedancer blinked. That would be the first contact offered by his now lover to anyone outside of the manor, and he was surprised to say the least.... Then he pondered the idea of sending a letter to his dear mother and was at a loss. What exactly did he say? "I wouldn't know where to begin.." He admitted finally. The others cool hues didn't meet his own, staring off with reddish brows furrowed in thought. Perhaps Cockerell's offer was silly after all.... But really, regardless of what he wrote, there was little his mother could do about it.... Even if he did take the time to explain everything. "Why don' ya consider it.... An I'll ask again later..." He felt the soft nod of agreement against his chest before a pale hand moved up to slide through blond waves.

Dustfinger hadn't taken a moment to think about his mother for a time.... And now that he was, he was feeling understandably a little sad. Without much thought, he found himself snuggling closer to the beastly man for some form of comfort. "Ya miss her, don' ya..." Though he voiced the question, the older man wasn't bothered by a lack of answer, after all the reply was obvious. "M' sure she's fine love, ya can write her when yor ready."

Life in the manor seemed to shift for Dustfinger after the intimate encounter. However, he still wasn't sure what Cockerell was to him, and he didn't know how to ask or even if he should give in to such a startling feeling. This thing between them seemed to make the Lord glow in a way he'd never believed possible.... At least when he wasn't mocking or hurting someone. Yet, at the same time he noticed when the older man would close up again, almost silently deriding himself for having any sort of hope..... It was terribly heartbreaking to consider. It was two days later when he was wandering along the hall on the third floor that he paused, seeing a flash of red out of the corner of an eye. With a blink, he glanced back towards the offset door, remembering that was the one the furious and transformed Cockerell had slid into when he'd been at chase. Leaning down, he realized what his gaze had caught on, fingers plucking from the stone flooring a long crimson feather. It had no doubt come loose from the beastly man's furry and feathered coat in the chaos.

With a care, his fingers slid over the smooth feather, like a cardinal if they held the stature of a peacock. Drawing to his feet, he continued to the office, peeking in to see only a few ravens were roosting about this time. He watched the redhead leaned over his desk, hard at work, the ink pen scratching away between the small flutters and croaks of birds. Coming to terms with the fact he didn't hate the man, was strange in it's own right.... He should, even knowing some of his pains.... He was still trapped here... Still seen as something to keep behind glass.... And yet.... Rell finally put down his pen and leaned back in his chair with an audible sigh. It seemed he was ready to take a break, so the firedancer made his way into the room. He reached out to scritch one of the black birds little heads, the corvid happily leaning into it and giving his hand a light knock with it's beak in return. A smile tugged his pink lips up, before he parted with the bird and walked around to the other man's side, leaning against the desk.

"Look what I found." Playfully Dustfinger, slid the red feather under his bearded chin then tapped the tip of his pale sharp nose with it. "S' tha' one a mine?" The black clad man slid his chair out some, turning it so he could look at the blond properly, and perching his chin on a gloved hand. "I believe so.... Unless there's an enchanted cardinal flying about the halls you've yet to mention?" The comment made him crack a smile of amusement before he reached out, and tugged the blond into his lap. Again the performer found himself falling into the others lap, catching himself last minute and shifting to get comfortable. He still had that forceful way about him that evidently wasn't going anywhere. "All I wanna do is kiss ya... Every bleedin' second a every damn day....." Sure it was unrealistic, but he didn't care, it's how he felt.... And he loved the blush it caused on Dustfinger's features. "I fear you may not get any work done." The older man gave a grunt of disinterest. "I've always got time fo' work. No' worried bout it." That look of intensity seemed to have only gotten worse since their night together, forever between passion and devouring. Despite not being fearful of the other any longer, his stomach gave a flip of discomfort all the same.

To break the soul searching stare, his ocean hues flitted towards the desk, attempting to find a distraction. There was a small pile of different parchments, long lines of the man's scratchy writing interspersed with the ocassional drip of ink. Letters from the mayor, pushed to one corner of the desk, looking rifled through. They must have been covering trade, selling, and the towns income.... Though he did wonder if there was mention of his troupe among any of them.... He hadn't magically forgotten, though he was sure Rell wished it. His gaze then alighted on a leather bound journal and he reached out sliding it over. "What's this?" He felt as though he'd seen it before but nary in glimpses, fingers running over the cover, he then recalled. The redhead was often dropping this book in the top drawer of the desk, hiding it away on the tail end of frustrated huffs and beginnings of conversation. "S' nothin'." Cockerell was quick to retrieve the journal from the blond, before he could attempt opening it, and Dustfinger raised a brow towards the Lord, unconvinced in his feeble redirection. That frustrated huff this time was directed towards him, but the bearded man seemed to give in marginally. "S' me poetry.... No' any good. Don' worry bout it."

Chapter Text

Don't worry about it. He said, as if Dustfinger could forget and shove it off after the older man told him he was a poet himself of all things. That wasn't going away, he wanted to hear some, or read some himself. Putting the red feather on the desk, he dedicated both hands to grabbing for the journal. "Oi! Dust!" The blond gave a scoff, getting his hands on the journal though his lover attempted to tug it away. He could easily yank it back and knock the blond off him but he didn't want to hurt him.... Which was a revelation, since when did he care about that? This was why feelings could be a bitch at times. "You can't simply tell me you're a blasted poet then expect me not to be interested in what you've written." Okay, fair, he knew how the other was by now.... If he said no, Dustfinger would only be more interested, the little shit. "I told ya, they aren't very good. Jus' leave this one Dust....." He grumbled after a moment, tone reluctant. "Please?" It was begrudgingly, and roughly said, but he managed it nonetheless. The firedancer sighed but released the journal, watching it be slid into that top drawer before it was closed. He couldn't push it, he had to let Rell come around to things on his own still in some ways or have to deal with him closing up and becoming furious. They were getting along again and he shouldn't ruin that.

However, the fact he felt things so powerfully, both as a man and as a beast, the idea that his poetry couldn't be any good? He didn't believe that for one damn second. It just had to be self loathing, of which he was realizing Cockerell seemed to have in stores. The man said he'd never had friends, that the raven's were in place of any other person's besides his mother. It was sweet and sad at the same time, and explained all the more why he was the way he was with people. Dustfinger himself had never really been fantastic with people, but he still could say he didn't cause them to fear or hate him... At least not often, if someone did hate him, they already wanted to hate him to begin with, and there was little he could do about that. "You know.... You may say your poetry is terrible, however I refuse to believe that." One untamed crimson brow arched over a grey blue eye. "Ya haven' even read any, ya don' know tha'." Picking up the feather again he tapped the tip of the Lord's nose with it once more. "You feel far too intensely for it to be anything but incredible." He was then moving to get up, but the older man's arm wrapped around him, pulling him back in place before he could escape.

With a kiss pressed to his pinkened lips, the blond was then released to move at will. "Wot ya gonna do with tha' feather anyway?" The soft kiss made Dustfinger's legs feel a little like jelly but he got himself together as fast as he could, intent on leaving the office with at least some dignity. "I was going to keep it." The sway of his suit coat followed his steps out of the office and Rell couldn't hold back the small smirk that curved the corners of his lips. Keeping one of his feathers may not have seemed like much to the younger, but it tickled his beast with affection. Perhaps he really would read some of his poetry to the man when he felt more ready. He hadn't tried to do such a thing for many years, especially after the last poem he shared with a man he'd been in love with.... He'd only received laughter and mockery.... Though admittedly that had been many years ago. He did feel things intensely, Dustfinger was right about that, though if that translated into good poetry he was never sure.... He just wrote what he felt, what he experienced, what he needed and wanted. He couldn't fathom anyone would care to read the words of a lonely, angry, bastard like him.

The smile slid from his lips and he shook his head, before pulling his chair back against the desk. "He doesn' know wot he's sayin'." There was a small croak from one of the raven's, the black bird flying over to perch on the corner of the desk, offering care. The redheaded Lord leaned back over his work, ink pen begining it's scratching over the parchments once again. No, he wasn't going to be done in by the compliments of his pretty lover, especially when he hadn't even read a word of his writings..... Not to mention... What if he didn't even mean the comment of feeling too intensely as a compliment. It could definitely be an insult instead, and the more he considered that, the more his brows furrowed and his frown deepened. Just how did he mean it? Damn this overthinking.... He had work to do, work was reliable. Focus.

The blond performer slowly twirled the red feather between his fingers, his head perched on his free hand. He was considering going outside, however winter had yet to budge and he was wondering if it would ever be over. It felt as if time had stopped, plunging the mountain town into perpetual cold. He'd settled himself at a window in the sitting room, perched on a chilly sill, with the usually closed curtains instead letting in the grey light of the afternoon. He'd really only been curious what the other man had been up too, and now that he knew, his thoughts travelled elsewhere. Not only should winter have already been nearing it's end.... But he should have been back with his troupe by now. Maybe he should have even been home.... If he'd stayed with his mother then he wouldn't have been here to draw the Lord's attention, Castano's troupe wouldn't be stuck in town trying to figure out a way to get him back.... He'd know his mother was fine for certain. He shook his head to himself, before pushing back his wavy hair from out of his face. It was neither here nor there, he had to stop overthinking and mulling over what if's.... He was in this situation and he just needed to figure out what he could do now.

He also needed to figure out.... Just what Cockerell meant to him. They'd slept together, kissed, had intimate moments.... And he couldn't say he disliked any of it..... However he'd also spent the evening before back in his own room. He'd gone there rather automatically, and Cockerell hadn't mentioned it.... At least not verbally. He did wonder though if it angered the man not to have him in bed beside himself. Then again... He hadn't really seen the man properly sleeping, he imagined he did, at some point get some rest.... But every time he himself woke Cockerell was already awake. Sufficed to say, Lack of proper rest no doubt contributed to such a nasty temper, and the poor man suffered with night terrors as well. There was still so much more to all of this.... As soon as he discovered more about the man, he had more questions and conflicting feelings. The more he thought, the more he wanted to escape again, if only to rethink himself and where he stood on things better. Being out, seeing his troupe, maybe even travelling home to see his mother..... These things and more were on his mind, and he needed the space to stretch.

