Snippet #2684843

The past is wrapped around his throat and even though he can breathe here he can still feel her presence. His blood is rushing through his head and clouding his ears, reminding him of days spent on the shoreline pressing shells to the side of his face; wondering if that was really the ocean he could hear or if that was just another pretty story his mother used to cover up the deeds dealt in back rooms.

He rolls his head on his neck and scratches at the skin just under his hairline, stares across the bar at clear liquor brought to life by neon lights. He hurts and he itches something awful and the things he knows refuse to leave him alone.

“Don't fuck this up for her.”

He blinks and sees his Baby, flowers threaded through her long dark hair, holding her arms up to him and a bright smile across her face. The world is in front of her and he should have been there to make sure she got it.

"I don't condone brutality to women. But make it slow. She smells like tabloid."

He blinks and smells blood, feels the welcoming crust of it under his nails. Copper and iron, sweet and salty, and he wants more. Wants to paint the floor with it in a promise to keep he and h i s safe. It’s his job. His purpose.

"I didn't wanna' die before I knew someone else could keep you warm."

He blinks and he’s young and home and her fingers fit perfectly between his, always have. Her wings shed feathers and broke off but she was still golden, still his, still everything he’d ever loved. They’d heal together. He needed her.

No.

He needed Novi, to fix what she’d broken.

“Depends,” Aedan’s voice is low, cool like the edge of a freshly sharpened knife, and Dom feels a wave of relief just at the s o u n d of it. He’s not like Daisy. He’s not warmth and hope. He’s not like Novi, not fire and protection. He’s ice; unforgiving, unrelenting.

Dom might not need him, but he wants him. Like he’s never wanted anything.

There’s nerves here, but he thinks he likes them. Thinks of them in the way his father talked about, so many years ago. The knowledge that one wrong move could fuck up everything and for once he actually cares about that. The nerves are sobering.

There’s no pretense here, not with Aedan. No games he has to play, no sanity he has to keep. Daisy had known him better than anyone in the world, but she’d pulled chunks away when she left. Novi had learned to read between the blanks, fill him in where she could, but with Aedan...with Aedan there’s understanding.
The rational part of him says that should bother him. That ‘understanding’ means Aedan knows too much, sees too much, but there’s a thrill in that too. A familiarity, of sorts.

He shoves his deposition for daisies back down where it belongs - pressed between pages and hidden in folded photographs - and lets anything else unimportant fall from his mind. He doesn’t want to be who he is right now.

He’s tired.

He’s done, just for a little while.

He finds peace in the cold and comfort in a murderer and that’s good enough for him.

For once in his goddamn life he’s going to i n d u l g e.

He watches Aedan’s gaze dart to Senna and can’t say he’s surprised. She’s got more attention on her now than even the girls on stage, and she’s putting on a show. He covers his distaste with a drink, but his fingers tighten on the glass. Promises made meant that problem was his problem, and he definitely intended to take care of it.

He can taste the flare of Aedan’s own hatred even through the alcohol on his tongue, and thinks he probably won’t have to take care of this one alone. Although there’s really only one solution to a problem such as this, and while it’s Aedan’s calling card it’s his responsibility. Something he has to be a part of. It’s a little foolish, perhaps, but it’s not like he’s going to be able to hold Aedan back anyway. Though he wonders which one of them will act first.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

He smirks, slightly, because the answer is always ‘yes’ in one form or another. Moments to himself are few and far between and rarely grabbed, because something else is always more important. Tonight, however, his cravings are too persistent to ignore, and the only thing heavy enough to move him from the Dingo’s side would be a bite from the man himself.

He watches Senna and Caroline slink away, and knows from the set of her shoulders it’s because she’s uncomfortable, and he wishes she would have known better than to bring a snake into a wolf den, no matter how shiny the scales. Part of him is ready to move, push his glass away, take care of the problem then and there.

The other part knows better.

Subtlety is his strong suit.

He’ll wait.

He opens his mouth to answer the question he was asked, but the buzzing of a phone cuts him off. His hand curls into a fist against his knee, fucking i r r i t a t e d, but Aedan’s attention doesn’t stay distracted from him for long. Which is good, he thinks, he doesn’t get it nearly enough, and he’ll be damned if someone tries to take it from him.

He’ll slit even Chloe’s throat if he has too. Which he might, if the name that he saw flash across that screen was correct.

“Not anymore,” he decides on the subject of ‘plans’. Because any plans he may have had went out the window the moment he laid eyes on the demon hanging off of Senna. Or when Novi left alone, in the wake of a fight. Or when a memory decided to spill itself across his lap. No, he has no plans. Except to maybe forget himself a little bit. Let Aedan take over his night, for once. Daisy’s appearance fucked him up, and he can’t find his footing.

“There are things we should probably discuss anyways.” Discuss is a funny word for them, because as a pair words between them are so incredibly rare. “And, you could always tag along.” Ah, there it was. Something no one else would be able to pick out of their conversation. An invitation.

A fucking heavy one.

His hand hesitates as he lifts his glass, but he presses it to his lips and tosses back the last of his drink. It burns, but he’s been long accustomed to that feeling. His tongue swipes across his lower lip before his his teeth drag it into his mouth, and he breathes steadily through his nose before he nods. “Yeah, alright.”

“I got used to the cold.”

He sets his glass down, stares at Aedan for a moment, and thinks...he definitely could.