Sundown

Knowing your recovery was backsliding and being able to do something about it were two seriously different fucking things. Heart beating hard enough in his chest to remind him of this bird he’d found trapped in a ruined house somewhere south of Kandahar – throwing itself against the cracked windows, desperately looking for an escape from the men seeking refuge in its place. Frank ground the heel of his hand against his chest. Sixteen years stretching between there and here and still he could see it just as clearly as he did Chaco’s body flying through the windshield and the blue of the sky that had felt like it was searing his eyes as Kit dragged him out of the truck. Memories so damn stark after all that time.

Lately it felt like he’d been slipping back into them. The wounds aching again with a vengeance, muscles and bones feeling brittle as dry twigs as he’d been thrown awake by the dreams. Panic rising up in his head at the crackle of sound in his ears, not letting go for hours after it had faded out again. Every voice in his head told him what it was – PTSD keeping its teeth locked in his body, his mind, like a pit bull – but no amount of concerned looks had let him slip out from its grip again. Theo, Kit, Katja, they all had to know but knowledge wasn’t everything.

He knew what he was now, what those staticky voices would lead him to but that was part of the problem. Banshee. A curse that had been hard to describe, one that was infinitely harder still to escape. Frank doubted he could until he had some grip on part of this, and he didn’t.

Fuck. He couldn’t even keep a grip on a damn bottle when the first small measure of peace he’d had in days vanished like a drop of fat on the flames. A pop, the release of that bird into the cage of his chest and the sudden emptiness between his fingers. Beer vanished like his sleep into the winter brown grass and the fear crawled up into his throat – some progress at least – as Dom welled up in that darkness. A wraith out of the shadows with an apology on his lips.

Frank puffed out his amusement as he shoved his way up, the sound vanishing in the curse of wet muddy feet. He side stepped, rubbing bare feet back and forth on a dry patch. Shoulders, cold as marble and just as stiff, shrugged awkwardly. ”You offering to run inside and get ‘em? I might do.” Running a hand down his flank and over his ass to pretend to check giving his fingers the opportunity to stop shaking. He took Dom’s nudge with a sway, elbowed him back. ”You did?” Definitely more than a few seconds and deeper than he’d expected to get given the struggles his brain had gone through just to get his eyes to shut for a minute lately. ”They’re out. Guess I was too.” If Kit had been there maybe it would’ve gone easier, company seemingly to drive back what had gripped him lately like a searchlight turned on the dark.

Revelation. The smoke and the brain fog easing as he stepped up to the grill. Frank jabbed one of the steaks with the fork, dragging it away from the centre of the grill. Some of the smoke continued to rise, the side that had been down definitely charred. ”Guess you’re gonna have to make do with well done either way. Least you woke me up before it was charcoal for dinner.” His throat still went dry at the smell as he lifted his chin towards the open sliding doors to the kitchen. "There's plates inside, probably something to go with them in the fridge. I was warned about not eating before they left.” Like a kid incapable of watching out for himself. Maybe these days he was.

Taking a slow step up onto the porch to grab them himself, Frank snagged the beer from Dominic. He kept his eyes down on it, popping the lid against the porch rail and taking a gulp before he laughed hoarsely. ”Maybe I did. Seems like there’s enough of them in this town right? You think … after all that time … you’d get used to it.” Not a dig, although sixteen years of grieving for his lost fiancé didn’t seem to have made things any easier for Dom. Frank took the beer with him, stepping into the kitchen to grab a couple of plates, tucking the bowl of whatever Katja had tossed together earlier on when she’d taken dominion over the kitchen and cutlery into the crook of one arm before he stepped back out. ”A social call or…” Was something up? Things had started out on a knife’s edge with Dominic, that first Christmas offered up out of an altruistic wish to help a guy out, things sliding into a friendship after that. Frank liked to think in all that time since they’d gotten close, at least enough to be honest with one another.

Tagged: DOMINIC PHENDER * Word Count: 859

Normality. The shrinks at the hospital had thrown it around like it was a one size fits all concept. He’d called them on it, his voice caught in a snarl as he pictured his ‘new normal’ being unable to pull his own damn pants up without whimpering. It wasn’t some cookie cutter concept and that was the point. Frank had rolled his eyes at the hokey shit, lifting the little pink dumbbell up for one more curl with the muscles in his arm twitching like livewires. He hadn’t wanted to give the idea any thought, his normal had been with his team, but the doc had worn him down, the same way they’d done the rough edges of those healing muscles and bones.