"Is there a chance I could write her.... My mum I mean... That the letter would arrive... Would she be allowed to reply?" Cockerell paused, swallowing his bite of food as the questions were posed by the blond at dinner that evening. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin before nodding. "I made the offer love an I meant it. Even if me ravens couldn't get it all the way, I'll send it with a rider from town instead. An she can write back s'much as she wants." He took a sip of wine, as a slight genuine smile came to Dustfinger's lips. His situation may not have been the greatest, but the idea of having some place where a letter would for certain arrive made him happy. "I'm guessin' tha' means ya decided?" Leaning back in his chair, the older man perched his bearded chin on a hand. "I believe I have, it may take me a time to compile a letter and what I wish to say however.... Thank you Rell." A thanks, it felt so nice to be thanked and he couldn't help but savor it for a time, his eyes closing just a moment before he nodded then posed his own hopeful query. ".... Dustfinger sleep with me tonight, would ya? I'd like ta hold ya.... I need ta hold ya." The man's voice sounded almost pained, as if it hurt to ask, to need someone.... And that clench in Dustfinger's heart made itself known again. "I would adore sleeping beside you Rell."

The redheads shoulders dropped into something more relaxed with the confirmation, and the younger man found himself reaching across the small expanse to take his gloved hand into his own. It was a warm and comforting gesture, but it made him realize how much the other wore said gloves as well. Granted it was still rather cold, but the Lord seemed to wear them more as yet another subconscious layer between him and the world. His fingers sought out the feeling of the man's knuckles through his gloves, running over the tops of his fingers and up his hand. Cockerell watched in the quiet as his hand was explored, the performer wasting no more time before tugging at the black leather. The glove slid off to show his strong bony hand, and Dustfinger was immediately pressing the pale appendage to his scruffy cheek.

The older man didn't disappoint in his want for skin to skin contact, the intimacy of such a simple touch causing shivers down both their spines. His thumb stroked over the scruff on the blond's chin, before pressing to his bottom lip. Their eyes locked, breaths calm and soft between the gentle crackle of the fireplace. Leaning across the space, they met for a kiss, that tasted lightly of wine and their dinner, but neither minded. Parting, they pressed forehead to forehead for an undescribable amount of time, before the want to finish supper over ran things once again.

"How long are the winters usually here?" Somewhere far off ravens croaked, Cockerell's blue grey hues staring out the window across the woods bathed in snow and moonlight. He took another drag on his cigarette, smoke swirling upwards as it escaped his lips. "Feels as though it's lasted forever." The blond had gotten comfortable across the black sheets of the Lord's bed, dressed down to a white loose shirt and his undershorts. "Ya, the winters up this way are notorious fo' chillin' the earth fo' long months. I couldn' tell ya the exact time, seems longer each year." With the response Dustfinger realized it wasn't just he himself that felt like this was lasting longer than it should. It was strange now to think of it.... As if the very weather itself had taken on the Lord's disposition in all these years, perhaps even decades for all he knew. The town so wrapped up in Cockerell's control that even the land on which it was settled had seemingly come under his sway.

Finishing the cigarette, he snuffed it in the ashtray resting on the bedside table, his gaze then falling on his lover he took in each line that made up the blond's acrobatic form. With bony fingers he mapped the long legs, caress slow before he moved to settle beside the younger. Leaning down, his hand held a level of firmness to pull the man into a kiss. Dustfinger didn't resist, eyes fluttering closed to let go. The redhead couldn't seem to get enough of him, and he was somewhat inclined to agree. The way Cockerell kissed, caused something like flying and falling at the same time to tighten in his chest. He never stopped kissing the performer until they had to fight for breath, putting himself completely into each motion. This time it was the blond that went back for more after a breath, his arms wrapping around the beast's shoulders. Drifting into butterfly kisses, the Lord eventually stood again. He slipped off his breeches, and black shirt, stepping around to the other side of the bed to make himself comfortable as well, stretching out on his belly and resting his head on his arms.

Reaching out, the firedancer's fingers alighted on pale skin, exploring over the bumps of a prominent spine, soft touch then sliding to admire the black marks stark against the older man's pallor. Rell's eyes had flickered closed, a low rumble of a purr trembling in his chest. "You have so many..." Voice low and curious, Cockerell's eyes flickered back open. "Hm, Scars, or tattoos?" The younger man scoot closer, his pink lips pressing a kiss to the Lord's sharp shoulder, before his fingers began to explore the ink once more. "Both... However I was looking at your tattoos..." A small hum of acknowledgement came from the redhead, and it was quiet again. He thought of the marks that covered his back, his shoulders, his arms. Remembered the sting of the needle, but the necessity of it as well. "Me mum gave me em.... first one I was nine... Las' one I was twelve..." Dustfinger rested his head on a hand as he lay on his side. He mulled over his lovers reply, surprised. Minerva tattooed her son at nine years old? That definitely wasn't something he'd expected to hear.

One finger ran up a line of black then down the triangular line that met with it. "Could I ask what they mean?" A small smile met his question and the other man turned his head to look at the firedancer properly. "I don' remember all of em if'n I'm honest...bu'... Protection, and strength s'the general idea. She wanted me safe, magic users will 'ave a harder time findin' me s'well." One blond brow arched in more surprise. He'd had a feeling they were more than body art the first time he saw them, but they had more power than he expected. ".... Do you know if it truly works?" For a moment Dustfinger regretted saying it, worried that it sounded like doubt of his mother's magical abilities when that was far from the truth. The Lord turned and got comfortable again, facing the younger man as they lay beside one another, thankfully he didn't look upset, so it calmed the blond that his queary wasn't taken badly. "It does actually, las' magic user couldn' sense me comin' up after em till it was too late." Last magic user? Oh! Realization filled blue green eyes. When Cockerell killed the alchemist that once owned this manor. That's who he was referring too wasn't it?

His name, what was it again? The redhead had mentioned it in annoyance. "Eliphas....." A question was drawn to the forefront of the blond's mind as soon as he spoke the name, his brows furrowing. "....Eliphas was the one who cursed you was he not?" The older man's brow arched, he'd never said that he'd been cursed..... Dustfinger was far too often far too smart for his own good. "He was an enemy of me mum's, a warlock no matter wot they called em.... An what was better ta get back at me mum than cursing the son she adored, even if it was after she was already gone. He made sure I'd become the monster they all felt I am, tha' everyone called me since I was a lad..... When I lose control I manifest inta somethin' not human, an no' quite animal... Somethin' between, some beast..." Yes, Cockerell's rage triggered it, that he knew all too well at this point. The firedancer's soft sigh was sad and he reached out again, hand coming to rest on his lovers cheek, thumb caressing his cheekbone. "If you killed him... Why was the curse not lifted? That is to say, I would have thought..."

That's usually how it worked wasn't it, defeat the evil, lift the curse? That's how it always seemed to work in stories anyway. A pale hand wrapped around a corner of the blankets and the redhead pulled them up to cover his bed partner and himself. He was quiet again, those striking eyes of his always swirling with so much, and always leaving Dustfinger unsure if he would get a reply or not. "Suppose it doesn' work like tha'..... Never really gave it much thought.... I've made peace with me beast love." He had, hadn't he? He wasn't bothered by the being he transformed into.... Even seemed to like that side of himself. The younger man wanted to talk more, delve more, ask more questions, but a yawn suddenly caught him off guard. Cockerell's raspy chuckle was followed by a smirk, and his arm wrapped around Dustfinger's waist. "Get some rest pet." Very well, there was always tomorrow to ask more questions after all.

Chapter Text

Strands of long red hair trailed through the air, he couldn't grasp the pale hand before the woman was dragged away. Her intense eyes pleaded with him to run, to save himself.... And Cockerell woke up in a cold sweat, shouting out after his mother. His hands were half formed into black furred paws, claws digging into the sheets to create tears evidentiary of his agony. He breathed heavy, and took a few moments to come back to himself, his bed partner watching on in silence and remorse. When he finally started to get his breathing under control, Dustfinger reached over to wrap a hand around one of his trembling half paws. It seemed to do the trick to fully shake the Lord from his panic, gaze finally turning towards the blond and cementing him in the present again. He swallowed and managed to tug his claws from the bed sheets, the beast slowly begining to recede, till pale skin was only left.

"A nightmare." The blond received only a shaky nod for his words, before Cockerell was looking upset for another reason. His hand urgently clasped the youngers arm, and gently turned it. "Did I do tha'?" A deep grimace formed along his thin lips looking at the single claw mark that that had been raised, with slowly drying blood. "It's merely a scratch. I promise I'm fine." He knew that Rell hadn't meant to catch him with his claw, he'd been asleep after all, lost in the pains of his mind. He'd only sat up out of the dream too quickly and scratched Dustfinger.... In truth the bite on his neck had been worse and that was consented too, a funny thought really. He felt the older man press a kiss to the cut, and his tongue soothed the area in a cat like way.

Dustfinger's hand pressed into his vibrant hair mussed from sleep and stroked through it, a comforting pet. "You baffle me Rell... You can be so cruel, so callous.... And then so gentle and sweet." His voice was soft, and for a moment he wasn't sure if the master of the manor even heard him, but the man was suddenly letting him go and pulling away. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything in that moment, perhaps he shouldn't have let his mouth speak before he'd completely thought of what he was saying, he'd only just woken after all. However the redhead wasn't getting angry, he just seemed stressed and tired. "Go back ta sleep Dust...." He stood, and grabbed the robe that the blond man had worn the morning after their first night together. It was slipped over lean muscled and tattooed arms but left untied. Turning back to the bed, Cockerell leaned back down to kiss his lover, tenderly once upon the lips "I'll be back later, jus' sleep."

