Doom sighed. The warmth of the cave was welcome after the freezing gale outside. He pulled off his cloak - wincing a little at the pain of the poorly wrapped gash in his side - and shook the raindrops out of his hair.
"You're back."
He spun around. It was the boy; elegant and delicate as ever, skin so pale it seemed almost to glow in the dim light. His penetrating eyes pierced the darkness and though his fine-boned face was obscured by shadow Doom had to stop himself from breathing out audibly. Sometimes Dain took his breath away.
"Yes, I'm back."
Fingering the hem of his cloak, Dain sullenly asked, "How did you get in, anyway? I was watching really carefully."
"We use the darkness and the rain to our advantage. Or we should," Doom added pointedly.
Dain turned away. "Whatever," he said coolly.
"What's bothering you, Dain?" Doom asked in exasperation, annoyed that he had to deal with this kind of trouble after having been in the stronghold for less than a minute.
Dain shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just a little down."
He could tell when the boy was upset; his straight eyebrows drew together slightly and his pale lips would turn down almost imperceptibly. Dain was a private person and often concealed his emotions, but to the resistance leader he was an open book no matter what. Doom settled himself on a rough wooden chair, stretching his long legs out and putting his arms behind his head. "You're no use to the resistance while you're moping, Dain. You want to get something off your chest?"
The boy twisted his elegant hands fretfully, looking down at his boots; allowing his silky hair to conceal those grave eyes.
"I don't fit in here. I'm not as good as everyone else; not at fighting, not at planning, not at anything. I just want to go find my parents. I miss them."
Doom scowled. "Your training isn't complete. It's not safe for you to go to Tora."
"Oh, who cares?" Dain spat bitterly. "At least if I find my parents, someone will care about me."
"You're acting like a child. Now pull yourself together or you'll have to do garbage duty for a month," Doom said, voice cold as ice.
"What gives you the right?" Dain yelled suddenly, tears welling in his eyes though he was obviously trying to hide them with anger. "I can miss my parents if I want. And I'm allowed to be mad that no one here gives a damn about me!"
Doom almost told the boy off for his language, but decided it would be a little hypocritical and would almost definitely not aid the situation. He crossed his arms and satisfied himself with sharply asking, "Are you finished?" He gave Dain his best dangerous stare.
"I'm not 'finished'!" the boy shouted, fists clenched in rage. Tears poured down his pale face as he continued angrily. "No one here cares about me! I've heard what they say; they call me 'princess' behind my back, just because I have manners!" he spat. "I can't do anything as well as everyone else, and nobody likes me." The tears continued to leak out of his eyes. He wiped at them furiously.
The dripping wall of hewn rock could not have been more stubborn than Dain when he got like this: self-righteous and depressed. Usually accusing him of being childish was enough to bring him back to his senses, though, so clearly something was worse than usual.
Standing up, Doom cleared his throat and tried at motivational. "I don't know what you're saying; everyone here accepts you," he promised gruffly. "You're a tremendous fighter, and you're smart. So what if you're skinny or less brutish than the others? You're an asset to the resistance." This was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to Dain.
"I'm not a damned asset!" he yelled. "I'm a person, Doom. A person!" His delicate features were screwed up in indignant fury.
Doom growled in annoyance. "You're acting like a baby. Settle down before I get angry."
"Like hell I will," Dain sobbed, glaring at him. "No one here cares about me anyway!"
"I do."
"No you don't!" Dain cried. "You hate me! It's always 'Dain, you did this wrong' and 'Dain, don't you think these arrows could be straighter' and 'Dain, if I were an ol you would be dead right now'! Oh yeah, and 'Dain, you're a baby'! You think I'm awful at everything and you don't care about me at all!" He sucked in a shaky breath through his tears and furiously tried to storm away, but Doom grabbed his arm roughly.
"I said I do, damn it!"
And before Doom could stop himself he had pulled Dain to him in a tight embrace and kissed him violently; lovingly, with all the passion and rage and doubt that he held within.
When they broke apart Dain looked like he had been punched in the face. His (lovely) mouth hung open as he stared in shock.
Heat rushed into Doom's cheeks and his hands shook. After carefully denying and concealing his feelings for the boy for so long, he had ruined everything in seconds, one moment of weakness. He was not supposed to be weak.
