Inkheart still doesn't belong to me…*sniff*

Chapter Deux : (alias another piece of crap developed from boredom… a lot of it :D )

Dustfinger tried to keep his breath as low as possible as the door swung open and light flooded into the darkness of the hut. Maybe, he thought, maybe he won't recognize me if keep a low profile. Maybe he won't kill me. Maybe…

Dustfinger closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the smile on Bastas face, when he was going to grab him, when he was going to kill him. But as Dustfinger sat there and waited for a hand to grab in his hair, to pull him up, to smash him against the wall…it didn't come.

He could hear Basta breathing, he was still standing in the hut, looking around for Dustfinger, who tried to not move a single muscle. Out of nowhere the red haired suddenly felt an urgent titillation in his nose. It must be the dust around here, he thought. Basta was already on his way out of the hut. Ready to follow Cockerell down the hill. Oh please, please don't let me need to….aaatshoooo… oh no. That's my death sentence. Defintetely.

Dustfinger perorated with his life just to be sure… he had his eyes closed again, pressing his body against the cold wall.

There they were. Bastas footsteps. Away from the door he had opened, back inside the hut again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Nearer and nearer. Dustfingers stomach pulled together in fear, when he heard Bastas voice above his head. "I should have known you were behind that bag, Mudfinger. "

A hand grabbed his hair, pulling him roughly up until Dustfinger was on one level with the man he feared even more than the Atterhead's subjects. More than anyone else in the world. Apart from death maybe, which was certainly connected to Basta …and his knife of course.

" I knew you would flee and hide rather than fight. " Bastas went on with his monologue. " It's just you pathetic nature." Dustfinger scraped together his last bit of courage and stuttered "Well better a pathetic coward than a rude loser, right?"

Bastas fist hit him so hard that his head was smashed into the wall. There were bright colors exploding before his eyes followed by an intense pain. He began to black out, but felt Bastas hand grabbing his collar pulling the bigger man against the wall. His peppermint breath was all Dustfinger could smell at that moment. Actually he liked the smell a lot. What a thought in a situation like this, Dustfinger thought and suddenly had to smile, which enraged Basta even more. Of course, anything Dustfinger did, enraged Basta. There was no way to bring him down.

Bastas POV:

Hell, he didn't want to hurt him. But there was nothing to do against that certain hatred that came along with a feeling of …. yeah a feeling of what. What was the feeling inside his stomach every time he saw the other man? Must be some kind of pleasant anticipation to kill him, he thought, tossing the thoughts apart before they could beset his mind again. Just like the long nights he had been up, sitting on his bed thinking about the man he was going to kill sooner or later.

Capricorn had always given him the feeling that killing, robbing and burning were OK. That there was nothing he could do better than that, that Basta was chosen to fulfill his duty at Capricorns side. That it was RIGHT to delete people's lives.

Dustfinger had turned these thoughts around. Everything he did and said made Basta angry for it reminded him of the fact that killing was a terrible thing, that only ruthless bastards would do. He hadn't seen himself that way before and it made him angry that, on top of all people in the world, Dustfinger had been the one to let him recognize this. It had made him think about the other man either. His kindness and his cowardness. Basta would never have told him, but he took it as a price for the kindness.

You couldn't be both: Nice and brave. And if you had one thing, you'd have to give up the other. There were no heroes in this world. And Basta allways had been a little jealous on Dustfinger for taking the good-guy part.

Would Basta miss something if Dustfinger wasn't there anymore? Would he?

Dustfingers POV:

Dustfinger let out an anxious sound, trying to get away from the knife, which Basta pulled out of his pocket and let it run over Dustfingers face slowly. He must be liking it, Dustfinger thought. He likes torturing people. That's Basta.

On the other hand Dustfinger had allways seen a bit of himself in Basta. Basta appeared to be a dangerous, hot headed, cold hearted man, who couldn't control himself. But sometimes there were moments when Dustfinger saw a frightened little boy in him, who tried to act like a grown adult. A hot headed, small child, who was (by the help of a few real terrible men) transformed into a fierce dog. But Basta couldn't hide all of it. Sometimes there were small peaces of himself coming out, himself not the dog he had been turned into. But the little child who needed a father and found it in Capricorn.

I could have been that child, Dustfinger thought. If I had been caught by the fire raisers, I could have been it. And, although Basta was still standing there, with his knife pressed against Dustfingers throat, he suddenly felt a bit pity for him.

Both POVs:

The Mudfingers expression suddenly changed. From nothing but fear into…what...pity?

"Why are you staring at me like this?" Bastas aggressive voice came into Dustfingers ears. He didn't recognize he had been starring, but anyway why should Basta care? Dustfinger was the one person in the world Basta hated most. He's going to kill me soon anyway. How mean Basta was, he suddenly thought. It wasn't enough for him to kill Dustfinger, he had to let him tremble in fear first and then cut his throat. Dustfinger didn't want Basta to see how scared he was. His face had to be full of sweat. His mouth was dry. His knees shook a bit. There was only the angry look in Bastas eyes, his face only inches away from Dustfingers.

Shit could he please fuckin stop looking at me like this? How am I supposed to kill someone with a puppy look in his eyes. This look made him feel…weird. And he hated to admit that he liked it….kind of… But soon after the weird feeling in his stomach began to rise, Basta also felt the hatred coming with it. The feeling made him feel weak. Capricorn didn't need weak men, Basta needed to be strong. But still his hand with the knife wouldn't move even if Basta had wanted it to.

Suddenly everything came together at once, Bastas body against his, his peppermint breath, the angry look suddenly vanishing from Bastas eyes and leaving nothing but emptiness. Later Dustfinger would ask himself why he had done it. He had never found an answer to that question. It was not like he had decided to do it. It kind of js happened, like everything that followed it.

Dustfinger grabbed Bastas face with both his hands, ignoring the pain as the knife made a little scratch into his neck. He kissed Basta. In contrast to his temper Bastas lips were incredibly soft. Dustfinger felt hands grab into his hair, he heard the knife shatter to the ground, because its owner seemed to have found something more interesting. He felt Bastas hands wandering down his neck, grabbing into his hair. His tongue entering Dustfingers mouth begging for more and getting it. Waves of shiver ran through the gleemans body. He had never felt something so good and wanted more and more of it. He was hot and cold, his hands wanting to explore even more of the other man's body. He wanted him. He wanted his breath near his ear and as crazy as the whole situation seemed …so weird and unreal. Dustfinger had never been into boys. He had never kissed one and he never wanted to. It was something completely different from women. Something he needed to explore first. But he wanted to, that was for sure.

They broke apart after what seemed an eternity to Dustfinger. He had never been sentimental in any way, but it was just like in those old love songs the bards used to sing. The only person he had had this feeling with was Roxanne. Roxanne. She knows I have been arrested by the Atterhead. She must think I'm dead, he thought. What am I DOING here? I. have. Just. Kissed. My. Worst. Enemy. He guy who cut these scars into my face. His right hand wandered up to his face to touch the scars. What have I got myself into, he thought. But the worst thing of all was that Dustfinger had enjoyed it.