When the man was turning into the hall with the scent of a cigarette trailing behind, Dustfinger heaved a sigh. He could tell the other wanted to be alone, there was no saying if he'd actually come back before morning..... But this time he'd let the other have his solitude. The blond lay back among the dark bed sheets, lifting his arm to look on the scratch from the feline-like claw. It had already stopped bleeding, it would scab over quickly. His memory danced backwards through all the days that led up to that moment, how much he learned.... But also his reservations. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the cut along his forearm, before shaking his head and rolling onto his side.

The sheets were a bit torn from Rell's claws but he ignored it, doing his best to get back to that calm state. He could still feel the phantom softness of the man's fur along his paws, the strength in those hands. Could he help a man so broken? Dealing with so much anger and inner turmoil?.... Really it wasn't his burden in truth, however these feelings he held for the older man.... It may not be love, but he did care. He could recognize, no matter how ridiculous and insane it was that he did care for the mess of a man... The beast that kept him here. His eyelids were growing heavy again, and before he realized, the veil of sleep draped over him once more. Though said thoughts swirled with conflict, sleep won out.... This time.

Outside, the forest around the manor was quiet in the chill, only the very ocassional sound of an animal in the brush or an owl in the trees. Icy blue hues stared out through panes of glass, smoke of a cigarette cascading into the air, before the stick was brought to thin lips again. The fire crackled behind him where he stood in the sitting room, and absentmindedly he rubbed his fingers over a watering eye. He was tired still, but he couldn't sleep.... Not after that, not yet anyway. Swallowing hard, his next breath came out shuttered and he coughed a bit on the smoke before snuffing out the last of it in the crystal ash tray. It was already his third, he'd lost track standing there trying to collect himself.

There was a deep pit of hurt in Cockerell's stomach, and he was trying not to let tears fall. These damn nightmares, that kept him awake so many nights, that tortured him with things he couldn't change. He wished he could, with every part of him.... Go back to that night, change it all, bring his dear mother back..... But the beast locked within only roared it's useless sorrow. He dropped into the high backed chair that looked into the fire, perching his goateed chin on a hand, as his icy grey hues watched the flames flicker. He hoped at least Dustfinger was able to go back to sleep, then at least one of them was rested... He himself was used to a lack of proper sleep.

"I can hear ya..." His voice was low, a rasp along it from exhaustion, as he regarded the manor at large. Vines curled down from the wall, and up the legs of the chair, deep red roses blooming beside each side of him. "More dreams bout her.... Me mum..." One of the roses came to rest atop his hand on the arm of the chair, the best the manor could do of a consoling touch, but Cockerell knew to take it for what it was implied as. It was one of the rare times he didn't mind the consoling. They knew him, and knew well when it was welcome and when he'd rather not be bothered. "Ya think I ought ta tell em everythin' don' ya...." There was a huff of laughter that followed the silence, and the Lord shook his head. "Course ya do.....S' not like he can do anythin'....... I'm too bloody broken." One of the vines moved to lightly smack the redhead on the shoulder, as if reprimanding him for talking bad about himself, the action receiving another huffed laugh. "Ya know S' fuckin' true."

"Ya... Fine..." Standing, the black robe moved against his legs and he reached out patting one of the flowers as one would pet a dog. "G'night." He made way back out into the hall, the fire slowly dying down behind him at the behest of the manor, till only red coals were left to burn out. His steps were nearly silent across the stone flooring, movement taking him up the two flights of stairs. He could hear the pretty blond's steady breath before he even entered the bedroom. His keen eyes seeing in the dim easily, to settle on the figure of the sleeping firedancer curled under dark blankets in his large bed. His heart sped up in the cage of his ribs, fool he was getting so emotional merely seeing the other sleeping.... But there, in his bed, amongst Cockerell's scent.... He was purring in his throat before he realized and shook himself, rubbing at his eyes.

Prowling across the stone floor, his steps became that much more silent as he reached the rug. Carefully he made himself comfortable beside the blond, pale hand moving to gently push a curl of the golden hair behind the younger man's ear. The touch tickled, causing Dustfinger's nose to twitch. He didn't want to wake his pet, the man looked so terribly serene.... However he did have a right to know, at least that's what his mind and the push of the manor had decided on then and there.... He may regret it later. However, here in the still of the night, where half thought out decisions were often made, he needed to open up, or he may talk himself out of it with the suns rise. "Dust.... Dusty... Love... C'mon now." His hand gently shook the firedancer from rest, a small confused grumble following before long. "Hm... Rell? Something the matter?"

"....I need ta tell ya... How she died... Me mum.." It was a grim subject, but Dustfinger knew there was reason for it being brought up then and there. He wasn't sure what time it was, nor just how long he'd been asleep, but after a moment more of waking up fully, he scooted over in bed to give room to the Lord of the manor. Cockerell took a strengthening breath before moving to lay down beside the blond. He was almost immediately enveloped in the younger man's arms and he nearly melted into the feeling, he'd need this closeness for the story he was about to divulge. "Me mum an me din' live in town... We weren't welcome.... Lil cottage farther in the woods. When I was ten I met me father fo' the first time. She'd never spoken well of em.... An I knew why... He was a drunkard, an abuser.... An even with only a small introduction I knew wot a righ' piece a shit he was. He din' stay tha' day, I don' remember wot they were talkin' bout really, but I was furious he kept insultin' her the time he was there....... The day she died, was years later..."

Silence fell, he said nothing about it, only held him tighter as if he could keep the older man from falling apart. When Rell got his bearings back his voice returned, low and secret between them. "The day she died... She was out at the market. Eliphas gathered a mob from the town..... She'd never done a damn thing ta em... Even helped em when they'd come ta the house askin' fo' mixtures, spells, herbs.... I never understood why she'd be so blasted kind ta people tha' hated us... Bu' tha's how she was, she was so kind, lovin'.... An none of em fuckin' deserved it." A deep frown marred Dustfinger's lips, before he pressed them in a kiss to the side of Cockerell's head. It was a comfort, and an indication he was there and listening closely to every word. "Was near evening when she came runnin' in the door an grabbed me up. She started packin' a bag, talkin' so fast I had trouble keepin' up... She was terrified, but not fo' herself... Fo' me."

"....Sometimes I wish she woulda saved herself... Kept runnin'..." A clench in Dustfinger's chest made him swallow drily. He knew what Cockerell really meant... He wished he could switch places with his mother, that he be the one who'd died instead. However, even without knowing Minerva personally it was obvious to him how much she must have cared for her son, she would have wanted him alive and well. The firebird took the others pale hands into his own, scooting to press kisses along the long fingers. His hands were cold, so the blond's own glowed golden with warmth, that he rubbed into the bones and tendons. There was a lull in which those sad blue grey hues dropped closed and the Lord tried not to cry again, allowing the comfort that his lover provided. He trembled with so much sadness and rage at the memories.

With an eventual clearing of the Lord's throat he swallowed hard, eyes opening, but heavy lidded. "They were comin' fo' her. An when I finally understood she was already givin' me the rucksack, tellin' me ta go out the back. I din' wanna go, din' wanna leave her.... But she wanted me ta be safe, told me how much she loved me..... An shoved me out the door, kept tellin' me ta run despite me protests... An they came down on the house fore' I got far.... She didn't scream, not once...... When I came back outta those woods I was an orphan..." Gently Dustfinger tilt his bed partner's face up to look in those broken eyes. His thumb stroked a sharp cheekbone. What could he say? "Rell... I...." His voice was choked and he felt like crying himself. To be alone at thirteen like that, struggling through the world... Hell to be alone at any age, as he'd been. Sorry couldn't cover it quite enough.

".... Was only a few days after... I was alone in the woods... An the change took me, the curse took me... I became a beast fo' the first time.... Tha' fucker cursed me ta a long life with me sorrow..... bu' he never realized he jus' gave me more strength ta rip em apart when the time came... I only went back ta give er a proper rest, under the wild apple tree on the edge a the property. I couldn't stay in tha' house, it hurt too bloody much..." So there it was, Cockerell had told him all about that night. All about the loss that still haunted his heart. He understood now why the older man was so protective over her portrait, why he initially forbade the performer from even going up there. "It took years fore' I found out that me dear old bastard of a father had helped that arsehole Eliphas gather everyone in exchange fo' some fuckin' coin...... Me mum's life fo' coin. Found the arsehole few towns over livin' it up, gave em one chance ta save himself.... He chose wrong, an I burned em alive in his tavern with his precious alcohol an coin. Ya see Dustfinger.... They did this, no' me..... An they deserve the fear, the threats, the violence... All of it... Fo' who they took from me..."

So that's how his father came into it.... By making it worse. He'd been the one to get Minerva killed, the bastard that helped make him. Dustfinger wasn't one to say who should live or die... But Eliphas and Cockerell's father.... He believed with all of him they deserved it. They deserved every bit of wrath and pain inflicted upon them for what they did. With a quick movement, Cockerell was pulled into the younger man's arms again, and he went willingly, all too glad to be wrapped close. Listening to the others heartbeat to drown out the memories. He truly was in love with this beautiful man. He had been so unsure about really giving his heart to someone... But he could trust Dustfinger... Right? He wanted to trust Dustfinger.... It was warm here in the blond's arms, while the firedancer's fingers displaced his fiery red hair. There was no doubt how much time it took Cockerell to learn the beastly side of him, controlling it, but growing angrier and angrier as he grew himself. On the streets, becoming mean, and hating humans. He was right.... The people of the town had made him, they created their own monster... Then were shocked when it bit them.

Perhaps Dustfinger was kinder of a soul than he expected, but despite his empathy for Cockerell's plight... How he agreed those people should suffer.... It brought a dilemma to mind. How many of those townspeople were still alive after his years of being Lord, how many of them even knew anymore what happened that night? Was he punishing those that had no hand in the death of his mother? Instead causing the generations with no knowledge to fear him. He mentioned at one point that he'd made himself a monster as well.... So Dustfinger had a feeling on some level Cockerell was aware not all of them deserved his ire.... But he may not care anymore, heartache had a tendency to do that.

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? 