Mystic Falls. A job talking history for a living. A house full of people who were watching each of those twitches with concern in their eyes. A normal that had been shattered twice. Did scrabbling those shards of a ‘normal life’ together count or had it really all hokey shit and normal didn’t exist?

Frank stared at the steak, wondering if the some would ever smell the way it had once done again. Scents were tied to memories, to the PTSD flashbacks, inescapable without someone standing there to break them even momentarily. ”The red meat and beer’ll fuck you up before a little char will,” he said dryly. Beer, red meat and a life of sitting on his ass in a chair in the dark, all the things a growing boy needed to grow flabby and depressed. Frank shook it off, his eyes ticked up for just a heartbeat to Dominic’s before he looked away. ”Don’t worry, I’m up. I’ll get them.” He needed to walk it off, crack joints and thoughts gone stiff while he’d sat there and drifted. Find a way out of the pall of smoke for a few minutes.

It had wrapped tight around him. A knot in his throat that he almost choked swallowing past. The beer seemed to want to well back up as he grabbed the plates. His fingers didn’t shake anymore when he shoved the salad bowl into the crook of his elbow. The bottle was icy cold against his bicep, the bitterness of it radiating in his chest as he stepped back out to Dom frowning at him. Dominic might’ve been a half a foot shorter than him but he wasn’t afraid to give it full bore the minute they were face to face. ”What the fuck are you talking about man?” Frank’s frown deepened as he let the bowl thud down on the table. The cutlery rattled down after it, a fork skittering off the table to clatter across the porch in the darkness.

He stood, shoulders braced like a swing was gonna come from all that piss and vinegar coming his way. Head ticking back and forth, Frank tried to pick apart what the hell he’d said. Had something happened to bring him here, had he stuck his finger right in a damn sore spot. The spew carried on, angry, bitter, culminating in the crack of the bottle and the Vesuvius of foam that bubbled out. ”Naw, fuck you man. Do you think I’d stand here and tell you to get the fuck over it? Your fiancé died, you lost Noah and there’s no fucking timetable on getting over that.” Starting down the stairs, Frank barrelled up behind him, giving Dom’s shoulder a shove. ”You think I got him back because I cried enough? If I had that sort of magic wand I’m bring ‘em all back, including Noah. I didn’t ask for it, I still don’t know how the fuck it happened.” The questions had swarmed round his head like flies for years after Theo had come back though.

They buzzed again now, in the air, in his ears until it was close enough to those crackling voices that the beer wanted to rush back up his throat. Frank shoved again, then gripped onto Dominic’s shirt like he needed to hold onto something as some wall in him cracked. ”I meant this town. All the shit that happens here.” The hot air had deflated out of him somehow. His knuckles ached, even when he forced himself to let go. Frank lifted his hand, swiped it under his nose as he stepped back. ”Seems like there’s always some nightmare, people missing, dying. How can any of that be right?” But what was gonna change that? A guy plucking people out of wherever they went on a nightly basis, like it was his absolute mission in life to right all that was seriously wrong.

Tagged: DOMINIC PHENDER * Word Count: 775

He had more than half a dozen inches on Dom and even with a couple of years of mostly sitting around his ass, fifty pounds of solid muscle on him too, but it didn’t stop him from wheeling around at that shove and popping him back. Dom had been angry when they’d first met, Noah’s death seeming to bring an instant ‘fuck you’ attitude out of him. It had been like trying to befriend a cactus, they might want your care but they weren’t about to tell you that and each of those early tries had left you with those spikes in your skin. Frank had pushed though – alright, in a different way to how he had now – and he’d thought it was working.

Those wounds were never simple to heal though. You could think they’d scarred over but all it took was one word, one misunderstanding to tear them wide open and have all that hurt spilling out. Maybe if one lancing was all it took to heal them it’d be easier but Frank knew it didn’t work like that. You couldn’t force it all to drain, eventually it built back up again and, it might take years, but you were right where you’d started.

