Note: I don't own the awesomeness that is Fable, or any of the characters…or anything related. This is rated M because of smut…or something smut-ish cause I don't have any idea how to write smut and this is my first time (ha!) writing it. This has slash… and lots of it. I apologise for lots of OOC –ness too. Enjoy! I hope you do. And thanks for reading.
The Breaking
Sparrow awoke in the mansion, his throat parched and his body sore. Alone again. There was an empty bottle of wine lodged in his left hand; its contents had spilled into the similarly crimson sheets he was lying down on. In his right hand was the Red Dragon, heavy in his palm. He briefly wondered why he was holding it, when it should be tucked neatly into his holster as it did every night. Not that it mattered. When he checked the pistol, it was still fully loaded. He hadn't fired any shot in the drunken night.
With as much grace as he could muster, he slipped out of the rumpled sheets and padded to the wardrobe for a change of clothes. Nothing caught his eye. As he took a whiff of himself, he realised he should take a bath. He took off his clothes. He preferred to walk around naked anyway. It WAS his mansion. Who would want to look at him? He was a wasted piece of flesh now he had mended everything he could possibly mend in Albion. If they so desperately wanted to look at him, they could always observe the many statues made of him. He pulled on a robe of sorts then tucked the pistol carelessly into the knot he tied around his waist. Now dressed, he walked out of the room, suppressing a yawn.
What a lonely morning.
As every morning was.
When he walked past the giant mirror in the hallway, he glanced at himself. His pale complexion would rival that of a hollow man's. His red eyes rivalled the décor of the mansion. His lightning blue Will lines rivalled … lightning. This was the result of not resting and eating well. There was only so much energy a stick of celery everyday would provide. He simply did not have the appetite these days.
In honest truth, Sparrow was just exhausted from his life. He fingered the thick leather collar around his neck. It used to belong to Sable, his faithful dog. May ye rest in peace, mutt. A kind of sharp and stinging pain shot through his heart at the memories of his best friend. There was no one else to share anything with now. Not that there was anything to share in the first place. Rose, I miss you, dear sister.
A bang on the door jolted him from his thoughts. It could be his butler, Alex. But Alex rarely caused loud noises; the man preferred to slink quietly as he followed Sparrow around. A gunshot rippled through the mansion; a chunk of wood bounced off the floor when it was shot through the door. Sparrow felt a prickle of dread at the back of his neck as he gritted his teeth in the face of impending doom. What a time to be underdressed. He pulled the dragon out of the knot, already sneaking down the stairs and aiming at the door. He could hear voices now and he found that he recognised the frilly undertones of that voice. Another bang made the door burst wide open. A flourish of red and black entered the house.
"Ah, my dear Sparrow. I've come to make good of my promise to you," Reaver flashed his silkiest grin at Sparrow, brandishing his Dragonstomper. Sparrow felt like lightning shot through his body.
It would be insane to loosen the grip he had on the pistol, even if to put on some modesty. Knowing Reaver, and Sparrow did know Reaver, the expanse of bare skin would actually serve him well to distract the pirate. Reaver strutted around his old mansion like he still owned it, touching the luxurious reddish tapestries. "I love what you did to the place," Reaver said, his voice echoing in the empty hallways almost seductively. Sparrow did nothing to the place except maintain it and spill red wine on his sheets. Somehow, the mansion gave in to Reaver; Sparrow felt a tremble of anticipation in its wooden panels in response to the deep voice. Nothing could resist the charming pirate. Nothing. Sparrow shuddered.
Alex was torn between serving his new master, and the old one. Sparrow did not really care who he chose to obey. As long as Reaver did not point the .48 on him, he could move in and have a ball for all he cared.
He eyed Reaver under the curtain of his dark hair and saw the glint of dangerous temptation in his eyes as the pirate stared down on him. He recognised the feral look aimed at him, remembered it like it was just yesterday that…
An involuntary shiver went through Sparrow's frame at the memory and he gritted his teeth. He stood up from the chair he was sitting on and shifted away from the imposing figure clad in red. Being this close to the man grated on his skin. A strong and fast grip on the robe pulled him back and exposed a bare shoulder.
Immediately, Sparrow turned, cocked his pistol and forced it underneath Reaver's cheekbone. He felt Reaver's own pistol jammed somewhere against his exposed ribs. The feel of cool metal on his skin surprised him but he did not let the emotion show on his face. A dark chuckle made its way to his ears and the sight of Reaver's arrogant smile made a gurgling of emotions bubble in his stomach. It felt like anticipation mixed with disgust. The pirate was not even bothered by the weapon on his face; merely observed Sparrow with a small smirk. Sparrow saw the way the grey eyes travelled over the revealed skin in a heated gaze. Slow circular motions against his ribs discomfited him when he realised Reaver was using his gun to trace the said circles. Sparrow snarled at him.
"Still not speaking I see," Reaver commented with his seductive smirk. Sparrow growled low in his throat, the sound making Reaver chuckle again. After a few moments of not moving, Reaver made a show of pulling back his pistol. Sparrow reluctantly slid his dragon off the cheek, knowing that there would be an indentation on his own ribs where the barrel had pressed into the skin. Alex explained that the pirate intended to stay for a while, stuttering a little. Sparrow nodded, not liking the idea at all. Reaver widened his grin, adjusting his hair with a gloved hand.
"Come now. I haven't killed you yet. We should at least bond a little before I fulfil that promise of mine…" Reaver's voice trailed off. Sparrow just noted the way Reaver's eyes sparkled when he said the word 'bond'. In a flurry of emotions, Sparrow walked purposefully to his room to throw on some clothes.