Chapter Text

Every moment that we share, is a triumph and a gift, and every one of those moments is a lifetime, complete... There is no failure.. -Beauty and the Beast, of Love and Hope

Dustfinger sighed as he scratched out a section of the letter before giving up and crumpling the parchment. He managed one page, but every time he attempted to continue his thought, it went a direction he didn't want. He was trying not to drive his mother to anxiety after all. With a grumble, the blond realized he was out of parchment in the pile and looked around the desk. He didn't try to go through too many papers so as not to disrupt any work that the Lord possibly had in a certain order, pausing only a moment to admire the man's writing again. It was sharp, and scratchy, a perfect comparison to the man himself. With no more parchment in obvious sight, he slid open the drawers of the desk one by one. He was only looking for parchment, truly.... Blue green eyes instead landed on the leather bound journal that was settled in the right top drawer, lying coincidentaly atop the pile of paper he'd been looking for.

He shouldn't snoop, he really shouldn't, he didn't want Rell to close up again, become angry.... But a peek would be alright....right? Who was he kidding? Snooping was practically his middle name in this house..... He just couldn't help it, his curiosity got the better of him. Gnawing gently on his bottom lip for a moment he gave in, agile fingers plucking the journal from the drawer. It felt heavy in his hand, heavier than it should... Or perhaps that was just the weight of what could be pressed between it's pages. His golden waves swayed as he glanced back towards the doorway of the office, but the room remained quiet aside from the crackling fireplace. Ocean eyes settled back upon the bound journal and he opened the cover finally.

A couple pages in the Lord's scratchy writing began, and he flipped through a bit. There were sections here and there scratched out, some lines rewritten into full poems. Drops of ink had forced words to be written around them, and some half written poems trailed of, losing a proper scheme, as the man's mind and heart was instead poured up on the paper over favor of comprehension. Dustfinger nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden and loud croak of a raven, slapping the book in his hands closed immediately and turning in the chair. Cockerell stood there in the doorway, the large black bird looking almost ornamentally perched upon his shoulder. Though his red brows were furrowed, his kohl lined eyes held no hint of surprise. "Ya jus' couldn' help ya self...." Quickly Dustfinger put the journal down on the desk, trying to defend himself. "I was searching for parchment... I didn't read anything.. I swear to you."

The older man just gave a hum of doubt and pushed the door open all the way, the wood creaking and shifting awkwardly on the hinges from his beastly brush into it. The blond man prepared himself for a borage of verbal abuse, but Cockerell just appeared resigned. He regretted peeking, they were on different terms now and that was uncalled for. "I apologize." His voice was slightly sad, but his words rang true. The apology was unexpected, and for a moment the Lord simply stared at his lover before finally giving a single nod of acknowledgement. He leaned down some near one of the sofa's, the raven getting the picture and hopping down to perch instead on the back of the furniture. Something crisp and icy was in Cockerell's scent as he then got into Dustfinger's space, he must have been outside. Swirling ocean hues drooped to half lids when gloved fingers slid through his wavy golden hair, the older man grabbing his journal from the desk with the other hand. "Come on then, sit and listen since ya so bloody interested in me ridiculous scratchings."

He was talking tough, showing an outwardly annoyed aura, preparing himself internally for the worst reaction. Dustfinger would probably laugh at his poetry, but at least the other would then quit bothering him about it, or trying to sneak a look on his own. With a sigh, the redhead sunk into the sofa and stretched his bad leg out, gloved fingers flipping through the pages of his journal. For the time being the fire dancer decided to leave his letter, it would be a nice reprieve, maybe help to get his thoughts in order better. Settling into the spot beside the other, he kicked off his boots then pulled his knees up, turning towards the older man. When he was comfortable, Cockerell seemed to come upon a poem that he was willing to share.

It felt like another door opening between them, bringing them ever the more closer to one another.... And it caused a small strange feeling in Dustfinger's chest when he thought about it. How did he become so close, so intimate with his warden? How had he gotten to this point? His gaze quickly moved so as not to stare and put pressure on the Lord, and it seemed to subconsciously do the trick as Cockerell took a breath and began. "Ya hold onto love like the stem of a red rose....allowin' tha thorns ta make ya bleed. Oh, ya only dreaming, afraid ta wake from the fantasy... Afraid you'll be nothin'..." The Lord's brows had furrowed and he wondered if this had been the right poem to select, though at this point it was too late to back out. "S' illusionary in itself, the world at large.... everythin' built off a fading hope. So ya hold a little tighter, we all hold a little tighter.... Lettin' the crimson rivers pour till we're weak."

"Till the red a petals an blood, blend inta one... Carried on the perfume a copper an flora. A scent becoming toxic ta the lungs where once it held contentment an love...." Blue green eyes had widened, resting back on the man before him, jaw slightly open in awe, and not a sound escaping him so as not to interrupt. Even the raven had settled themselves and gone silent, dark eyes watching the pair of men. "There's a heat under the skin... It boils from rage an sickness...the sickness a wantin' more.... A cravin' wot's so far out a reach." His gloved fingers flipped the page before he continued, eyes still locked on the words before him, almost frightened to look at the reaction of the blond beside him. "S' a taste so lingerin', so bitter.... Hopin' a star will burn it from yor lips, ta light ya up from the inside.... Ta feel a different kind a pain. Ya wish ta leave yor heart behind, fo' s' overfilled with far too much. S' swamped an barbed, hardly offering a push ta each limb, the jagged parts don' fit in yor ribcage.... Without carvin' some carnage." His mouth felt dry reading these words again, he remembered perfectly when he'd written this, how his heart was hurting. Had his life really just been one heartache after another? Perhaps he truly had a miserable existence.

"None of us want ta be alone, we all want something worth it.... Want something real. Do we hold too much? Or no' enough? Givin' so much of ourselves wrapped in ribbons an' bows.... ready ta be torn apart an' discarded. Shadows of feelins' uttered, offer no consolation.... Mere words will never cease the flow of blood, nor the ache tha' this world an s' empty stagnancy a lies brings..." Trailing off, Cockerell let the words hang in the air before he swallowed. Though after a moment he heard the first sniffle and gave his firebird attention, shocked to see the man wiping away tears. "Forgive me... Sorry.... I truly loved it... Though it was very sad, though still beautiful." He wiped away the last of his tears and took a breath, but suddenly the older man was kissing him. Dustfinger was thrown off guard for a moment, but melted into the kiss, a hand coming to rest on the black clad chest, while a gloved hand caressed his cheek.

There was no laughter, or mocking.... Dustfinger had listened deeply to each word and let it touch his heart in a way Cockerell had never experienced with another. He hoped it was real, that the blond wasn't just pretending because he had to.... Because he felt it the proper thing to do. He'd wanted this for so long, to have someone hear his words and feel something.... Something real, without mocking or pushing it off as ridiculous. When finally he'd had his fill of his bird's sweet lips, and air called for their lungs, they parted. His eyes were heavy lidded, and the younger man swallowed, his hand moving to hold the redheads cheek, thumb absentmindedly stroking through his vibrant beard. "I knew you would write beautifully...." The older man opened his lips to speak, but the pair was interrupted by the office window opening, and another of the large black birds flying in. The raven croaked loudly and landed on the desk, rolled parchment tied to their leg.

The Lord of the Manor growled in annoyance seeing the papers, leaving his journal on the arm of the sofa as he drew himself back to his feet. He limped to the bird and untied the paperwork before rolling out the pages. "That blasted old fool, he's lucky I still need him or I'd have ripped his skull from his skin long ago." The very vivid imagery caused Dustfinger to flinch slightly as he had no doubt in his mind that the beastly man could well accomplish such a thing if he really wanted to. The contrast of such words against the ache of his poetry and their intimate moment, always caused a mental spin. "You know....you could stand to be nicer to the mayor, he does help you in keeping things going..." The defense of Godfrey caused a sharp red brow to arch over one crystal blue eye, the older man looking back over his shoulder with an incredulous scoff. "Wot do ya care? He kidnapped ya fo' me."

Dustfinger's eyes grew disappointed and a touch sad. His gaze had always been rather emotive, it was something Cockerell noticed from the moment they'd met. The defiance, the fear, the sadness, he wasn't able to hide anything when their eyes met. ".... Out of fear of you, Rell... All I'm saying is if you start being nicer to him, you may be surprised how much smoother things can go." Upset burned in the Lord's chest, his own gaze falling back to the parchment in his hand. Since when did his lover give a damn about that foolish old man? He didn't understand why the younger man would forgive a cowardly pathetic.... His thought process was cut off and his slightly fanged teeth clenched behind his lips..... It didn't matter. With a noncommittal grumble, he pointed towards the windows indicative, which opened once more with the wordless askance. The raven on the desk took flight, followed by the other who was perched upon the couch.

The blond man was startled a moment as he'd actually forgotten about the other bird, watching them both leave the manor, window closing behind and locking. A pain clenched in his chest watching them fly free through the greyish winter skies, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He could ask... He wanted to ask... But the words got caught on his tongue and dissolved. No, he knew the answer without asking, even if Cockerell did love him. In fact because the man loved him, he wasn't leaving. Blinking a couple times, he stiffled a sniffle and leaned to pick up a black feather that had fallen to the floor with the departure of the ravens. It was shiny and sleek, catching the light as he gently spun it between his fingers. "I'm feeling a tad tired Rell... I'll finish my letter later." Standing, the firedancer made way to the redhead's side. He leaned up a bit to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you... For sharing, for trusting me.... Your poetry is beautiful." Rell turned at the kiss and his shoulders drooped in relaxation, free hand wrapping around Dustfinger's waist. "I'll keep it here for ya." He promised.

As the beastly man was left relatively alone he dropped the paperwork onto his desk, leaning against his balled fists. Damndable Godfrey, who had made a decision to drag that rat into his home.... He knew Dustfinger still thought about it... As did he, that fucking hug. The way his pet clung to Castano.... It was infuriating. None in Godfrey's family had been so bold as to go against him like that, but he'd had to reprimand the old fool often in their time working together. He'd messed up demands in the past, fallen behind schedule, and now he was making decisions for himself, and the town. In his view he himself had every right to treat the old man as he did.... But Dustfinger, the bleeding heart that he was.... Cockerell grumbled to himself and set the younger man's letter to the side, before taking up the chair at his desk. He leafed through the tax, and shipment papers with gloved fingers, before grabbing up an ink pen.