Frank could feel his own like a hot ball in his chest. Sixteen years weren’t enough to get over what had happened in the woods that night, they hadn’t been enough for Dom to get over Noah being murdered just as brutally either. He coulda let him go, boil off the mad somewhere else while he stewed here and got pissed about the whole thing but nah, he had enough mad in him to push this too. Fingers snagged the back of Dominic’s shirt, pulling him back even when Dom whirled on him again. Live wire. Dom radiated the same sort of energy, all ready to blow right in his face. Maybe that woulda been easier, punch it out of each other until all that hurt was spilled out with blood and ash on the ground.

His dark brows furrowed, his hands eventually coming up in the air like one little gesture of surrender would stop all of this. It did for him but with that throat aching clarification Dom whirled away to punch the fence. ”What the fuck, man? Come on.” Frank’s fingers twitched towards Dominic again but he was already turning back, smashed knuckles cradled in his own hand as he looked like he was talking to the ground. Those blue eyes slid up to meet his, a frown that mirrored his own on Dom’s face. ”Fuck off,” Frank growled lightly. ”I’m not that kinda asshole. I’ve … there’s never been anybody like that for me but I get it enough to not be that kind of a dick, alright?” He’d felt that hole cut right through himself and there’d been no part of him that was alright when Theo got back.

In another town it might’ve been easier but it seemed like every morning there’d been another newspaper headline. Killer animals, hiker found dead. Authorities investigating. Like all those years the sheriff and her people had spent digging had been for nothing. They’d killed wild cats in the woods, a wolf one time, but they’d never found who’d killed Theo. Frank’s breathing felt tight in his throat at Dom’s eventual agreement. His hands sagged, a breath coming out of him heavy as he shook his head. ”That ain’t right,” he said hoarsely. What the fuck else was here. Banshees, werewolves, things that could bring dead people back. It was too much.

Throat aching, Frank tried for a smile but it was strained. Fair never came into it. Why Theo had been brought back, then Kace, he didn’t know. He’d never been the religious sort but this felt like there was something stirring all this around, picking, choosing. ”It’s not fair, and I’m sorry for that, man. I don’t know why it never did happen for you and Noah. If I could make it happen, you know I would.” His mind tipped towards the girl who’d supposedly pulled Kace out of … wherever he’d been. Could she do the same? Would she be able to after all this time? He wasn’t about to give Dom hope that could get crushed like his knuckles but maybe he could ask.

Frank sniffed, knuckling his mouth again. The sorta quiet dinner Kit and Katja had obviously hoped he was gonna have had gone up in smoke almost literally. He glanced at the steaks, huffed out something close to a laugh. They were gonna take some beers to force down. ”I got some ice packs in the freezer, first aid kit too … and y’know, something for the pain.” Sixteen years and he was still choking those pills down dry on the bad days. Frank clapped a hand on Dom’s shoulder, steering him towards the porch to shove him into a seat at the tiny table. A beer dropped onto it in front of him seconds later. The steaks ended up on a plate in the middle of the table, salad abandoned next to them.

He dropped into the seat next to Dom, setting down an ice pack, the kit they kept stocked – although it wasn’t like anything could leave Kit cut up, the asshole could heal just about anything. ”You wanna take something first?” Frank asked, hazel eyes ticking up to Dom as he reached for his hand. ”Can’t promise it ain’t gonna hurt but I’ll kiss it better after.” A tick of his mouth at that like the joke would somehow soften the last sting left between the two of them.

Tagged: DOMINIC PHENDER * Word Count: 947

You didn’t try and take care of rabid dogs. Some guys in the camps had tried it, taking on those skinny, starving, flea ridden strays that seemed to run wild around war zones worldwide. They woke up covered in bites, scratching, cursing, lucky if it hadn’t been the dog itself taking lumps out of them. What happened when it was time to come home? It wasn’t like you could pack them up in your duffel and sneak them back home. Even if it you got them back there what was gonna happen the next time you had to ship out? They were more trouble than they were worth.

Frank was sure he’d seen that warning in Kit’s eyes when he’d brought Dom home that night. A half broken, half wild stray, in the end one of them was either gonna be trying to tear their skin off to get rid of the mange or he’d bite.

