The Breaking
Chapter 10
It was three days later when he was awake enough to leave. By that time, the stains on him were too permanent to wash off. Every glance into the mirror showed the marks of claim and his – the pirate liked them. Sparrow strapped on his boots after putting the gun into the holster. As he turned around to pick up his Daichi, he noticed Reaver had been observing him from the edge of the bed. Just watching. And without the usual sinfully dark gaze that beckoned to him. It was almost…empty except for the rare soft smile playing on his lips.
"Why do you insist on leaving?" he asked in a mocking tone but he sounded amused. The pirate caressed the stock of his Dragonstomper as he watched Sparrow shrug on his clothes. A glance at the pistol caused a shiver to travel up his spine and the pull in Sparrow's gut signalled to him to be wary. It was strange that even after being in such intimate contact with the other man for so long, he could not trust the pirate not to kill him. But there was this warm feeling that spread through his chest whenever a 'soft' look came his way. That look was there, now. Sparrow tied up his hair, his eyes still trained on the pirate.
"There is nothing out there," Reaver said. He swayed over to Sparrow, skilfully picking up the glass of wine on the table and swirling its contents before putting it to his lips. He sipped then handed the glass to Sparrow. Sparrow drank while fingers trailed over his cheeks, his neck and tugged the knot that held his hair together and pulled it loose. "I still haven't decided how to kill you." Sparrow hissed as sharp teeth grazed the bruises on his neck. After all that, the pirate still wanted to kill him. Why he expected any less bothered him. "You deserve something better than a simple shot. Though it is an honour to die by my hands,…still…" Reaver pressed a gentle kiss on his temple. "I want you saying my name at the final breath." He chuckled. "Preferably with a smile on your face."
The new strap of leather around his throat chafed his skin but in time, he would get used to it. It did not have 'Reaver' imprinted on it like the man promised but entwined around it were tiny red threads that stemmed from a small red rose in the back of the collar. In sunlight, the red resembled minute blood trails. The image reminded Sparrow of the 'Thief' fate card he kept somewhere in his pockets.
Watching the sunlight flood the floor when he swung the door open, he felt ready to face his 'duties'. He knew what he had to do, yet that first step into the light was chilling. Purpose. He had wanted it. And with the visions Theresa had shown him, he had 'purpose' once again and more. But when he thought about the mansion, Bloodstone and Reaver… he wanted this promise of 'nothing' more than 'purpose'. It was true, was it not? Purpose came with promises and… If there were no promises, there would be no breaking of said promises. Reaver stood beside him.
"Why must you insist on leaving?" Reaver asked again, sounding frustrated this time. "I don't like how that…woman has this power over you. You belong to me." His tone and the darkness that shifted over his features stunned Sparrow for a moment before he reached up and brushed the pirate's cheek… because Sparrow felt torn. It was undeniable that no matter the many wounds that peppered his flesh, he was quite attached to the man who had caused them. Oddly attached. It might be the collar pushing these feelings onto him but the sharp ache at having to say farewell felt very real. Reaver wrenched him close to devour his lips with passion, biting and licking. "I'm leaving. For Samarkhand. Or somewhere…warmer. You could always join me, love." Briefly Sparrow wondered why the pirate did not just force him to follow. He could demand and cajole and maybe Sparrow would relent, but Reaver did not even attempt to persuade."You belong to me," he whispered harshly instead. They both knew that was not true. Sparrow could belong to Reaver. But he always belonged to Albion. Leaning close, he whispered to Reaver 'Aye, Reava… I do.' How easily that submission slipped from his lips.
He headed to Bowerstone first. The warm welcome surprised him. He had forgotten that there were people who actually liked him. Derek the Sheriff brought him around and told him news of the town. He stared at his statue, done in his very likeness. Reaver did not even manage to get one statue of him done completely. What would be left as reminder when everything was over? That night, Bowerstone held a small party for him at the town square, celebrating his return. What a change it was from being cooped up in a town run rampant from corruption the way Bloodstone was. Here, people wanted his opinions, skills and his help. He suddenly wondered what Reaver had wanted from him all this time. He never pondered it properly. To break Sparrow. That was it, was it not? Fingering the collar, Sparrow listened to the Roland the bard singing tales of heroism. The atmosphere was both melancholic and joyous as he watched couples dancing under the black canvas of stars.
It felt like he would never see Reaver again.
And that was probably for the better.