As he began reading through, he took up a clean piece of parchment to begin his reply. A voice in his memory caused a pause however, something familiar, with a thick accent not unlike his own but smooth and sure. "Cockerell me lovely lad, ya are a wonderous soul... Ya have it in ya ta be so kind, don' let them make ya mean." Milky blue eyes closed and he let out a long breath in an attempt to collect himself. He remembered his mother saying those words to him... He was seven at the time, and he'd been angry about the other children in the town mocking and bullying the two of them, so angry he'd bloodied his knuckles by punching the bark of a tree....however, it was a bit late for such advice... He'd become more than mean at this point. Why would he start being kind now? After all they'd done to her, to him.

Perhaps.... He could try, for Dustfinger.... It would make the other happy wouldn't it? Cockerell rolled his eyes and lay back in his chair, sinking down some. "S' bloody fucking ridiculous...." He scoffed, a rose vine working its way down the wall before curling up the chair. "Wot exactly would I fuckin' do? Invite em ta supper? Tha's laughable." The scent of roses hit him and he didn't even have to look over to know the manor was agreeing with that suggestion rather exuberantly. "Yor jus' as bad as the birds." The Lord's face dropped into something deadpan. With seething great reluctance the man pulled another piece of parchment from the drawer, and began to pen up an invite. What the hell was he doing? Well at least he could speak business with the old fool face to face.

Chapter Text

Illiria had been terribly confused when her husband hugged her as tightly as he had before donning his coat, top hat, and scarf. It wasn't the first meeting he'd had with the Lord of the Black Manor.... However he hadn't needed to go to said manor as often until recently. He'd always come back home, so perhaps she'd in turn come to take advantage of the fact that he always would. Like others in the town she held a healthy fear of the redheaded man, but she had a faith deep inside that Godfrey would always come back to her, even if he were a little scathed in the process, he was important to the town after all. She was sad that he wouldn't be joining her for dinner, but it was always best to do as the beastly Lord bade, even if an invitation to dinner was decidedly out of character for him. The older woman had been included as well, which was another confusing offer from the bad tempered redhead, but perhaps all of this had something to do with that blond firedancer who her husband had taken to the manor.

As Illiria waved to her husband, holding her shawl about her shoulders, she attempted to offer him a reassuring smile. However he seemed far too preoccupied with stress to return it, he did however give her one last look and a wave before making his way off down the cobblestone street. When he was out of sight into the dim of the evening she closed the door so no more cold air could travel in.

He was going to die, this was it, wasn't it? Godfrey looked at his pocket watch, frowning deeply, would it be inappropriate to turn up late for ones execution? Should he have given his wife more of a proper goodbye? Would the Lord eat him? He'd finally crossed the line, inviting Castano to see Dustfinger was too much for the beastly man. It had been a foolish idea, he knew that, but he'd still done it....... Castano had just wanted to see him so badly, everyone in the troupe had, but he knew taking near everyone to the Black Manor might well have sealed all their fates then and there. With a reluctant sigh he wrapped his scarf around his neck, and buried his face into it before heading down the street.

The torches on either side of the black door sprang to life with his arrival later on at the Black Manor. The sun had already completely set, and the colder temperatures of night closed in. Godfrey slid from the saddle of his horse and glanced around uncertain, not wanting to leave the poor animal in said cold. A sudden tap on his shoulder however startled him and he spun around only to see one of the rose vines of the manor. This manor was so strange, from the torches that had led him and the men the evening they brought Dustfinger, to those seemingly sentient rose vines.... The magic of this place was questionable. He'd become so unsure if he ought to fear the castle like home itself.

So lost in his thoughts and nervousness the portly man didn't even notice right away when the reins were taken from him. His horse was led away to a warm looking stable that he'd never seen before..... Had it always been there? "What... Oh...Th-thank you..." The mustached man eyed up the heavy doors again, swallowing hard. Approaching, there was no need to bother knocking as it opened before him, showing the hall lit by candles and torch light. However, he seemed to linger far too long for the taste of the manor and he was nudged inside with a generous shove from some rose vines, his tophat and scarf yanked from his person and spinning him in a circle before he could comprehend what had happened. The older man released a flustered sound as the doors closed into place with a bang, and his gloved hands moved to fix the greyed mop of hair atop his head. "Godfrey..... Bout fuckin' time ya showed up." So, he was late after all.... But then again, the Lord of the manor probably would have snapped with the given annoyed tone regardless of his arrival time.

Dustfinger had been genuinely surprised when Cockerell told him they'd have a guest for dinner.... A guest of all things, in the Black Manor. It sounded insane considering the man's temperament. Though when the redhead continued on to reveal that it was Mayor Godfrey, the blond did his best to hide the smile that wanted to twitch across his lips. This was an opportunity for the beastly man to attempt being pleasant with the mayor that did so much for him. Attempt was definitely the word, he knew it would be an endeavor to have a calm and civil dinner.... But if he was there, hopefully he could control the situation a bit, or at least calm his lover.

"Good evening Mayor Godfrey." The firedancer smiled softly as the greyed man stepped into the dining room. His hazel eyes were wide, flicking around the room to take in as much as possible. Dustfinger remembered his first time getting a proper look around as well, and how astounded he too was by the splendor. Finally the mayor centered his attention on the blond and nodded in greeting. "... Mr. Dustfinger, y-you look well..." He tensed up suddenly, sinking in on himself as the tall shadow of Cockerell fell over him, only for the redhead to point firmly towards where he'd sit with a gloved hand, not a word escaping him. So as not to draw any more ire, the man scrambled towards his seat and settled in just as silent. A grunt escaped him however when some rose vines twined down the wall to push in his seat rather forcefully.

Dustfinger took up his own seat much more elegantly, but the small smile on his lips was cordial towards the mustached man. "My thanks Mayor Godfrey." Their guest swallowed hard as the seat directly across from him was taken up by the Lord of the manor. In between one moment and the next, the once empty table was overflowing with dishes of rich looking foods, the plates before them filled with a serving of each. Godfrey had to blink a few times, his hands resting on the table top and feeling as though he suddenly didn't know what to do. That trick.... No, that magic... Astounding. A black gloved hand lifted the bottle of wine, icy blue hues never leaving the old fool across from him as he filled both their cups. His gaze only moved to land on his beautiful bird, offering wine that was gently declined in favor of a warm apple cider.

The redhead set down the bottle before grabbing up his knife and fork. It was quiet for a time outside of the movement of silverware and the ocassional crackling from the large fireplace. "So... Mr. Godfrey, I thought your wife would be joining us this evening?" Dustfinger spoke up after a few moments, so as to break the awkward silence and maybe just maybe get the conversation going. Godfrey shakily set down his cup of wine after taking a drink, hoping it would calm his nerves, even marginally. Perhaps he wasn't going to be killed after all? "Ah yes, well she wanted to attend, however she's just recently been sick and the cold would only aggravate her healing I'm afraid." There was a rough grunt of acknowledgement from the Lord and he licked his teeth. "Guess ya needed tha' coin after all eh?" He received a shaky nod, though Godfrey didn't look pleased at the memory of having to take the money for kidnapping Dustfinger.

"... Lord Cockerell..." The old mayor cautiously spoke up after a moment, nervous but curious all the same. "If I may ask... Why ever did you invite me to dinner?" So far it seemed as though the master of the manor had no intention of killing him... Unless of course this was actually his last meal. "I realize I've angered you, and overstepped..." Dustfinger cringed as the man was interrupted by a crunch of metal. Cockerell took the bent and mangled fork from his mouth and tossed it onto the table.... Well he'd never seen that before, and Godfrey just looked more terrified of speaking at all. "Ya always gotta ask unneeded questions... Then ya went n' brought up shit I certainly hadn't forgotten bout... I'm tryin' ta be nice, don' push me, tha' can change real quick like." Immediately the blond reached over to hold the redhead's gloved hand in his, hoping to calm him down. Meanwhile, a new fork appeared beside Cockerell's plate.

Godfrey swallowed hard and quickly nodded. "Of course, my mistake Lord Cockerell, deepest apologies." He quickly went back to his own plate of food, content to only speak when spoken too if it kept him alive. Despite Dustfinger's hand in his own, frustration boiled under the surface, barely kept with a lid. Why did his lover believe he needed to be nice to this old fool? He was part of that town.... That damned town.. He picked up the new fork and went back to his own food, faintly feeling the gaze of pretty ocean eyes on him. Sad, but pleading. Damn it.... He knew what his pet wanted, he wanted him to converse with Godfrey, wasn't inviting him to dinner, and not killing him enough? His gloved hand wrapped around the one resting atop his own, the motion not going unnoticed by their guest, though he said nothing.

"Will Illiria be alrigh'?" There was a part of him that really didn't give a damn, that angry, resentful part.... But he himself was genuinely surprised at how earnest he felt in asking..... A feeling which was mirrored by the mustached mayor across from him. Maybe he just didn't want the old fool miserable and inefficient. Sure that must be it. "Oh... Um yes Lord Cockerell, thankfully she will be just fine, the worst of it has passed and she's stronger by the day." He didn't expect the man to really give a damn, but the fact he'd made sure she'd be well, was rather kind of him. "It's wonderful to see her back in good spirits." A smile tugged it's way over the grayed man's lips, soft and loving as he thought about his wife, and the firedancer to his right couldn't help but smile himself seeing the affection.