Sixteen years was proof they weren’t getting rid of him and enough time, hopefully, to have Kit coming around to the idea that this was a lifetime commitment. It could be cut short, they’d lost too many that way, brutally cut out whatever kind of fucking existence allowed things like that to happen. You might not have tomorrow to kiss and make up, to say the shit you couldn’t get off your chest. You might walk out the damn yard and get …

Fuck. Frank’s throat tightened to the point of nearly choking him. Yeah, they both fucking got it. Apologising now wasn’t gonna change what was still in Dom’s head though. Some had been brought back from a situation just as fucked up and tragic as the one he’d been picturing – that still too skinny dog running straight out into traffic on that wave of temper – but Noah hadn’t. The spider’s web of fucked up shit in this town had stayed wrapped around the guy Dom loved and there were a thousand reasons to get pissed about that.

Maybe if he’d been pissed about it all still, it would’ve been easier but that initial violent rollercoaster of emotion had smoothed out over the years. Time was meant to be a great healer and for him … maybe. For Dom it still spewed out and fuck, man, he was no damn therapist. Frank didn’t know what to do to staunch that wound. A smile that wouldn’t curl like it should, a promise that he woulda given almost anything to make happen but it was like slapping a bandage over a dirty wound. Maybe you’d get lucky and you’d heal – getting back what the wound had taken – but just as likely you’d succumb to that shit. Dying in the agony hope and denial would bring you any day of the week. Cremated steak, beer and a little white pill or two was a shitty band aid but it was what he had tonight.

Frank fetched it, spread his makeshift ‘med kit’ out on the table, nudging the pills close – the ones from his stash in his bedroom would’ve been better, an instant numbing in a little metal tin kept in his gun safe these days and out of Hazel’s reach. Dom’s skin felt hot against his own, almost as hot as Kit’s had been that night he’d curled around him, trying to stop the shivers from shaking his recently bereaved friend apart. His own fingers were chilly, his eyes darting up. ”Sorry.” The apology rolled out low before his glib offer was tossed out. Frank chuckled, flinching back an inch before he got a better grip on that burst up hand. ”Gonna have to go southpaw for a couple of days. Mmm.” Another wince, stronger this time as he eyed Dom. ”You can talk for yourself. I’m not ready for the retirement village yet.” Old operators got old early – not that any of his team had gotten the opportunity for that to happen. Him and Kit had those scars carved into them but neither one of them had slowed down. Sixteen years hadn’t given him a pot belly or put any grey in that hair Kit had insisted on keeping long (sorry buddy, at some point the Britney locks just got undignified).

Hazel eyes flicked from the split knuckles as Dom picked up the steak. Frank winced, shaking his head. There was no redeeming them, no matter how much sauce you poured on them. ”Anybody ever all you a masochist?” he asked. Letting out a pffft, Frank jabbed a little harder at Dom’s knuckle in retribution for the mouth. ”You didn’t catch me on my best day. You’ve never bitched ‘bout the cooking before.” In those years of family gatherings, and yeah, blood or not, Dom had strutted his way that far into his life in those years. They’d never ended up like this then, Dom’s temper stinging his ass, so to speak, his own wayward fucking thoughts dizzying him up til he'd stumbled into that verbal minefield.

Mock sighing, Frank focused. He knew the sting of the disinfectant, the need to just get your mind off it – biting down on a fucking bullet, running your mouth, burying yourself in your happy place. Was that Noah, even now? Frank shook his head as he pressed a pad of gauze to Dom’s knuckles, chuckling tiredly as he looked up. ”Naw, you get anything more than a little scratch and you’re fucked with me. They paid Kit to do that, another buddy of mine too.” Wherever Raik had ended up, with that brother of his in tow. ”I was an officer, went to Westpoint to learn how to order other people’s asses around.” Until you got yours blown up.

Frank made a sound low in his throat, fingers a little brusque as he wrapped the bandage around Dom’s knuckles. He tied off the knot, lifted Dom’s hand closer to inspect his work and dipped his head to smack a kiss there like he’d threatened. Anticipating the swing, the ‘fuck you’, he rocked back, something smug – and maybe a little fragile still – in the smirk he shot at Dom. ”Yeah yeah, but no, fuck you. That feel OK or d'you need something a little more to take the edge off?” He could feel his own sliding back in. Not the dull, numbness that sank over his mind sometimes, like clouds rolling down off of Mount Fuji to blanket everything, that razor edge that had him reaching for something more than Tylenol even after all this time. A proper white out for his body and his brain, fucking sandpaper to take to those scars to try and get rid of them.