"I didn't do that," he said quickly.
"You just kissed me." Dain said disbelievingly.
"No I didn't!" Doom growled. "I... tripped. I fell and... bumped my face on yours."
Dain blinked his eyes, those dark eyes (why did they have to be so beautiful), in lingering shock. "You just kissed me."
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'? You did," Dain pointed out skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Although, he seemed surprisingly calm now that the initial shock had worn off.
"No, I tripped." Doom sounded desperate, faltering, even to himself. Tilting his head quizzically to one side, Dain bit his lip.
"I don't mind, you know."
Blood pounded in his ears. What had the boy just said? Dain moved forwards slowly, deep eyes hypnotic. He reached one white hand up and gently touched the side of Doom's face, ghost of a smile playing on his mouth. Then the boy was grabbing his head, pressing their lips together, touching, tasting his flesh ravenously and it was perfect, Dain was perfect-
"-The hell, Dain?" Doom snarled. He shoved the boy off him. Dain looked frail now, small though his quiet elegance was not dispelled. "What?" he asked defiantly.
Running a hand through his unruly black hair, Doom swallowed. "You don't do that. Okay?"
"You kissed me first," Dain said, raising his chin.
"Shut. Up!" Doom snarled, fighting the urge to beat the pale boy into a pulp. He breathed deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists, shuddering with suppressed nerves. Dain just stared at him mournfully.
"Dain, this is... It's sick is what it is. I'm twice your age."
"That won't matter!" Dain promised desperately, eyes wide and pleading. "I'll do a good job, I swear. I know what I'm doing! I think."
"What- Jesus, Dain, that's not what I meant," Doom gasped. "Christ." He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. "Just- That's not what I meant. I mean, I don't doubt- Ah, God, Dain, that's just not what I meant, okay? I just meant that I'm twice your age; I'm old enough to be your father."
"So?"
"So would you... do... this with your father?"
"You're not my father," Dain said.
"That's not the point, okay?" Doom scowled. He shot a glare at the boy. "You don't do that."
"But I want to." His slim shoulders squared in resolution. The boy was close now, tear-stained cheeks sparkling, still turning his light skin into a pearly jewel though he was calm. His lips were parted so Doom could only just see the white teeth, and his heart skipped a beat. He shook himself out of the reverie.
"You want- Christ, Dain, I don't care. It's sick."
Face downcast, the boy drew back and mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"I said, 'let's forget about this, please'," he murmured, turning away. For a moment a pang of loss threatened to overwhelm Doom, but he fought it down. He plopped back into the chair, letting out a grunt of discomfort.
Dain suddenly cried out in concern. "You're hurt! What happened?"
Muttering about running afoul of a pod of Grey Guards, Doom dismissed the wound with a wave of his hand. He tried to stand up again but ended up doubled over, gasping in pain and clutching his side. Wordlessly Dain supported him and helped him back into the chair.
"Did you bandage this yourself?" Dain asked, casting a critical eye on the blood-soaked gauze. Doom nodded, wincing.
"Well, you did an awful job. You didn't even remember to make it tighter where-"
"-Shut up and fix it, if it's so bad," Doom interrupted bad-temperedly. Pulling out a fresh roll of gauze and placing it on the table, the boy began carefully cutting the dirty bandage away with a pair of scissors. Doom caught himself admiring the way Dain bit his tongue in concentration, the sheer focus in his eyes (why did having the boy so close make his mouth go dry and his heart beat faster), and looked pointedly up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the occasional stabs of pain and desire.
Dain's strong, light hands moved quickly and surely, tying the new gauze securely. When the boy leaned down to finish off the wrapping, Doom breathed in the scent of his hair and body, the scent of Dain. It was subtle, but he smelled cool and clear; like winter air in a pine forest in the still of night. It was a nice smell.
Dain straightened up. "There, all done. The cut isn't too deep; if you're careful it should close in a couple days. Now, I'll just boil some water for tea. Do you want me-"
"-Dain." Surprised by the interruption, the boy looked up.
"Yes?"
"Nothing."
Dain sighed in exasperation. "What is it, Doom?"
"I do."