Damon was sleeping when he took the keys and shook them. His suit was not so flawless, some wrinkles were formed in the center and a small stench emanated from it. He made no noise, or maybe yes, but Damon did not notice. The morning sun was suffocating, he blinked several times for his vision to be complete.

His walk was calm when could have been agitated by the quick trot. He thought he could again try to escape if he had something else but Damon, however, he did not. Arriving at the hospital on foot was faster than he expected, Dr. Qyburn was waiting for him in the study. The doctor examined his mouth, feel the splint on his tongue still caused him nausea and that saliva seep from the corners of his mouth. Then he requested to discover his chest and instead what he showed was his back, it would not be a good time for him if anyone else knew of his transformations. And Qyburn did not say anything about it. The cold stethoscope made him tremble.

"You are on the best conditions, young man." Qyburn smiled and he also grimaced at that and by the statement. "I'll communicate to the Minister about this and you will receive the confirmation soon, I recommend that you keep these conditions."

Oh, poor incredulous soul, what kind of fool would return on his own to war? He was that stupid that knew what cold and frightening was the war, which saw brothers fall in the bloody ground and peers lose members, who personally suffered the pain of the bullets. He wanted to return. What kind of stupid would abandon such beauty? He certainly. What kind of fool would reject the tempting proposals of Damon? He, he would always be the answer.

On the plaza the children run from one side to the other, were small as Bran, Rickon and Arya. He remembered that time when were visited by the Lannisters and the little Tommen, during the afternoon chased Rickon and had to run to get away from Bran, tearfully begged to his mother to let him stay overnight with the small Stark's, the chubby of pink cheeks was really happy on those nights he was hiding on the bed of Bran.

A young boy of no more than fourteen years sold bread shouting, his stomach growled when hearing him and requested to Damon to remember how accomodating and sweet he was in the night, that deserved a great lunch and maybe a dessert that was not just the tangle of golden hair. The child looked like him too at fourteen and in his first job. He rode his bicycle to deliver the papers among neighbors, Ghost accompanied him and then it was no bigger than an ordinary dog. He liked to do it, winning many coins in those days were sufficient for a whole month of sweets and his father accepted it, was mainly allowed by his uncle Benjen who encouraged him to learn from life.

Only once Robb accompanied him and they competed to see who sold more newspapers in less time, he won of course. That was the best morning of his first job, however it was not as fun to Catelyn who convinced his father so Robb would not accompany him again and consequently make him give up in that.

He hurried, remember was not good. The rays of the burning sun helped him to remember much more and in the dark of the house was no place for such a thing. Anyway he enjoyed the energy he took from the sun and then from the darkness of the room inundated with the aroma of the tabaco that impregnated all corners, fouling everything it touched.

"Where were you, Jon?" Damon waited lying on the sofa, he was stroking his soft and long hair. "For some reason I didn't wake up next to my bitch today, you know why, Jon?"

Damon stood up, came close to him with slow steps, the slowest he have ever used. His legs moved backwards, his back was prisoned between the door and the wall on the sides of his neck were placed the opposite arms, the palms were extending and the nails bruished his cheeks.

"You will not answer me, Jon?"

His head did not fall, he had his neck stiff and his eyes on Damon's, firm and without shame. "I visited Dr. Qyburn for my return to the battlefield."

"Oh, that's why." Damon sighed, not for the irritation but for exhaustion. "Do you plan to leave me, Jon?"

"Yes." He swallowed, Damon's eyes was not one that could be held for long. It was toxic and sickened you just for watching it. "Yes, Sir."

"Why? Isn't all my love enough, Jon?"

It is, but I hate you."

"Why would you hate me, Jon? I feed you, keep you warm and safe, I give you all my love and make you feel good. I find no reason, Jon, can you explain it to me?"

"You're no good, for anything good. You're killing each piece of me, Ghost, my body, everything from me. You let the bad things fall upon me, Ramsay, you let Ramsay had me when I thought I could love you." He inhaled, his blood was pumping swiftly and his whole body was warming as it went through his veins. "I hate you for everything, really hate you."

He might hate him for having him wet when he least needed or for taking him in various ways, but that would not be true because after all he liked Damon to surround his hips by the strong arms and fingers to ambulate on the inner faces of his thighs approaching to his crotch that yearned for them anxiously.

"I hate you for what you did." Damon's hands were brought closer and closer to his face, the fingers stuck to his jaw with force making him impossible for any movement. "I hate you."