Tagged: DOMINIC PHENDER * Word Count: 1112

Shuffling around the halls of Bethesda, white knuckling the walker they’d sworn was his gateway to a walking stick and eventually home, Frank had felt a thousand years old. Couldn’t stand long enough to shower, not without exhausting himself badly enough that he drowned in ‘I told you so’ looks all damn day. Couldn’t keep his hands steady enough to shave. Couldn’t get through a whole night without waking up with that electric shock pain bolting down his spine, leaving the muscles in his arms spasming and a cold sweat slicking his skin as he fumbled for that little button that’d send the morphine rushing through his body. There’d been old guys there who’d fought in Korea and you knew when they were doing better than you, you were fucked.

Shit. Frank huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes to meet Dom’s as he laughed. Maybe he’d just circled around to being that same broken asshole, only now all that infirmity was on the inside, just waiting for the right medicine to be slathered on. ”I look like a fuckin’ geriatric huh?” There’d been a hitch as Dom had thrown the line at him, that shit eating expression vanishing for just a second as he’d skirted around words he didn’t wanna say aloud. After sixteen years he had to be pushing it through those higher stretches of middle age but … There were times it felt it and he could remember each watershed moment in there – maybe forgetting first babysitting Hazel and the tidal wave of baby poop that’d spilled out of an inexpertly applied diaper woulda been a blessing – and other times, like this, when the holes in their lives, the losses, felt so recent that there were still tattered edges to those emotional wounds.

Humming, just a little satisfied, Frank did gentle his touch, skirting the edges of the torn skin almost tenderly with the gauze, wiping away the thin threads of blood without touching the wounds. ”Yet you still keep coming around to see me. Ha!” Freyja getting the credit for the cooking had him rocking back far enough to have the chair under him creaking. It wasn’t always easy to pull back on those emotions, a fine line dividing hysteria and the healthy release of what bubbled up under the cracked surface. ”Next Sunday I’ll get Freyja in the kitchen to show you what she can do. You can be in charge of using the extinguisher to knock the fire back.” Coming out of cow country Kit could handle a grill, and up until tonight he hadn’t been half bad either, but … The frown filtered back in. Tonight he’d drifted and in that disturbing way he’d lost time again. Too fucking much time.

The immediate aftermath of the explosion had been like that, although it was a handful of years before he’d screamed. A high whine in the air, his eyes staring almost sightlessly at the sliver of sky through the torn side of the truck that had become the roof as they’d been thrown. Kit’s face swimming into view almost the same way Dom’s had. The relief he couldn’t have verbalised then bringing tears to his eyes as bloodied fingers had clutched at Kit’s arm as he pulled him out. Frank closed his fingers around Dom’s wrist now, squeezing lightly as his admission brought Noah floating squarely back between them. ”They have dozens of hoops to jump through to get in. He still enlisted though, right?” Noah had always been one of those sore spots he didn’t want to dig too deep into. The smile slanted on his lips for a moment. ”Yeah, I wanted in.” And he’d worked his ass off to make it happen, not wanting his dad to grease the wheels.

Little bits of what had happened had fluttered out over time, these conversations with Dom, always a little squirmy, drawing them out. The same seemed to happen in return, his picture of Noah filling in slowly over the years. Teeth working over his lower lip, Frank nodded. ”Yeah, you kinda mentioned it, but … not the meat of it.” Cause that was one of those things contained beneath that sore spot, Noah the thorn in that spot, the one Dominic didn’t want to pluck free. Frank huffed out a laugh, his grin slanting further as Dom looked up at him. ”Unlike you it was out of choice, so I wasn’t about to go sneaking out.” He could picture Dominic doing it though, that scrawny form slithering over walls, not looking back unless he was giving the place the finger. ”My old man,” Frank admitted finally, running fingertips lightly over the gauze. ”He was this GI Joe like kick ass hero and I wanted to be just like him. Hero worship leads you all kinda ways.” Only his dad had spent decades in without being blown to kingdom come.

The fact that he had done and had still crawled his way back … that was something to be celebrated. There was still damage there, as evidenced by his fucking comatose state tonight, but he was still clinging on by his fingernails, moments like this leaving him with that hope that he’d slowly crawl away from that edge. ”Love you too, man,” Frank crooned. He pursed his lips as Dom inspected his work, debated blowing the guy a kiss, but one swing with that hand would open those knuckles back up and he wasn’t playing medic again.