"Mayor Godfrey, how long have you and your wife been together?" Glancing up, hazel eyes settled onto the scruffy blond man. "We met in our twenties.... And married after two years...." He pondered on just how long it had been, but his thoughts were interrupted by the icy eyed Lord. "Thirty six years mate. Hope ya not forgettin' yor anniversary s'well. Not me job ta be rememberin' tha'." Godfrey was dumbfounded seeing a slight smirk on the bearded man's lips.... And had to take in the startling fact that the terrifying Lord Cockerell had just made a joke with him. Dustfinger's lips twitched up in amusement, when their guest finally found his words again. "Your memory truly is impeccable Lord Cockerell, you are very right."

Thirty six years, a long marriage, it seemed Godfrey had found his true love. Though thinking about it made his gaze fall onto Rell again. The fact he knew that.... It reminded Dustfinger just how old he technically was, and yet still looked young, hardly late thirties or maybe early forties, as if the clock had stopped for him. Would he be this way forever? Glacial blue hues settled on him questioningly but he gently shook his head to indicate nothing was wrong. Rell, though looking unconvinced, he didn't push the subject.... Whatever it may be. They had company after all, and he'd rather not talk anything personal with the foolish mayor. Dustfinger wanted to ask how his friends were, he wanted to ask if it was at all possible to see them.... But he knew that wouldn't go over well. Cockerell's possessive streak wouldn't allow such a thing, so that heavy weight between them would continue to go unspoken for now.

Dinner continued on fairly silent after that, until the state of things in the town was brought up. Godfrey expressed that the trading was doing fine, that taxes were being covered with no problems, but he paused for far too long when asked if anything else was wrong. "Do I need ta handle somethin'?" The beastly Lord's voice was level but serious, as he took a drag from his after dinner cigarette. His legs crossed as he leaned back in his seat, deceptively appearing relaxed. Dustfinger knew him all too well though by now, he was coiled tightly, ready to jump to his feet if it was needed. It seemed Godfrey was very aware of this as well, while he sipped at the cup of coffee that the manor had given him. It would warm him and keep him awake on the ride home, this manor truly thought of everything. "I'm certain it's nothing sir, I ought to be able to handle it."

"Ya, ya ought ta... Bu' ya' 'ave disappointed me before." He tapped ash off his cigarette into the crystal ash tray, and the mayors face fell. Admittedly, the pretty blond couldn't help but feel a bit bad for him. Rell brought up the man's missteps so often, it was no wonder he was so timid.... Well that and how intimidating the beastly side of said man was. "I'm sure Godfrey can handle it, you need only step in should it become unmanageable." He tried his best to assure his lover, reaching over to take his gloved hand for the second time that evening, this time however the redhead put up slight resistance before finally allowing his stubborn lover to take his hand in both his own. The mayor had remained wisely quiet during the interaction, before those milky blue eyes settled on him again. "Fine.... Write me, an don' fuck anythin' up. The second it escalates, I'll be comin' inta town an' handling it meself."

Cockerell didn't like it, not knowing, he wanted to handle it now... Whatever this issue was.... and if he was honest with himself, the beast in him craved the chance of a violent altercation. "Of course Lord Cockerell, I will abide."

Chapter Text

You have educated the man, you have nurtured the man, read him poetry, taught him to love.... But the other.... You don't understand... You don't understand its power... -Beauty and the Beast: Of Love and Hope

The letter was sealed into a thick envelope with black wax, and delivered directly and carefully to a messenger by Godfrey himself. He assured Lord Cockerell that Dustfinger's letter would arrive safely and quickly as possible, though the man had demanded it as such anyway. The firedancer had finally finished it, though he'd needed to leave out some situational information. He knew his mother would still have questions and be worried at such vagueness.... He was worried himself, though more about her, he could handle Cockerell. He should have gone back home to see her, should have let Castano's troupe go on to town without him, then all of them wouldn't be in this difficult situation. However.....Rell.... He was... Well it was complicated. He could admit he'd grown a strange level of care towards the man. He was attractive in his own way, though gruff, there was also kindness in him, a real beauty.... Even if those things were difficult to see.

His new coat and gloves were soft and comfortable, and they kept the cold at bay very well. Dustfinger's boots crunched through the snow before he reached the cobblestone path, stepping under the thick dark trees that were intertwined with rose vines. He wandered through the broken down pillars and statues until he reached the large iced over pond, remembering the walk he'd taken with Rell through these gardens when they were still on tense terms. Perhaps that still hadn't completely gone away, but they were much better than they'd been. Though the air was still cold, it was nice to get outside and get some room to think. The stone eyes of the young male statue, stared off into nothingness, yet seemed filled with longing. He felt a strange kinship in that moment to the emotion carved in cold stone.

What had he done? Had he become complacent to his situation without his realizing..... Or was there a part of him that enjoyed being here with Cockerell? Well, maybe that was the case, but even that part of himself wasn't completely satisfied, because he still felt trapped.... And still he was unsure, or perhaps unwilling to attempt breaking out of the manor. It was a confusing and conflicting feeling. He didn't want to think there may be more, that he'd started to have.... Feelings for his warden. Cockerell was still his warden after all, despite the passion, despite the intimacy both emotional and physical that they had shared and were sharing. Months had passed by without his recognition, and though he hoped that spring would soon be coming and the cold would cease.... He'd prefer to enjoy the season's change on the road home to see his mother, not from behind these walls…. And spring was his favorite. 

His hands clenched at his sides as sorrow bit at his throat and he had to refrain from fire sparking up so as not to burn his gloves. Breathe Dustfinger, breathe. There was no need to get angry, that would only cause an argument.... And fighting with Cockerell was something he always preferred to avoid, even with the knowledge that the other wouldn't actually kill him. His gloved fingers slid under his collar to run over the bite mark along his inner shoulder. It had scarred, and even with the glove he swore he could feel the lightly raised skin. It caused a shiver up and down his spine, and a warm, uneasy pit in his stomach. A claim mark, like an animal would place on a mate..... Cockerell was so intertwined with his beast. Perhaps the curse couldn't be broken because he liked what he was. It had stopped being a curse for him a long time ago. It seemed instead, a strength. Sure he'd never explicitly said it, but it was more than obvious at this point of knowing the other. Making peace with the Beast had in turn become a perfect synergy of acceptance.

Smoke rose in swirls, dissipating into the air. Cockerell brought the burning stick back to his lips, his startling gaze looking through glass to the untamed garden that his lover had disappeared into. He knew the other was by the lake, the manor had expressed as much...... But his thoughts were elsewhere. The tip of the cigarette burned bright before more smoke floated away. Godfrey said he could handle it, whatever was happening in town.... But he doubted that, very much. As he'd been told the old man was keeping him updated, but he had a feeling that the other was still hiding much of the situation from him, due to the vague nature of his writings. Lucerio was a middle aged shop keeper in town, his bakery had been in the family through two generations, so in truth a much younger business than many others there. He had become frustrated, and for some reason said frustrations were directed towards Cockerell himself. What the hell the twat had to complain about, he couldn't fathom! The man had it good, made good money, his family wasn't wanting for anything…. So why the hell he wanted to start shit with someone who could easily crush him in a single paw was an absolute mystery. 

He took a last deep drag on the cigarette before crushing it out on a silver tray with the rest of the ash. His other hand crumpled up the letter he'd received before tossing it over his shoulder to join a pile of crumpled parchment against the wardrobe. Whatever Godfrey was keeping from him would come to light before long, he knew the fool of a mayor wouldn't be able to handle this if Lucerio was dead set on causing problems. It was only a matter of time before he stepped in himself and took care of it properly. “....Did ya stay warm enough love?” Cockerell didn't even glance away from the window when Dustfinger walked quietly up to the doorway of his bedroom. His pretty eyes scanned the familiar messy scene as he sighed softly, the urge to tidy up eventually winning him over. “I did, thank you again Rell.” He began to gather up the paper from the floor as the older man stalked away from the window with a nod and distracted grunt. The younger man didn't need to ask what was wrong, because he knew it had been the same thing that was bothering the man from the moment the first letter arrived the day before. It seemed Godfrey had waited till there was some definite space between him and the redhead before he was comfortable enough to explain. Not that Dustfinger could really blame him. 

“I ought ta make an example of em… he wants ta bitch, I'll give em a reason ta bitch.” Cockerell had begun pacing, much like a caged animal. Back and forth slowly across the large, deep red rug. His hands clenched into fists, and his shoulders slightly hunched forward as if he were arching his hackles. He was angry of course, that was to be expected with a man that wanted things his way, who had in fact gotten things his way for so long…. Even if such a thing was slightly justified considering his history. “Snap every fuckin' finger…. Pop out a eye…. Righ’ tosser has a problem, wants ta rile me, I'll show em wot happens.” After setting the now uncrumpled letters onto a small empty space of the bedside table, Dustfinger turned his attention toward the older man once again. “Rell you needn't do that… it isn't necessary.” His blue green eyes held a plea, and a hope. This man, Lucerio, was no doubt angry with the situation of having to live by the Lord's rules…. He had to admit he understood that to a point. Cockerell certainly had an issue with control, and was difficult to sway…. Then again he himself might have more of an advantage than anyone in the town, considering his position as the man's…. Uh lover, or pet, whatever they were. 

“Gettin’ too fuckin' comfortable if he thinks he can star’ questionin’ me…” The firedancer huffed and pursed his lips, realizing he wasn't even being listened to, the goateed man far too lost in his frustration and plans of violence. He finally stopped pacing then, one gloved hand clenched into a fist and pressing against the stone of the nearest wall. His brows were furrowed in sharp arches, and his lip was curled in a disgust he didn't seem to be able to control. There were many situations where the man could hide his rage, play up that he was calm and collected…. Then still others when he seemed to lose himself completely…. The younger man was unsure if this would devolve into one of those times. In truth he didn't understand just why the other was so angry about this…. Wasn't it just a simple fix of putting his foot down and making them fear him again with a bit of tough talking? What was so different about this situation? Though he was unsure if he should try to ask, in order to avoid the ire being directed towards himself. 

