Note: Thanks for the reviews. Thanks for reading. This part (like all the rest) has attempted smut as well.


The Breaking
Chapter 7

He was falling…into a ravine, an abyss. All he could see was the spot of light where the sky was; everywhere around him was darkness. He fell like the way he fell when Lucien shot him through the window of his castle. The last thing he had thought of was how the sky was indeed beautiful with all its glittering stars and how he had never really seen it for what it was : just a never-ending blanket of sparkles that did not give anything, but constantly urged for silent wishes. Wishes never came true.

Rose, where are you?

He landed. His eyes shot open to see his skin looking paler in the dark.

The moonlight made his skin glow strangely in the dark. He realised he was alone again as he lifted himself up. His lonely reflection in the mirror confirmed the stillness in the air. As he shifted off the bed, he noticed the clothes laid out on the other side of the bed. They were his clothes, but not those he was accustomed to wearing. If Alex had laid them out, then he should wear them. Dimly, he thought of the possibility of the pirate choosing these clothes instead of Alex. His stomach growled at him as he pulled on the noble attire. He had not eaten for days. After taking one final glance around the room, he padded to the door, leaning against it to push it open.

The candles were lit tonight. Having lit candles were not rare, but not frequent either. Sparrow walked around in the dark most of the time. All the servants were out of the mansion by now. As he passed by the mirror in the hall again, he noted his unkempt hair, the leather around his neck and the stark blue lines on his pale skin. There were other things too. He could see a bite mark peeking underneath the open collar of his outfit and he shivered in the memory of it.

Bending forward, he blew out the light closest to the mirror. It was not that he hated the light. It was the flickering shadows that he hated. They made the darkness more oppressive to him.

He ate his now cold dinner. He picked out the sounds of the night, of the mansion. Bloodstone's night life continued outside the mansion with drunken brawling and worse, drunken singing in the air. He heard the house settle. He heard Reaver in the study, pacing and talking to himself. That man loved the sound of his own voice.

He found himself entering the study, whistling the tune James the Bard had sung the other night on his doorstep. The happy tune sounded mournful coming from his lips.

The first thing he saw was not the pirate still pacing back and forth. It was the miniature Spire statue shimmering as it bathed in the moonlight. From the corner of his eyes, Reaver had stopped his pacing. He spared the pirate a glance before stepping over to the spire statue. For some reason, his proximity made the tiny holes in it glow with ethereal light, like a fire had sparked within it. His fingers hovered over its ridges, tracing the uneven grooves and scratches without touching them. There was a kind of heat emanating from it as well, beckoning him.

"It shows you a part of the future. Supposedly," Reaver exclaimed as he pulled Sparrow away from it with a tight grip on his waist, slipping roaming fingers under his clothes. Sparrow choked on a breath as he caught Reaver's frustrated gaze that lay on the spire for a moment. "Same old future in mine." Reaver turned him around to place kisses on his throat. "Death and whatnot." A flicker of something crossed his face but he had started unbuttoning Sparrow's shirt, latching onto his collarbone with an impatient growl. Sparrow took a final glance at the spire then wriggled out of the embrace earning an uncharacteristic grunt from the man. He did not know what to do. No. He knew what to do. Only…was it good? He watched Reaver eye him with forced patience. The pirate's fingers were trembling. Sparrow pressed his palm against the other's chest, feeling the strong heart beating.

He did not want to wait.

Sparrow started stripping, heat travelling up his body. The study was too bright with the light. With quick steps, he blew out the candles in the study, eliminating more visibility and heat with each puff of breath as he pulled off his clothes until he was naked and the fireplace was the only one burning. Reaver pinned him against the wall, hands stroking his sides in frantic movements as soon as Sparrow extinguished the fireplace. He took the initiative to slip his tongue into the pirate's open mouth, coaxing his tongue to respond, and when the muscle did, Sparrow shivered; it had gotten much too hot in the room, then. Patches of fire lit his skin where hands traced patterns and gibberish into his flesh, an insistent tongue licking the salt of his wounds. Sparrow growled as he was lifted onto the desk with a rough shove. "I'd much rather see this in my future," he said, harsh against his ear. Then he chuckled. "Ah…but if I did, I'd think it was my past." Sparrow bit down on his shoulder as the chuckling turned into laughter. Sparrow realised, not for the first time, that there was something very wrong with him when he decided to recite names of potions in his mind as he felt maddening wet swirls over his skin, little bites across his abdomen, harsh breaths ghosting over his throat.

Reaver was not gentle. He was cruel. The press of fingertips on his thighs would leave marks on his skin. The bites on his neck would leave wounds as sharp teeth ripped his flesh. He was claiming Sparrow, not loving him. This was possession before the throwing away. In the back of his mind, Sparrow realised that this was exactly what he wanted. This bruising madness raging through his body…this was the burst of life he had wanted for so long. He wondered if Theresa knew when she stared into his eyes, peering into his heart, that this moment of letting go was what he always fell back on in near-death moments. This was what Sparrow likened dying to. Sparrow realised that she did know, though, just refused to acknowledge it. His eyes fell to the Spire statue, glowing in the darkness. It beckoned him.

"Pay attention," Reaver commanded hotly into his ear as he gripped him. "Don't make me tie you up." Sparrow noted his swollen red lips and dishevelled hair, the sweat-slicked skin against his own. So soon, the pirate had melted his iciness. Where had the perpetual coldness gone? He gently laced his fingers through Reaver's hair, pulling him close to kiss him again. Reaver relaxed against him. With that, the mixture of foreign accents fell from his lips again. Amore mio. Sparrow knew what that meant and knew better to know that it was not meant. He pressed a hand against the other's chest, feeling the erratic heartbeats on his palm. A kind of unfathomable sadness settled over him. Even though his body responded with such neediness, his whole being was suddenly so torn up with emptiness.

For some reason, he stared out the window at the sky. The stars twinkled at him, much like the way they did in his dream. Sparrow wished for something to fill the emptiness. He wished that this… interaction or attraction, this animal magnetism was more than just that. He wished that his own heart would beat properly and purposefully again.

He wished his wishes came true.

For the sky was just a never-ending blanket of sparkles that did not give anything but constantly urged for silent wishes that would not come true.