Tavington pulled away smirking at the flush look on Morgan face. "Ah such a shame," he whispered his smile turning into a roughish grin, one that made his icy eyes gleam. He reached forward and lightly trailed his fingers along the side of Morgan's face. Licking his lips as the young man turned, craving the Colonel's touch, sighing contently.
A benign laugh trickled past The Commanders lips and he delicately traced Morgan's jaw line with the tips of his fingers. Neither of them spoke, and only the sound of their breathing could be heard mixing with the howling wind that wailed outside. Both were content to just regard the other, absorbing every detail, memorizing the others face.
Tavington's gaze never wavered from the young face peering up at him. The smooth youthful complexion tanned by the sun, unmarked by age or scarred by the terrible claws of war. His eyes…his eyes were warm and content and held the look of a kind man, a man that seemed incapable of taking another life. They held the fire of passion, the flickering light of want, and a slight trace of fear.
His long straight obsidian hair tumbled to his shoulders, and his bangs hung loose from the ribbon that held them back. High cheekbones graced his face, and held the blush of golden candlelight and shadow. Morgan was an ethereal creature lain out before him, temptingly. The Colonel sighed how different this youth was from him!
But Morgan was just as captivated by Tavington. The young man was entranced by his icy blue eyes that pierced his soul, eyes that demanded respect, harsh eyes as wild and severe as winter. The eyes of a prowling wolf, of a predator, a killer. His face held the scars of war, and battle and his skin was tanned by many days of riding a horse in the sun. Thick brown hair spilled past his shoulders, and slightly curled down at the ends.
The Colonels hands were rough and callused from handling the hilt of a sword and the reigns of a horse, hands that Morgan was sure that were stained with the blood of many men. Unable to help himself, the solider reached out and gently grasped one of the Commander's hands in his own. Swallowing as Tavington gingerly closed his fingers around his hand.
The Colonel watched as autumn eyes closed his tongue going out to lick his dry lips. Morgan's breathing slowed and became deep an even, the young man had fallen asleep. Quietly the Commander gently unlaced his fingers from Morgan's, and stood shakily to his feet.
This damned boy would the death of him. Muttering he reached down and picked up his book, returning to his previous seat his eyes continuously straying to his guests sleeping form. His concentration was becoming muddled and hazy so much so that he read one sentence as least three times before it fully registered.
Growling he snapped the book shut and stood, furious at him self, acting like a damned lovesick puppy. He drew his lips back in a silent snarl and stalked over to the table located in the far corner of the tent out of sight of Morgan's sleeping form. How splendid.
He glanced down at the many maps that littered the table, and felt the agitation begin to seep from his body. Yes, this is what he needed, something to preoccupy his mind. Something to stop the raving thoughts that tore through his brain like a charging Calvary. He pulled back one of the leather-cushioned chairs and settled into a comfortable position, eyeing the map in front of him critically. The possibility of a full frontal attack was unlikely at least while it was still winter. There was always a threat of a rebel attack, but the camp was so well guarded that it didn't matter. Reaching forward he plucked his quill pen from its holder and smoothly drew an X over the camp marked Meirion.
Morgan's eyes slightly fluttered, and opened just as the roar of a pistol shattered the calm of the night making his body twitch instinctively. He glanced around the tent wildly, disorientated his half-awake mind screaming at him to find a weapon. Another shot snarled in the night mixed with the shouts of men, bringing the young man more fully awake.
The candles in the tent had burned out and he could only see the faint outline of some of the objects in the room. He glanced over to Tavington's bed and found it empty the blankets thrown back hanging limply over the edge of his cot. His jacket was gone along with his pistol and sword.
Morgan rolled out of bed searching blindly in the dark staggering forward to the tent's entrance. Outside all Hell had been unleashed, and as Morgan pushed back the flap of the tent he stumbled cursing, tripping over the dead body of the guard that stood outside Tavington's tent. The young man winced as he felt the delicate flesh if his healing wound reopen the warm trickle of blood slide down his skin. He looked back at the fallen man.
His throat had been cut and his eyes carved out of their sockets leaving two gapping holes staring at Morgan. Swallowing the youth reached down disarming the dead man, taking his pistol and shoving it into the waistband of his breeches. He reached around and groped for the hilt of the dead mans saber. The blade fell free of its scabbard flashing in the night joining the pistol at his waist.
Ahead of him pistol smoke rose with the spirits of men to the cold sky, creating a dim haze that settled over the entire camp. Morgan broke into a jog when he heard the unmistakable savage voice of Tavington, snarling out orders over the loud keening of gun shots. Mud splattering up from around his booted feet, landing on the pale faces of dead bodies. He glanced around wary, clutching the hilt of his sword tightly in his right hand, noticing that the white of some of the canvas tents was flecked with blood.
The garrison suddenly ceased opening up into a vast field lined with trees. The snow was stained and slushy with blood and littered with the mangled bodies of men. He had missed most of the battle and the enemy had retreated to the cover of the trees escaping into the thick forest. Only a few remained standing at the edge of the woods watching in horror at the scene that was unfolding before their eyes.
Tavington stood poised into the middle of the field flanked by soldiers, his boots shining with blood, the silver of his sword tainted crimson. Before him on his knees was a rebel, his shoulders heaving and blood dripping steadily from him mouth, both hands clasped tightly over his middle hiding the evil slash where the Colonel had mortally wounded him.
Tavington rolled one of his shoulders back and began walking around the fallen man, the point of his sword dragging in the mud the harsh steel softly chiming against the wet earth. Morgan heard a soft chuckle and glanced beside him, a soldier was standing next to him, blood running from a shallow gash on the side of his face, dripping to the snow. "He's about to show them why he is called The Butcher."