That job was finishing as soon as the little more got into Dom’s system and had the last of that raw edge melting away. Frank tucked the first aid shit back in the box, held it in his right hand and squeezed Dom’s shoulder as he pushed to his feet. He padded towards the kitchen sliders, lifting his other hand to flip Dom the bird as that last cackled comment came his way. ”You get hungry enough you won’t care.” His appetite for what was good for him still wasn’t there, despite Katja’s goading. Moments later he was standing in his bedroom, staring down at that little case he’d pulled out from the back of the drawer of his nightstand, the one he kept locked when his niece came over, there was shit in this house sixteen year olds definitely didn’t need to see.

Coping strategy or just a stop gap, Frank didn’t know, but he wanted the hit of it as bad as Dom did. The edges bit into his fingers as he walked back out – a couple of beers snagged from the fridge on the way back, although it seemed Dom had helped himself. Out on the porch again, Frank sank down on the edge of the table instead of the chair he’d been in before, the plate shoved back behind him. He cocked his head, holding out the open case before he shook the downers out into his palm. Something to smooth out the edges and leave him, them, drifting in a better way. ”Help yourself,” Frank rasped.

The beer had the pill going down easy. The foam was like the tide, rolling in again and again, washing more down until at some point he was sprawled, hazel eyes heavy lidded, eyes fixed the way they had been on the sky earlier, although now it was Dom’s smart assed mouth fixed in his vision, the curve of his lower lip, the damp flash of his tongue, the glint of teeth. Everything under his skin gliding in perfect motion. No fucking hesitation, after years of those desperate hook ups, cut off the moment he had what he needed, he shoulda been the expert at this. That inch in, that focus on just that narrow sliver of need to block out the ghosts constantly clinging to his life, the instant heat in his throat as his mouth found another and clutch of fingers, the anchor he needed in more than just those brief, frantic moments.

Tagged: DOMINIC PHENDER * Word Count: 1331

Temporary stamps on his skin, melting away before he got back to base. Never the permanent imprints some guys on the team wore, never the solidity of vows and a ring on his left hand. Seeing Freyja slip the ring onto Theo’s hand in the middle of an honest to God barn, Frank had glanced down at his own left hand. It being easier, better, for both people involved didn’t make those brief encounters any more satisfying in the end. Necessity had perhaps faded like those stamps, yet, still he hadn’t allowed anything, anyone to needle deeper, not the way Dominic had with Noah.

Hazel eyes watched the knuckles that rippled as Dominic rubbed his mouth, dropped to the ones now spiderwebbed with thin threads of blood that had worked their way down into the cracks in his skin. Noah was permanently imprinted there, in Noah’s heart, his mind, probably somewhere in his skin. You didn’t wash that stuff off in the shower, you didn’t shed it like a layer of skin when violence tore them away. All those memories remained imprinted in a way none of his own hook ups had ever done. ”You left because you had to, and he got that,” Frank reminded him in a low voice, feeling that shake in Dominic’s breathing through the hand he held. Being told ‘you had to’ didn’t make the ‘what ifs’ any easier to carry though.

What if you’d told command that the road wasn’t safe? What if it had been some other team sent out in the convoy that day? What if Chaco had been able to steer just a little further clear of the IED? What if Kit hadn’t pulled him out? Questions that would swim until they drove you insane.

Whatever questions had been left unanswered between Dominic and Noah before had been set aside. They’d both made their choices and in the end it had been one of those loves that stuck under your ribs, that consumed everything in there, one of those that had ended in the sort of tragedy that tore even the living apart. The corner of Frank’s mouth rose. ”Downright fuckin’ epic. Hollywood would eat that shit up.” A twist on the whole Brokeback Mountain thing for sure. Two guys put through the damn wringer and coming up the other side with something that endured even beyond death.

His parents had never gone through that gauntlet to get to where they were. His dad had put himself in danger on a daily basis but he’d never ended up trapped in rehab for months or on the run from the MPs. Their biggest trial had been Theo’s hearing and even that had come good in the end. In the end his dad was just the good, solid dependable kind of guy, a hell of a soldier and an amazing dad. In their own ways both he and Theo had taken after him – one of them the soldier, the other the father. Frank’s pride in him shone in that slanted grin, and his eyes as they ticked up to take in Dominic’s grin. ”All that and more.” Although Frank swallowed hard as Dominic dragged the white elephant into the middle of the room.

