The Morning After [for onheavywings

[outofazkaban]

Rabastan slept. It was the first time he had slept for more than two hours at a time, and he felt relaxed. No nightmares, but just utter exhaustion from the night. Though his mind seemed to have relaxed from the lack of energy, his body was wrapped tightly around the woman next to him. He was holding her as if he was afraid she'd disappear in

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[onheavywings]

Despite all that had occurred before hand, laying here nestled in the bed with Rabastan was the most secure the young witch had felt in a long time. Tired but satisfied, she would drift off a good while after him, lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat. As the first ray of morning fell on her face, she murmured a complaint. Shifting under the possessive arm and leg, she automatically resettled and laid her cheek and a riotous curtain of rich black hair against his chest attempting to hide from a pursuing morning.

[outofazkaban]

Rabastan's eyes shot open at the movement, his hand gripping her tighter as she shifted positions. But she was still there, she was still next to him. He stared at the ceiling in disbelief, having never been with someone who actually wanted him, completely. His eyes wandered around the dimly lit room, tracing the blade-gouged edges of words that circulated hourly in his mind. And of course those voices were still there, echoing. One after another, each one with a different tone, and a different volume.

She'll never stay, Bastan. What would Bella think? They all think you're worthless, and they all use you. They all think you're mad, they all think you're a waste. A waste to the Cause. A failure.

Even she's told you this. Even she thinks you're a maniac.

With a moan, he closed his eyes, tight. He slid out from under the woman, sitting up in his tattered bed. The fingers of his right hand trailed up his Dark Mark, tracing over the fresh scars that hid underneath it.

Look at you, even trying to leave. You could cut

[onheavywings]

From the horizon of the blankets and the mattress she watched with a quiet astuteness. She had heard him, felt as he slipped away, but she hadn’t moved, hadn’t physically reacted other than cracking her eyes and watching, giving time to see how he would react.

She recognized that tormented look. Slowly she pulled fluidly forward, not bothering with a the false modesty of a blanket, her fingers curved over his skin like water, lips stopping and whispered a single soft but clear command in his ear before pressing her lips to his neck.

"Stop it."

[outofazkaban]

Rabastan felt her touch, and his eyes flickered shut, but he couldn't hear her words through the commotion. It all blended into the next thing.

Stop it, Bastan. Stop being such a weakling. Your father should have drown you when he had the chance. Your mother should have listened.

I should have drown him. You should have let me. I could have, I had the chance. He was small, a runt. Pathetic. Weak and pathetic. Like a runt pup.

With an aggravated scream, he ripped away from her hands, standing in the room, naked and frantic. His eyes searched for something, anything. He grabbed his dagger from the nearby shelf and pointed it at Lytha, "You can't leave!"