Pushing off the wall the Lord looked ready to start pacing again. The idea of dissent was bad…. He gave the town all it needed, made sure their taxes weren't outrageous, his own requests were of the bare minimum, no matter how they tried to twist it, why was this happening now? Was there a chance of this growing? He had to put a stop to it before the mere whiff of escalation. He was angry, yes, but his nerves had also been shot…. And Godfrey had been useless in calming the situation, regardless of what his letters said. Cockerell knew when he was writing hastily, frazzled, the man would leave multiple drips of ink on the parchment. His messy letters gave him away. “.... I'll show em there's reason ta fear me, not jus’ rumors.” Turning on his heel, he slipped off the pointed boots and let them hit the carpet, before his gloves followed and he began to yank off his shirt. The younger man's eyes widened, a spark of concern lighting in his chest. “Rell, don't you believe that a tad extreme?” A snarl escaped the older man and Dustfinger's face fell into frustration, knowing he probably wasn't going to get through to the other. 

The crackle of bones filled the air, suddenly and rather sickeningly. Followed with the tugging and pulling of tendons then reconfiguring of organs. The beastly man shook out his fur and feathers, standing tall, stretching his long fingered paws. Though the firedancer was desensitized by the man's transformation at this point, the macabre sounds still caused a shiver of disgust. Breathing out, his blue green hues opened again to see the other practically foaming at the mouth in his rage. Something occurred to him in that moment, though the beastly image had become familiar…. He'd never actually reached out and attempted to touch, most likely due to the often volatile nature of the other man in such a form. However his curiosity was now piqued. Perhaps it would even be a good idea in such a situation, if there was any chance he could stop the other from going off to kill someone who was merely annoyed with him, Dustfinger would take it. 

He looked weak to them, that was the problem…. Rumors and nasty threats were running their course, and if the others began to get ideas…the image of his mother's scared face flashed through his mind and he spun with a ferocity, claws ripping the doors off his wardrobe into shards of wood that were flung out into the hallway. Dustfinger jumped at the sudden movement and backed away to avoid any bits of the now broken closet doors that fell from curved claws “Cockerell.” He didn't yell, but the concerned tone nonetheless finally seemed to break through the beastly man's boiling thoughts to drag his attention towards his lover. Slowly his pretty bird approached him, before reaching out. He snarled at the movement but the other man was not deterred. “Please, take a breath…. You're always so damn upset all the time, it isn't good for you.” His hand hung in the air between them, his doubt staying the movement for the time being. The rough growly tone rumbled from the large lion like man, furiously. “You wouldn' fuckin' understand!” 

“Then help me do so… if there is more to this, I wish you'd tell me..” His voice was smooth and even, pleading. Despite the riling anger stiffening Cockerell’s figure, his hand finally finished its movement. The short black fur along the Lord's abdomen was unexpectedly soft, curving over lean musculature. He couldn't help but slide his hand up and down, in a petting motion as fascination filled his vibrant eyes. Said beast had gone completely still, no longer vibrating with growls or snarls, but appearing somewhat baffled by the touch. This was different, new… for both of them. His beastly form was so tall, big in every way, but not bulky per say. The firebird's hand looked so pale against the dark fur, as he slowly began to explore the other's body. Not sexually, but holding an intimacy all the same. Touching down one of the long arms, in two hands he took a paw. Rell’s fingers were still bony in this form, but the hand was intimidatingly large, digits ending in dangerous claws he was careful not to touch, he still had a small scar on his arm from when he was accidentally swiped. Dustfinger imagined he must have looked like a mere doll in such a grip the night he was saved from the icy lake. Those milky blue hues were simply watching him now, the rage filled tension now shifted to something else….. something curious, but somewhat… sad? 

Dustfinger pushed some stray strands of wavy hair behind his ear before glancing up to the gaze that he felt settled on him. No words needed to be spoken between them…. Because the firedancer knew what the beast was thinking. No one had ever touched him in this form, and definitely never with such curiosity and gentleness… then again it was doubtful anyone else had been given the opportunity besides himself. Slowly, he brought up his paw, the younger’s hand looking so small in comparison, with them palm to palm. Their fingers interlocked, his own nearly completely obscuring the younger man's. The image teased a small huff of amusement from his snout and he locked eyes with his lover again. With a swallow, their hands parted again, before he crouched down in order to give Dustfinger more area to explore. There was an awe twinkling in blue green eyes that he didn't want to douse, and he wasn't about to pass on the opportunity to be touched by the man he was in love with. 

Like doting on a pet, the younger man’s fingers sunk excitedly into his mane and feathers. He brushed the digits through the fur, and considered if the other would let him brush it out one day. It was interesting to think about, this beastly form of Cockerell's. A black lion, with curving ram-like horns, and cardinal feathers. A combination of three animals, a bit of a chimera in a way. Icy blue eyes fluttered closed as Dustfinger's hand made way up to his horns, feeling the hardened bone and ridges that made them up, curving at the sides of his head. An unbidden thought came to the blond’s mind as he looked upon this strange being, beautiful. Cockerell was beautiful, both as a beast and as a man…. However almost immediately Dustfinger pulled away, as if physically attempting to escape the thought all together. He was supposed to be getting the Lord to open up about why he was so angry, so he could make sure someone didn't die today. Not getting distracted, and treating the dangerous being as if he were a housecat…. Because the man was indeed deeply dangerous still. Crystalline blue eyes fluttered open again, but instead of speaking the beastly man simply raised to his back paws once again. At least he appeared calmer now, no longer broiling with rage… however looks were always deceiving with the other man. 

Perhaps he wouldn't be given an explanation, but maybe just maybe Dustfinger had managed to calm him down enough. His hope grew when the crackle of bone signaled the return from beast to man, and Cockerell released a breath when every bone and tendon settled into place where it ought to be, reaching up to stretch his jaw before his mouth snapped closed with a slight clack of teeth. The pretty firebird shoved down the uncomfortable thoughts of before and approached the Lord again, who looked pensive, his brows furrowed still. “Yor righ’ love…. I shouldn' kill em…” Relief overwhelmed the long haired man and his shoulders relaxed, a small smile able to tug up his lips. He'd managed to save a life, at least for now. Cockerell, though still silent about whatever was on his mind, began to slip his clothes back on. When all down to his pointed boots were settled in place once more, he grabbed his feather collared coat from the wardrobe, sliding it onto his arms and smoothing it down.

“How will you handle this Rell?” Dustfinger asked curiously, sitting himself on the dark sheets of the other man's bed, hoping there would be little more than threats and some rough talk. The redhead still looked angry, but thankfully he was no longer ready to put a hole in the wall, which was a definite improvement. With a determined and staunch air, Cockerell stalked towards the doorway. “'M gonna burn down his blasted shop.” Blue green eyes widened and the younger man jumped to his feet again as his lover disappeared down the hallway. “What?!” 

Chapter Text

Doors closed firm and loudly as pointed boots tapped along the cobblestone streets. Locks clicked in place and people went into hiding with their children. It was silent on the streets, except for the redhead Lord. He paused outside the tavern, the shutters already closed up, but they knew not to lock up businesses or face his wrath…. He'd probably just break open the doors anyway, it's not as if they could actually stop him. Everyone in the bar went completely silent when the tall bearded man entered…. Many even moved away to give him a wide berth. His name wasn't spoken by the townspeople, not even his title and no one met his eyes… the usual greeting. They were all prepared to flee if the need came. The bartender seemed to shrink under his shadow as she was approached. She couldn't spit out her usual pleasantries, but he didn't seem to care. Coin was slapped onto the counter by a gloved hand, but she didn't bother trying to count it…. He always overpaid anyway. It felt good, this fear in the air… perhaps he was simply becoming paranoid… Perhaps they were still properly cowed. “Three bottles a yor strongest whiskey.” She simply nodded and quickly ran down the steps to the storage. She'd only needed to look at her father with fear in her eyes and he was passing off the three bottles, then following her back up the stairs as some semblance of protection, even if useless.

 Roughly a black gloved hand yanked one of the bottles off the counter, tugging out the cork with his teeth so he could down a heavy swig that burned all the way down. The other two bottles he then clutched under an arm and started towards the door again. “Lord Cockerell!” The redhead recognized the voice, fully intent on ignoring it, but Castano followed him out of the tavern, utterly unaware of the stares of disbelief he received from the townsfolk whilst doing so. “Fuck off boy!” His voice took on a rough animalistic snarl, and the troupe leader's steps stumbled to a stop. He was afraid, and he knew he had every reason to be, he was no friend to the dangerous man and never would be. “I…please… sir..” Cockerell's bootsteps stopped cold, and Castano reflexively took a step back when that unsettling gaze was turned on him finally. “I shoul’ rip out yor tongue an’ break ‘ery bone in yor body… be lucky yor Dustfinger's mate an I'm allowin’ ya ta still breathe.” The brunette man wanted to ask, but his words were catching. Would he ever set Dustfinger free? Was there any part of him that regretted imprisoning the firedancer at all? 

“He's mine now, leave. They'll tire a yor performance, can't keep scramblin’ fo’ coin ere’ s'time ta fuck on.” His glare was icy, and even if the other man was frightened he managed to finally speak. “We won't leave him, he's friend and family sir.” Cockerell's teeth clenched and it looked as though he might take a swing at the other, when they were suddenly interrupted. Godfrey breathily came to a stop from doing his best attempt at a power walk and coughed into his arm before righting himself, trying to calm his breathing. “Lord….Cockerell. I was unaware… you would be visiting town today.” The mustached man blinked as two whiskey bottles were shoved into his hands, and he fumbled a bit, making sure he didn't drop them. “You, follow me.” The redhead snarled to the Mayor who nodded shakily, not about to disagree. The Lord then turned his attention towards Castano again, tone annoyed. “You, fuck off. We're done talkin’.” 