He'd never been one of those gay guys who’d tried to cover it all by bringing ‘girlfriends’ home, female friends happy to play beard for a while just so they didn’t have to say the words, not that he ever had. Frank grunted faintly, his brows furrowing for a moment before he tried to shrug it off. ”It’s never been an issue, he wasn’t ever the sort of guy who’d kick you out of the house for looking at another guy a little too long.” Dom’s follow up swing, had Frank blinking at him for a moment before the snort rolled out. ”Even Saints have their fuck ups. You wanna point out any of my other faults here while you’re at it?” Oh, that was a list that’d probably end some time around sunrise.

That was all too far away. Hours to spend in the dark, probably alone after Dom strutted out of there, coasting on what was left of the beer in the fridge and what he took from the box of mood alterations. Whatever cloud he ended up in didn’t guarantee that those twitchy neurons in his brain would settle, nothing ever seemed to be one hundred percent reliable there.

Frank downed something to work those splintered edges away. Another temporary measure, a stopgap while that permanent solution floated out there in the universe, just out of reach along with everything else. He lifted his bottle, a toast to Dominic’s choice, to that rabbit hole they were both scurrying down, away from the sting of busted knuckles and shattered hearts.

Mother Earth’s lure had pulled them down, as welcoming as the black pit of the night sky had been earlier, bodies swirling down until the grass cradled them. No pain from scarred muscles and skin pressed into it, no pain at all. A drift on that green carpet accompanied by the soft crooning mumble of Dominic’s voice, some ode to it all that just had Frank unknowingly grinning sloppy until that cradle rolled them in. Sensation crept back, the tickle of Dominic’s knuckles up his arm, the shiver at the contrast of skin on his own and the softer drag of fabric. Heat rolling up, out, with every breath, the puff of it almost visible in the twitch of Dominic’s mouth, that same smile right there.

Another temporary bolt of need, nothing imprinting permanently – oh, even in this state he knew there was no room for that when Noah still occupied every inch of real estate that mattered. The kiss only borrowed it, covering it for a short time like the bandage on Dominic’s knuckles. In the end it would be shrugged off, leaving unmarked skin beneath. That would be enough though, the cloud he needed, he wanted.

Fingers biting into his jaw, ramping the hunger until he was tasting yeast and burned steak and Dominic. Drinking down the curse that rolled out of him so fucking apt for what was coming. Frank rolled, bracing himself over Dominic as the smaller man pulled him in. One hand planted by his head, his thumb running up that crook between trapezius and the hinge of Dom’s jaw, the other at his hip, sliding up beneath his shirt, nails grazing the line of ribs as Dom tugged at his belt, his pants, wedged in tight against his skin. Not enough, although his breath rolled out raw, hoarse against that hot, seeking mouth as he dragged his hand back from Dom’s side. Fumbling at his belt, fighting with the buckle until it was falling loose and he could start releasing that pressure. ”Fuck.” Reverence falling lose, eyes fixed on the man under him before cool air was hitting super-skin. Clothes kicked away, that fog of need falling back in to shroud both of them.



Fingerprints stamped on skin to fade eventually, although the feel of them would float to the surface for far longer. Frank’s hand dragged against the damp skin of the hip tucked up against his own. Limbs splayed in the grass, irritating blades of it making themselves felt in places that didn’t bear thinking about. He should’ve stiffened up as he saw the black hair standing sharp against the nape of Dominic’s neck, hair he’d tangled fingers in who knew how long ago, dragging, coaxing, guiding. On a long breath Frank sagged into that knot. It wasn’t the first time the two of them had woken up like this, although this was no awkward brushing off of the storm that had rolled in.

He dragged his hand higher, a firm touch that felt the flex of the ribs beneath. Overhead pale streaks had started to wash across the sky. Dawn was coming, might’ve been for a while. ”Hey.” A hoarse grunt, rusty in that still air. ”You with me?” So many fucking facets to the question that even he didn’t know which he meant. There was only so much fog you could blame that little box for, so many answers you wanted to hear in the end.

Tagged: DOMINIC PHENDER * Word Count: 1383