Beaten and bruised, he lay on the floor; the frail-looking, pale fingers of his left hand clutched to his chest, the right digits curled around the wrist protectively, as though he sought to guard it. As though some force was trying to tear his hand from him.
The grin of exhilaration still stretched across his face, his breath coming short, and rough. The fingers closed tighter as his breath slowed, the wide smile fading to the familiar upturn of soft lips. Lashes fell onto his cheeks, their shadows like spiderwebs in the half-light. He turned onto his side, and tousled locks of incredible shade obscured chiseled features.
A perfect work of art, but so flawed. Disgust flexed briefly over the features of the one who watched. He counted the breaths that came so rapidly... keeping it away for future reference, future punishment. How dare he seem so happy? Undeserving little insect. A pale heel nearly shot out to catch the sleeping figure in the ribs, but the watcher checked it at the last moment. No. He'd like that too much.
And of course, when the suns came, they dispelled the thoughts of the night before; he knelt once more before his Master, eyes averted. "What would you have me do, my Lord?" A question he'd asked so many times before. Sometimes the answer was better than others.
He risked a glance, and caught the amused twitch of tiers. "I want you to make him suffer, Legato." For a moment, golden gaze met blue; then the man lowered his eyes once more, ashamed to be caught off guard. Unworthy. He could still feel his Master's glance upon him; it burned him, chilled him, whispered to him in his blood. The fingers of his left hand convulsed, nails digging into the floor. His eyes traveled to the rebellious digits immediately, heart racing.
never, never touch me with your own fingers, human. the voice filled with loathing, and he felt the wave of hatred. it rang, acid on his nerves, the bells out of tune. it burned him/chilled him like the Master's gaze. he loved the way it made him hate himself.
For once, Knives decided to be merciful. Or perhaps he was just more concerned by thoughts of his brother. Though disapproval (always disapproval) was evident in that clear blue, he didn't seem to notice Legato's slip. "Make him know what it's like to feel pain." An almost dreamy quality came into the Master's voice; rather like a malicious amusement. It sent a shiver down his spine. He forced the digits to stay still, though he felt as if his whole form vibrated with the effort.
He risked another glance at the Master. Again, with an electric shock, the gazes connected. You know what it's like to suffer, his Lord's gaze seemed to say without words. Teach my brother to hurt like you've hurt, Legato. My perfect little toy, my weapon of self-destruction.
"Yes, sir," came the cold, quiet reply. Knives hesitated a moment more, as Legato held his position. Only when the footsteps retreated down the hall did he rise, looking after his Master. But I can't teach him the pain I know, can I? You taught me that... You hurt me that way.
And so help me, only you can ever take it away.
Keep your fingers off me, idiot. He lashed out with a fist- not the best blow ever thrown, but it connected solidly. Legato hit the floor hard, managed to cover up the smile with a grimace. God, but the pain felt good; the only reminder that he still lived, indeed. He shivered, curled into a ball on the cold floor; cried out when a kick was aimed at his side, and he heard the snap of bone...
Legato walked into the sunlight, golden eyes blinking it back for a moment as pupils narrowed. Behind closed lids, the afterimage of the twin stars bloomed crimson. It brought his task to mind again, and he allowed himself the stolen sin and luxury of a grimace, before his customary blank arrogance masked it. So, outlaw. I'm to teach you what it's like to hurt? Hmmph. He let a sneer writhe onto his lips. I haven't the skill your brother commands...
Nonetheless... I will do what I can. And, for a moment, a cold, cruel smile was his companion...