Title: Return
Author: Danielle
Rated: .G
Pairing: Dustfinger/Farid
Summary: Every time Farid returns, he's gotten taller. And he's gotten older. (post Inkdeath fic, some spoilers mentioned)
Notes: This was written between 12:30 and 1:15 am. Un-beta'ed. I apologize.
Every time Farid returned from his travels, he was taller. Dustfinger was sure he should have stopped growing ages ago, though he had to remind himself that the Arabic boy was really only barely into his twenties. It seemed much longer than that if he didn't think about it. But that didn't change the way the boy looked at him, eye to eye, their heights equal. The next time, he suspected, he would be surpassed.
"You've gotten taller." Dustfinger smiled and a moment later he was swept into a tight hug. Farid had not outgrown that, he suspected Farid would never outgrow that. But he had learned to awkwardly return the affectionate embrace. As easily as the motion came with Roxanne, he had never quite mastered his own affections for the other man.
That was a strange thought. But a familiar one despite that. Farid had crept into his heart and beyond, in his own way. It had started on an unfamiliar world, it had followed him home and it had followed him beyond death in a way. Who had he been worried about when he came to life? Who had he given himself up for? The man who was still holding him in a tight hug. And that meant something he hadn't quite admitted to himself.
"Perhaps you have shrunk?" Farid's smile matched Dustfinger's and he was suddenly reminded of the repeated accusations by Roxanne. That was a fire that still burnt in her heart. And nothing could convince her otherwise, nothing could take away her conviction that the dark-haired boy was somehow his son.
But he would never have felt the way did about his own son.
"Have you seen the Black Prince?" Dustfinger's travels rarely took him far from Roxanne and Ombra any longer, though he still danced with fire within the city walls. Traveling no longer held the same appeal. But sometimes he wanted to travel; sometimes he wanted to leave again to walk with Farid to see what he saw. Sometimes he wanted to show the world to the boy.
"Not in a few months," Strangely, Farid still had his arms around Dustfinger. "He doesn't travel the paths I travel. I'm trying to trace everything you've told me, all the paths you described. I've seen all the fairies and the fire elves and the deep Wayless Woods where there's no sun at all in the middle of the day." Eagerness filled his voice and soon the descriptions were being drawn out of him, bubbling to the surface.
It wasn't until he was describing the ocean again that he released the other entirely, stepping back to point at an imaginary moon in the sky. Even though the words were almost exactly what Dustfinger had told him all those years and worlds ago, after nightmares and in the darkness, they seemed fascinating nonetheless. The boy's voice changed something, his motions and his bright smile. The joy in his eyes had not dimmed since that last dreadful dimming.
Night had fallen by the time the stories had ended and both men had settled on the ground, sitting together. It was automatic the way Farid had scooted up beside him, the way Dustfinger had leaned back against the trunk of the tree and the way they almost touched. Neither moved despite the cool wind, though Faird shivered after a moment. Before he could draw fire from his fingertips, Dustfinger had carefully draped his jacket over him.
Before he could release the jacket, Farid's fingers closed around his hand. And before he could lean away, those dark lips were pressed up against. Fire mingled with fire, flames together as he was pulled closer, hugged through his own jacket and not released until dawn had come between their heat and light.