The words were a quiet hiss and seemed to slither through the bloody slush of snow, making Morgan shiver. He didn't reply entranced by the horrid scene in front of him. Tavington struck fast and hard, seizing the young man by the hair and hauling him up, twisting him around sharply so that he was facing his terror stuck friends. A perverse smile tugged on the corners of the commander's mouth and his eyes burned ice as they gazed at the two men glaring at him.
The Colonel leaned forward his lips barely brushing the Rebel's ear one arm shifting to grasp his victim around the waist, the other sliding up to the young man's throat the edge of his sword pressing against the soft flesh of the boy's neck.
The motion was abrupt and swift the blade of the sword easily sinking halfway into the Rebel's flesh, silencing the gurgling scream, Tavington wretched his arm back letting sword slide free from the young man's half severed neck, flecks of blood flying up in a sickening arch.
Smiling he let the body fall at his feet giving it a ferocious kick sending it rolling on its side the head lolling grotesquely. His raving laughed filled the silence of the field slicing the cold air faster then Death's scythe.
He turned slightly waved his hand and the men surrounding him opened fire their bullets hitting nothing but trees. Morgan felt his knees slightly buckle his mouth slightly open still in abhorrent awe of what he just witnessed. The solider beside him softly lay a hand on his trembling shoulder "You alright lad?" Morgan nodded numbly his tongue going to out to lick dry lips. "I…I how could he just…."
The man beside softly laughed "He is heartless but he has to be, he has to make them remember him, to show them that he was not as weak as Meirion…." Morgan swallowed suddenly dizzy, his side was damp with fresh blood and world was starting to spin. He felt his eyes close not feeling the strong hand that gripped his shirt and dragged him forward. A harsh voice yelling at him fading as stinging blow hit him across the face "What the bloody hell are you doing out here, insolent whelp…."
Tavington sat leaning back in his chair his booted feet propped up on the desk in front of him, slowly twirling the blade of his dagger between his fingers. He glanced to the sleeping young man on the other side of the room. Morgan had been silent for days, neither looking at him nor speaking but keeping his eyes averted, and flinching at the Colonels touch.
He grit his teeth, damn him, staggering outside in the cold with a healing wound to fight! Muttering darkly under his breath he suddenly slammed the blade point first into the expensive table. Watching as a fine crack snaked its way from the quivering weapon. Young, stupid, bloody arrogant idiot! He snarled snatching the blade from the table, stood pacing back and forth prowling like a hungry wolf, his cold eyes every once in awhile dragging over the young man laying on the cot next to him. He hissed between his teeth and he stalked over to the bed and dropped to his knees his fingers brushing against Morgan's cheek "Fool," he hissed "but a lovely fool."
Nightmares clawed at Morgan's mind, making him moan in terror, and twitch. Images blood soaked slithered through his conscious. Screams crimson stained mixed with the horrid sound of steel slicing flesh. He jerked awake, sweat covering his body and dripping from his face, and flung back the covers and staggered to his feet. His eyes glancing wildly around the room for Tavington, but the man was gone and the lid of his trunk had been opened; a clean pair of cloth's taken out. He must have gone to the baths….
Tavington sighed, his eyes slipping closed heavy like the steam that drifted thickly through the tent. He had chosen the biggest tub one he could stretch out in and let his tense muscles slowly relax. His mind began to wonder to the attempted rebel raid that had taken place a few days before.
Praise the gods for that guard that stood watch outside his tent, god rest his soul, if he hadn't screamed the commander never would have been pulled from sleep and would probably be dead, along with Morgan.
"Hmm," he slightly opened one eye as he felt the water in the tub shift and found himself staring in the depths of rich, dark brown eyes. He swallowed and immediately water sloshing over the edge of the tub, the snarl dying in his throat at the softly spoken words that slipped from Morgan's mouth. "I thought you would like some company Colonel on this cold night."
Tavington opened his mouth then slowly closed it, he reached forward and drew the man into a loose hug reclining back to his former position, Morgan's head resting on his chest. The young solider sighed contently wrapping his arms around Tavington's neck stretching his body out on top of the Colonels.
Enjoying the slip of hard muscle beneath his wet skin, loving the feel of Tavington's thighs as they parted to make him more comfortable. The older man's steady heart beat making him softly smile, so calm compared to his own, which was hammering against his ribs. He slightly tilted his face when he felt gentle fingers delicately stroke his hair, and found him self staring into smoldering eyes. A forceful, demanding kiss was placed on his lips and he gladly opened his mouth gasping when he felt the fingers in his hair begin to roam to other, more sensitive parts of his body. Tavington pulled back a wolfish smile on his face, licking Morgan's lips he softly whispered against them. "You shouldn't be doing this your side is not healed completely." Morgan smiled shifting so that Tavington's length brushed his inner thigh "But it's worth it…isn't it?"
Tavington growled his head falling back to the rim of the tub, panting, shivering with an effort to control him self. Morgan gladly took advantage of the commanders exposed neck, licking and kissing the exposed flesh, marveling at the soft noises the man beneath him made. He swept his lips down to a prominent collar licking and sucking at the scared skin leaving behind red love bites.
Tavington groaned raising his hands to rest of Morgan's shoulder's, his breath hiss through his teeth "Morgan". Morgan stopped glancing up at the panting man a coy smile on his lips. "Yes Sir?" Tavington slightly glowered at the boy, liking the young man's cocky attitude. "No one asked you to be arrogant boy." Morgan laughed sliding up Tavington's body "Then why are you smiling about it, Colonel?" Tavington bared his teeth in a furtive smile suddenly switching their positions, grasping Morgan's shoulders tightly he rolled them over pinning the younger body beneath his own. "Lets see if we can wipe that impish smile off your face hmm?"