"Will you still hate me? Or do you ever get tired, Jon? You're a stupid dog who does not know anything, how would you know you hate me?" With the small gap between the two faces he could feel the warm breath hitting against the tip of his nose. Damon knew, Damon knew that was the way in which the hatred turned into love of pleasure. "Oh? You hate me so much?"

Damon's lips approached, wet because he licked them before put them closer to his dry and red ones. There was no distance, except for the one his fingers closed into a fist created. He had thought and no matter what he did not repent, he wouldn't let Damon make his hate become love so easily. He was quick when raising his hand and place it on the opposite soft cheek, so beautiful marked with his knuckles.

"Oh, dirty dog." Damon said with a large smile. "This is why I can never let you go, you are better with me."

The palms were adjusted to his shoulders, the nails dug on the web and managed to cause discomfort in his skin. The legs were mixed in his thighs and due to the pressure these exerted his hip faltered and his body collapsed on the compass that Damon imposed. The sound of the impact of his back against the floor was as sharp as the pain he felt for the same.

"And you're so strong now, right Jon?"

Damon's legs cornered his hip and the palms continued pressing on his shoulders burying his back on the floor. "Yes, you still are."

At the same time, his hands also seized the contrary shoulders throwing them to the left direction. Luckily for him his strength was the required to have Damon under his body with the legs together thanks to his own who oppressed him and the neck stiff because of his hands that did not provide any inclination, and the main thing was that he was lying on the ground and taken by surprise.

His right hand was the one that was closed, the bones of his knuckles were put pointed and the veins stood out on his pale skin. One, the way his hand was connected with Damon's face was exciting and the small sound of complaint that was expelled from the same's lips was music to his ears.

"I hate you." He repeated.

He understood that Damon liked him that way too, was entirely possible for that strong man put him back on the ground and punish him, but it was more extravagant let the dog have fun for a moment so after that the punishment was greater and had an extensive justification. There was nothing better for the master to have a justification, a true reason to infuse sanctions and give meaning to life.

The blood began to flow from the nose in the third hit his knuckles gave on his cheek heading toward the tip of it, his fingers soiled and therefore stained each piece of skin he touched. His hand got tired, he had to shake it after finishing every blow and bend a little more his elbow so that the move was not so heavy. It was so painful to him as it could be for Damon, if he could feel the suffering, his bones crackled when joining to the nose.

He stopped at the time the blood was all he saw on his knuckles and Damon's lips were tinged with a reddish, intense and appetizing color. Also, the teeth that showed in the smile were painted with blood, it's color wasn't as intense because the saliva but still was bright.

"I hate you so much." His breathing was becoming dense by the wiggling of his hips around the other and by the stiffness in his cock that was bigger with each new breath. "I hate you. I hate wanting."

Damon launched an irritating laugh and wiped his nose, breathing part of the blood. "I do not want you, Jon."

Damon managed to get rid of his grip and let him kneeling on the floor with a swollen, painful and wet cock. The hand he used to hurt his face, now he certainly regretted of having ruined his beauty, and stared at him when discovering the tongue to lick the blood on his knuckles that was sliding to his wrist.

The tip of the tongue passed gently through each gap between the bones, pressing harder on the top of them and carrying the blood that stuck to all the sections of his hand. Saliva droplets collapsed on the floor and some splashed his clothes, at first the fluid color was pink and with the second was tinged getting lighter and lighter.

"Will you punish me, Sir?" The thumbs removed the saliva accumulated in the corners of the mouth.

"No, Jon." Damon stood up and with a gesture invited him to do the same. "Come, come with me, I will make you something to eat."

"But I have not paid for it. I have to pay, please, Sir."

"No, no, you're misunderstanding me, Jon. You are my guest and therefore you should not pay, only pay the whores that belongs to me."

"I belong to you, Sir."

"No, you don't, Jon."


The letter informing him of his early return to war arrived at the house at night. Damon let him read it without any foreplay, he was grateful for that but also bored, it was boring when nothing wrong was accompanying his actions. And Damon took it after he read it, a small grin on his lips was formed in the reading and nothing else.

The train left in the morning, it was a sunny day. He met faces, names, voices and new bodies; was not very interested in them, in the war was not good be interested since that same man who once gave you a smile the next day was with his eyes fixed to the sky and blood stuck in the ground. And he knew the danger of the interest, he became interested in a young doctor with long hair and of the color of the sun, and nothing good came for him with this senseless interest which for his misfortune was still dormant.

Damon gave him a cigarette before he left away from him and the heat he had, told him that soothed the pain and desire. He would not use it, no, because he preferred to keep it as a lucky charm, all the men in the trenches had one and now he do too. And will preserve it until the war ended, with or without him.