Just A Little Broken, Just A Little Sad
Sometimes he felt so useless. Everything in the world was so bright and beautiful and magnificent and he was dull dull dull. Unable to do anything, just an obstacle. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He couldn't... another glass.
Before the accident, or as he called it "the day he almost failed to save him", he'd been confident in himself. Even if it didn't seem like it, he was a pet- he protected, comforted, was there. And in the end of the day, if he had been good, he would give him a piece of himself. And that was all he had ever wanted. But now it was different, now he was usele... another glass.
The problem with living with such a man was that you could never be yourself, you should always appear strong and invincible when everything you want is to curl up and die. You don't want to be brought down, do you? But sometimes, from time to time, he wanted to be broken. He wanted to be held close and told that yes, he was perfect and yes, he was loved. Instead he had to wear the mask of the perfect soldier, the cold and fearless killing machine. He had to pretend he was... something. Another glass... no, he wouldn't be pleased. When was he? Just one more.
Dogs were magnificent creatures, so loyal and caring. Had been, before the accident. Now they were a reminder of his shame and their bark transformed into words that burnt and hurt and... just another glass. Then maybe the silhouette standing beside the door and the man with the dog would disappear.
"We should go home." The man wouldn't bark that order. He wouldn't shiver in fear and arousal. Pale hands wouldn't curl around his body, wouldn't lift him, wouldn't get him away from his drinks.
Just another glass. And he wouldn't feel anything. Not pain nor humiliation as he was dragged toward their home. In battles he was the master, but in real life he was the one who called the shots. Not that he cared. It was enough he was allowed to have a piece of him.
And then they would have sex. Messy and nothing more than an animals' coupling. Hard and fast that shouldn't and yet would fill him with warmth. Enough. Because it was, wasn't it. Everything he had ever wanted.
And then maybe he'd cry. Who knew. And then maybe, but more probably not, he would hold him as he broke down and he'd heal. That would be perfect. A billion-to-one chance was still a chance.
"We should go home," the man beside the door and the dog that gave him the creeps barked, tucking a stand of long black hair behind his ear.
No more drinks.
A/N The idea (semes have feelings too) came to me today in the shower. I'm really proud of that one, it has a certain rhythm that to me at least is very alluring. Well, thank you for reading and I hope you liked it. Oh, and if you couldn't figure it out, that was from Zabuza's POV.