The Breaking
Chapter 4

He knew the sounds of the house settling. He knew the sounds of Alex or the servants doing their work. He could easily pick out the sounds of Reaver sashaying about the building. He could easily locate where everyone was and Sparrow avoided Reaver at all costs. Since the pirate had arrived, he usually appeared whenever Sparrow expected his presence least. He turned up during meetings and once attempted to shoot one merchant who planned to close down the last brothel. He had also appeared when Sparrow was taking a bath. Fortunately, Alex had not left and he had the Red Dragon with him. Reaver merely sat on the chair then, chattering incessantly about his adventures in Samarkhand. Honestly, his presence was not unwelcome but it made Sparrow conscious of himself, constantly feeling grey eyes on his every move. Sparrow had taken to locking every door behind him obsessively just to get privacy. In some sick way, he almost felt grateful to have something else to think about besides the bloodlust. It was not better. Just different.

Being alone affected him much more than he would admit.

Sometimes, he thought he could hear Theresa's wispy voice in his head if he stayed still enough. Most of the time, he realised it was just the wind blowing through the house. Now, he raised his head up off the desk in his room, wondering if he heard Theresa calling him. It was a soft call, really. It did not even sound like his name, or any name, really. Then he realised it was the sound of soft footfalls behind him.

When he whirled around, Reaver was pointing the Dragonstomper at his chest, the most victorious smirk on his face. Sparrow cursed inwardly, ashamed at being trapped so easily.

Reaver gently pushed him against the desk with the barrel of the pistol. Sparrow snarled but leaned back, until he was sitting on the desk. The pistol was digging into his flesh.

"So…submissive," Reaver purred. Sparrow cringed. A palm made its way down his chest and he shuddered with the heat from the touch. He swallowed a gasp as he averted his eyes now, frantically chasing away memories of this touch in his mind.

Because he remembered. He could not forget it even if he tried to.

His body remembered too, shivering and quivering where skin met skin. As far as his body was concerned, it wanted this. Wanted this very much. The barrel of the pistol traced over the faded lines of the tattoo on his torso. The metal felt inexplicably warm on his skin, like it had been heated by fire. It felt like being branded. A sharp push from the pistol and Sparrow hissed at the action, making Reaver's hungry gaze focus on his face. Sparrow felt the metal somewhere at his navel, lazily making circles on his abdomen. Maddening. It tugged at him. Made him want more than just the metal. Wanting the soft pads of fingers instead. Wanting more. Sparrow struggled with this desire to just let himself be taken care of, to give in to this strangely maddening ritual. Fluid fire raked over his flesh when Reaver pressed long fingers on his chest. He twitched and a soft gasp left his lips. Heat spread over his cheeks at that admission of pleasure.

"Mmm, that sound…," the silky voice kissed his ears as the touches increased in pressure and roughness. A whimper Sparrow did not recognise as his own left his lips. "Don't deny yourself, love." The whisper brushed his jaw and Sparrow froze at the closeness, a tremble passing through his body. Soft, needy kisses made a journey up his neck while rough hands shoved the robe off his shoulders in a soft sigh. The cold air licked at his skin, contrasting the hot breaths on his parted lips. His hands hurt from gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles white and shivering. "Has it been so long?" Sparrow shuddered when long fingers trailed over his veins that glittered blue in the darkness. "I quite like that you are so faithful to me," the man whispered harshly against his lips. Sparrow hissed. "I don't even have to tie you this time…" Sparrow grimaced at the lewd comment. Reaver only pressed his lips on his, stealing kisses like the king of thieves he was. He tasted… like alcohol. And women. And lies. Sparrow froze, turning away from his lips. It was then that Sparrow realised the pistol was no longer trained on him or his skin.

With a sudden burst of energy, he force pushed the pirate away, cold stinging him in an instant. He threw fire onto the logs; they burst into golden red flames that ate the wood viciously. Sparrow ignored the imprints of fingers on his flesh, the blistering heat between his thighs and the feel of lips on his skin. When he saw the pirate picking himself up, looking a picture of unchecked confusion, Sparrow felt suffocated. The voice that had so sweetly beckoned to him echoed darkly in his ears as he threw on a shirt, coat and a durable pair of boots. He felt betrayed by his own desires.

"Sparrow – " Reaver started, his voice hitching when Sparrow growled and swiftly placed the edge of the Daichi against his neck. Reaver swallowed the rest of his words. His eyes looked a little too bright then, lips swollen and red.

After frantically grabbing his weapons, Sparrow pushed past a dishevelled Reaver and left the mansion.

He headed for Wraithmarsh.