“Stop….”
Damien’s whisper was a ping of steel amid the slush of rainfall. Sionn stilled himself, holding his breath, unsure if he’d actually heard the man say anything, but in between the pock-pock sound of rain on window glass, Damien’s strident cries grew louder.
“Please, Dad… I didn’t….”
The rough-silken voice—Damie’s voice—Sionn heard in his dreams broke, shattering into whimpering cries. Somewhere between the window and the couch, he lost his coffee cup, either on the sill or fractured into pieces on the floor. Either way, Sionn wouldn’t mourn its loss. He couldn’t compete with the tragic devastation spooling through Damien’s exhausted mind.
Gripping Damien’s shoulder, he was shocked to feel how cold the man’s skin was beneath his shirt. Damien fought him, flailing out with uncoordinated limbs and loose fists. A stray elbow caught Sionn on the temple, and he blinked away the bursts of light dancing across his eyes as he pulled Damien into his arms.
“No, fucking… God, just let me fucking… go,” Damien whimpered. “God, please… stop hurting me… please.”
The fight became serious. Damien’s eyes were open, drowned in black and fear. Another hail of fists threatened Sionn’s face and shoulders. Then the man’s knee came up, striking between Sionn’s spread legs. Yelping, Sionn swallowed the nausea roiling from his clenched belly, grateful Damien caught only a glancing blow to his groin.
He shifted, straddling Damien’s thrashing legs. Sionn pulled the man by his upper arms and cradled Damien to his chest, taking the blows to his back. The slender man was stronger than he looked. He fought with a fury Sionn could only imagine. Even in the deepest recesses of his hatred following the Vienna disaster, Sionn’s rage lurked over him on black wings, more a symbol of his failures than anything else.
Damien’s anger… his fear… possessed him. A demon lived inside of the man. Something horrific called up by blood and pain to eat away at Damien’s already fractured mind. From the sound of Damien’s softened screams, it was a ravenous beast, tearing apart his insides only to vomit them back up so it could feast on them again.
Sionn took Damien’s face into his hands and stared down the phantoms lurking in the other’s gaze. “You’ve got me here with you now, a rún. I’ll help you get through this.”
It seemed like a tiny promise, but something shifted between them. Sionn could see it in the change in Damien’s expression. Whether he was exhausted from fighting or his nightmares had reached their saturation point, Damien stretched out his hand, touched Sionn’s shoulder, and skimmed down over the curve of his arm. Squeezing lightly, he nodded once, then bit his lip hard, nearly to the point of drawing blood.
And Sionn’s heart shattered as Damien finally gave in to the pressures built up inside of him.
The tears began, a soft wave of pain at first, then a churning tide of anguish as Damien’s walls broke open. Sionn caught the man up in his arms and laid him back on the sectional, searching to anchor Damien against something solid. He fought the embrace, a scared raptor beating its broken wings against its savior. Damien’s fists found their mark, scoring against Sionn’s cheek, then the curve of his lip. One of Damien’s punches to his mouth began to throb, and Sionn felt his lip beginning to swell, but he held on, all the while murmuring into Damien’s ear and rubbing his back.
It was something Sionn knew he shouldn’t have done. Touching Damien in any way was dangerous. The man set his skin to a crackle, and every ounce of his common sense was screaming in protest at the man lying in his arms. His heart, however, took over, and the man breaking apart in front of him needed comfort.
It was going to have to be enough, even though Sionn’s soul whimpered a bit at the thought of letting Damien go.
Their legs were tangled together, and Sionn’s body responded to the touch of Damien’s thigh on his cock, and it hardened, filling with its arousal. The rough denim on his dick’s velvety head was nearly too much to take, and the sweet, slightly ripe scent of Damien in his nose wasn’t helping matters.
They lay there in Chinatown’s flickering lights for God knew how long; then the storm outside hit with its full fury. Something nearby popped, a crackling sizzle ripping through the wind, and the loft went still, plunging them into a shadowy black. Sionn couldn’t tell how much time had passed since he’d wrapped himself around Damien’s slender body, but it was never going to be enough. He was almost convinced the other man had fallen asleep, every last bit of him wrung dry from his jag, but Damien shuddered, then rested his head against the crook of Sionn’s neck.