Castano wanted to protest, but feared it would escalate…. There was no telling if he'd end up as a carved body and a crimson stain on the street, so he backed away reluctantly and went silent. Cockerell’s long, slightly limped strides were still rather much for Godfrey to keep up with, and he had to jog after. The question of where they were going was on his tongue, but never met the air when he realized the streets. “Lord Cockerell…” He frowned, hoping violence wasn't going to be brought down on Lucerio. “I-...” The redhead snarled in annoyance and he shut his mouth immediately. “Ya swore ya would handle it, bu’ as usual ‘ere I am, handlin’ it fo’ ya. Jus’ shut up n’ do as I tell ya.” Lucerio hadn't done anything wrong, just frustrated talk…. So he'd sort of riled some others at the pub, but nothing would come of it… Godfrey was sure… mostly… hopefully. He hoped the Lord wouldn't go so far as to kill the baker, that wasn't necessary… though he was sure the other would disagree with him. 

The door slammed open loudly and Lucerio jumped in surprise before going stock still at seeing the redhead, only realizing after a few moments that the mayor was beside him looking nervous. Cockerell didn't say a word, only crossed the space between them and with one hand yanked the black haired man over his counter and shoved him out the door. He stumbled and nearly slipped on the ice at the edges of the cobbled road. “What are you doing?!” Turning around, he heard breaking glass and ran to the door only to see Cockerell had thrown the bottle of whiskey at the back wall, the alcohol dripping down and puddling across the floor. “Godfrey!” He held out his hands for the other two bottles, and the mayor reluctantly handed them over before he scampered out the door. “Come now Mr. Lucerio, your bakery can be rebuilt.” He was not having it however. “You can't do this! This is my business!” 

“It isn't worth your life Mr. Lucerio!” The greyed mayor tried his best to reason, and pull the baker away from his shop, even as Cockerell's bootfalls thumped to the back, where the kitchen was. Another bottle was shattered across the floor, his eyes glinting with rage but a glee purring in his beast. It wasn't blood and carnage…. But he always did like fire. He grabbed up the broom, tossing it amongst the puddle of whiskey and slid the last bottle under his arm in order to light up some matches from his pack. He should get some more whilst he was here in town as well, he reminded himself. With the dry grass of the broom and the alcohol it was the perfect spark and he stepped back to the main room as the flames crawled up the walls. There was an intimidating lack of fear in him despite the flames, and he popped open the last bottle to pour some out along the shelves and at the door before walking out into the street once again. His icy eyes locked on Lucerio’s distraught visage before he lit up at least three more matches and tossed them into the shop behind himself. “You bastard!” 

The pony-tailed Baker was easily grabbed up by his jaw in a black gloved hand and raised off the ground. “Lord Cockerell please!” Godfrey looked panicked now, concerned he would in fact add a violent death to the insult of arson. “Look close Lucerio, this ought ta be a clear warnin’... Don' make me return fo’ blood. Next time I won' hesitate. Remember yor place.” He forced the man to face the burning shop, the flames eagerly eating up the alcohol and arching to the support beams. Cockerell drank down the last of the whiskey, his throat bobbing before he took a breath. The bottle shattered against the cobblestones and he dropped Lucerio to the ground. Turning on a pointed boot, he stalked away down the road, leaving the two distressed men in his wake. He only heard the opening of doors, and concerned shouts when he had passed through the streets and was leaving town. Let them help, it would still take some time to get the flames under control, and he'd made his point. 

Back at the Black Manor, Dustfinger stared out a window on the second floor, a small stream of smoke noticeable over the tops of the trees. His brows were furrowed, unease evident, and gaze conflicted. It's just a building, he attempted to remind himself…. He hoped that was the case anyway. But Cockerell never lied, he said he wouldn't kill this Lucerio fellow…. So Dustfinger believed him. It didn't make the man's rage any less distressing however. He'd never change would he? He couldn't be reasoned with, not enough…. Definitely not enough to set him free, that was for certain. From his viewing post, he'd come to realize that the town was slightly farther away than he'd initially thought, and if he remembered correctly he'd run completely the wrong direction that night. How he'd managed that, he had no idea. Surely that wasn't the Manor's doing right?... Could it have been the forest itself turning him around?.... Or had he just been so disoriented by the cold and panic? He supposed it was useless speculating at this point…. But if he hadn't been able to find his way on his own, just how the hell did he get out of here? 

With a tired sigh he forced himself to walk away from the window, going instead to the sitting room. Flopping down into Cockerell’s comfortable high backed chair he absent-mindedly sparked a flame on his fingertip and watched it flicker and glow with his mild movement. The redhead claimed to love him, but his love came with heavy demands and rules. He knew the man's heartbreak had made him see love this way, and he slightly hated the men who'd made him like this. Those who hurt him, causing such a callous nature. His want to help was waning again however, that voice inside speaking up to remind him it wasn't his job to fix the man. Cockerell had to fix himself, had to realize these things, but a cynical bit yelled that he was past help….. he didn't want to completely believe that however. Cockerell was not past pulling himself out of this, he knew that because he'd seen every kind action that the man accomplished…. Even if all said kind acts were directed only towards him. The manor was watchful over Dustfinger, even more so since the night of his attempted escape. He knew the vines would be wrapped in place around the doors, and any damage would be fixed almost immediately now that the manor knew it had more power than previously believed… which he'd kindly been the one to reveal, oh irony. 

The walk back to the manor took time, the cold doing no favors to Cockerell’s messed up leg as per usual, but it did allow him to calm down some from his tense rage. When finally the black doors and raven statues came into view, a sigh of relief escaped, hot breath a puff in the air. The manor eagerly opened to the Lord, and after a small rest at the foot of the stairs in which the doors clanked closed, and locked up tight, he began the ascent. He couldn't stand being around them for long. Those cruel, arrogant people, with her blood on their hands, and their hate for his very existence in their eyes. They were ungrateful for what he gave them, their town was prosperous, they wanted for not. Yet still they whispered, schemed, pushed at his rules that were for their own damn good. The flames should send a clear message, they better. His nose led him to his lover, half asleep in his high backed armchair, as the fire crackled. Vines twined down from the wall, and he handed off his coat for the manor to put away. 

“.... I've seen the smoke…” Dustfinger's voice came off sad but resigned, and his oceanic hues looked towards his warden and complicated lover. The glacial eyes didn't meet his, staring instead into the fire in a manner that said he wasn't up for discussing any possible reservations that the firedancer might have on his actions. “Be glad e's alive… fo’ now.” Dustfinger wanted to yell, wanted to tell him how much better he could be….. that he needed to let go of this vendetta towards people that weren't even there when his mother was killed… but his lips remained shut. How could he approach such a topic and not get a violent reaction in return? Cockerell was chasing ghosts and he had been for too long, he was a damaged man. The blond thought of their intimacy earlier in the day, the touch that calmed the ferocious beast… but not enough, never enough. “S’ jus’ a bloody buildin’ Dust, don’ ge’ so upset.” This had nothing to do with the building in truth, nothing at all. He didn't want to push it though, knowing it would cause an argument. So for the time being he just nodded.

The older man, however, knew what was swirling in that pretty head of his lovers. This was about more than those idiots in the town. He wanted to leave, despite everything they'd shared… despite the love growing between them… and it was love, no matter if Dustfinger wished to acknowledge it or not. Dustfinger was his, this was real, and the other man wouldn't escape him… especially over something as silly as arson. What the hell did the blond want? He'd agreed to not kill Lucerio, even if the beast in him wanted nothing more. He gave and he gave, why was it never enough? His gloved hand turned the pretty firedancer to face him and he leaned into his space, the scent of smoke stronger than the sage this time. His tone took on that callousness that had been there months ago when Dustfinger first arrived. “You'll ge’ over it.” He then kissed the blond firmly on the lips and released him, the door thumping loudly as it swung open, his boot steps fading down the hall. 

It took hours to get the flames under control, due to it being thoroughly doused in alcohol. It was quiet in the tavern and the man's family bakery was gone, his daughters upset, but glad he was safe. They could rebuild it in time, but that wouldn't get to the heart of the problem. The problem was Lord Cockerell, and everyone knew it without saying a word. As many as possible had shuffled themselves into the bar for an impromptu meeting of sorts, something away from the mayor that had been no help to them. The bartender offered free drinks to those that had fought the flames and the companionship helped remind Lucerio he wasn't alone. “If no one's gonna say it, I will… that Lord is a miserable sod, and it's time he got his comeuppance!” A tall, slender man spoke out above the crowded tavern, and there were some whispers. “Ah shut up Arik, what exactly are you gonna do? He'll eat you alive and ya know it!” Another man across the tavern scoffed and waved his hand in reply. Castano entered and it immediately became hushed, some glancing towards him. A few women whispered about his bravery in approaching the redhead, but it was obvious he felt awkward with the stares. He asked for a bottle from the barmaid and set down the coin before heading up the stairs and out of sight. 

Among the crowd Thomas lowered his pint and burped. “Arik s’right you know!…. That Lord deserves to be taken down a few. All his damn rules, the shit he's had us doing for him…. We fuckin' nabbed that performer for him, an not even a thanks. Edmund's been a damn wreck ever since, an we don't even know what happened to the fellow, could be dead for all we know!” In truth, Edmund would rather not go toe to toe with the dangerous redhead if he could help it. No he hadn't felt right since they dropped off the firedancer, but he wasn't interested in poking a sleeping bear… well a relatively sleeping bear. He stayed quiet beside Thomas, just looking into his drink, and gently shaking his head. “But what about the beast, the creature we've all heard of and seen?” An old woman spoke up and her daughter nodded next to her. “He isn't like us, he's some sort of monster. We all know the stories.” Thomas huffed and waved a hand. “Been dropping off stores in that manor kitchen for years an’ I haven't seen a damn thing.” 

“That doesn't mean anything Thomas and you know it.” The barmaid put her hands on her hips with a huff. “Multiple of us ‘ave seen the shadows, heard the growls an’ roarin’.... That man ain't no person.” Lucerio, who'd been silent this whole time finally spoke up…. His glare practically burning into the table. “No one's actually seen anything to prove it….” Quiet met his words and looks were exchanged. He had a point, no one among them had ever fully seen this supposed beast that the Lord could turn into… only indicators, heard rumors. “If we're going to do something about this… we have to be smart.”