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    Fishwings
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

I'm Not From Earth - 24. Twenty Four

t w e n t y f o u r

Warmth. Thick hair between his fingers. Drowsy eyed. Feeling safe.

Careful fingers with a healer's touch traced each bruise and wound on Rover's body. He felt torn sinews that restrung themselves, cuts that sealed. Pain that faded away. With each passing second, what had been broken was fixed. Slowly, his disorientation passed and he regained the use of his senses again.

He could feel the hot, sweet breath in his ear. He could feel the bones of long fingers on his neck. He could see the emerald green eyes hovering above. They were eyes which hid nothing, reflecting the light from the fireplace but glowing with the light from his soul -- A spark of laughter, of anger, of happiness, of sadness, of love. They were eyes which spoke and promised everything.

He could hear the thumping of Slade's heart, so close that it was Rover's heart beat too.

Rover blinked, and he was alert. He sat up.

"Do you feel any pain?" Slade asked, cleaning the already healing cut on his hand with his shirt.

Rover rubbed his neck gingerly. "Uhm, no."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Rover looked around, noticing his father's prone form folded in his chair. "What did you do to him?"

Slade scowled, his expression stony. "I hit him in the side of his head. He's just knocked out. I can't believe I didn't even break anything, considering I was so fucking..." He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "Fuck, Rover. If I didn't think -- if I didn't come earlier, you could have fucking died."

His words echoed, but Rover couldn't feel the weight of them.

"I guess." Rover shrugged. "Well, this isn't the first time."

Slade looked torn between laughing and scowling. He managed a grimace. "No. Definitely not."

Rover scratched his shoulder and looked down, uncertain of what else to say. He wanted to thank Slade, but couldn't exactly bring himself to do it. Shame filled him, and he thought of how pathetic the whole situation was. Fists curled, he cursed in his head and wished that he could just sink into the floor and disappear.

Slade edged close, cautiously pressed against Rover's back, then wrapped him in a warm embrace. The perfume of rich wood, flower, and boy reached Rover's nostrils and at first he resisted against Slade's touch, but only half heartedly. Soon he succumbed and once again, he felt himself melting. He closed his eyes and at that very moment he knew -- and it would only take a few more words -- that he would give his soul and heart and everything that made up himself to Slade.

"I'm sorry," Rover croaked. He felt an unfamiliar sensation in his eyes, like hot, blunted needles dancing.

"Stop apologizing."

"Sorry."

There was no reply, but Rover knew that Slade was rolling his eyes. There was a silence, the one that they both knew so well, when they both had so many things to say, but couldn't decide which to be voiced. Rover was the first to speak.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're here."

Rover fumbled for his words, his heart skipping a few beats, then asked again when he was recomposed, "no like, seriously. Why did you come?"

Slade answered with a question of his own. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

Rover took only a second to reply. "Yeah, I... I do."

Slade stood up, proferring his hand, and the moonlight threw his figure into that silhouette that reminded Rover of the first time that they had spoken.

"Then come with me."

    *
 

Copyright © 2011 Luc Rosen; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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The limited likes is very vexing. Nice work. Trust. like falling, appears to be a continuous thread. The call back to the "Do you trust me?" theme has been very effective.

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