Spellbound (24 page)

“What are you doing here?” Stavros asked. Elion’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath.

“Cleaning my desk,” Elion answered, idly shifting the box in his arms.

“Oh,” Stavros said quietly. “When are you coming back?”

“I’m not,” Elion breathed.

“What do you mean-” Stavros began to ask when Elion shook his head quickly.

“Goodbye, Stavros,” he rushed out before he maneuvered around the larger man and continued walking in defiance of the miserable screaming voice in the back of his head demanding that he stop.

~~

“Seriously?” Elion bellowed after tackling a young man to the ground. His body throbbed and his knees stung from the impact. The kid under him struggled to get free, hissing and snapping elongated teeth at Elion’s hand. “Dude, just stop!”

“Did you just call him dude?” a light voice laughed. Elion growled as he grabbed the kid and yanked him to his feet, double checking the cuffs before passing him to the female officer holstering her weapon.

“Just get him out of my face,” Elion snapped. The officer chuckled as she led the teenager to the back of a waiting police car. Elion scrubbed a dirty hand over his face and sighed. His uniform was a mess and he was sweating in places that made him want to shower for an hour, and when the effects of his latest healing session ran out he was going to regret the day’s physical demands. He had to remind himself multiple times every day that he chose this.

He had signed the transfer papers the second he had gotten his hands on them. He had asked for this; thieving teenagers and belligerent drunks, human and supernatural alike. He had asked for swing shifts and horrendous overtime. He had thought California would be good. His parents were there and the Force there would keep him busy; keep him distracted, if he was being honest. It was warm and it was busy, but it wasn’t good. Nothing was
good anymore.

When he left the station a few hours later he was more than ready for a long shower and his bed, just like he was every night. It didn’t mean that he had to sleep, though. It didn’t mean that he could.

Elion discarded his filthy uniform on the floor while he waited for his shower to warm. He spared the man in the mirror a pitiful glance. He needed to shave, but the stubble hid most of the scars. He wasn’t ashamed of them and he never would be. It just saved him from questions and made it easier to pretend that he was forgetting; that he was moving on, which was ridiculous, really. He didn’t have anything to move on from. Stavros wasn’t his. He never was and he never would be.

Elion took his time under the shower spray, letting the hot drops work his tight muscles and attempt to make him feel clean. The same way every shower had attempted to do since leaving Hesian. It never worked. The hollow ache was like a virus that had to run its course, but it never did. It ate at him constantly, destroying pieces of him that he would never get back, and he didn’t want it back, and he couldn’t help but think he was becoming a martyr.

He had tried to ignore Mikhail’s calls and emails, but the old bastard had only gotten more aggressive and called his
mother
. He was a grown man being scolded by his mother for ignoring his old boss, and that’s when he missed Stavros. The jerk would have laughed, no doubt. He missed Stavros then, as well, when he remembered that sound, because it really was the best one. And his smile, he missed the jerk when someone would flash him a pearly grin and he would think how much better Stavros could have done it. When a perp tried to outrun him or another officer gave him a hard time, he couldn’t help but think how Stavros would have knocked heads together without a second thought, and Elion missed him then, too. Elion missed him when he woke up cold and searched out for warmth next to him, only to realize he was alone. He missed Stavros with every other breath he took. The ones in between were spent cursing Stavros for destroying him, and then there were the times that he just
couldn’t breathe.

He missed him, and it was a worse torture than anything Victor could have even dreamed up.

Malachi was rotting in a cell for his crimes; his accomplices had joined him not long after, and Victor was rotting in whatever form of the Void he had spawned from. The damage was done, though. The scars burned sometimes, as if asking for Elion’s attention, for an answer to why they were there and if it was for nothing; and it wasn’t for nothing. Even when the pain rebounded so hard that it stole his vision and breath, he knew he would do it a hundred times over if he had to.

Those thoughts are what led him to his mother’s garden late into the night. His bedroom wasn’t small, but it wasn’t large enough to make him feel like he wasn’t back in that room, like he wasn’t trapped and struggling to protect Stavros even though he had failed. When the latter of those feelings kicked in, he would find himself waking up in the garden with an empty liquor bottle or two nearby. It had only taken a few times of that for him to realize why Stavros looked so at place with a half empty tumbler in his hand. It didn’t take away the misery, the horrible, crushing weight of nightmares and sadness, but it made it easier to breathe for a short time. It made it easier to just clock out for a bit. It made it easier to look the department psychiatrist in the face and
smile
like he wasn’t a fucking burning wreck.

This night, Elion knew, would be one of those nights. Everything was too small, too closed off and, fuck, he missed Stavros. He missed waking up too hot and crowded against the larger man. He missed fighting over the shower and toothpaste splatters on the sink. He missed morning exchanges of tired grunts and he was so far gone on that man he knew he wasn’t going to survive it. No matter how many realms away he moved, it was never going to be far enough. Elion
swore
he could feel their binding tugging at times, a reassurance from his scarred mind, he supposed.

He sighed as he wrapped a towel around his thin waist and quickly turned away from the mirror before he fell into the trap of his reflection. His hair had grown out into a wild, shaggy mop that stopped just short of his brow and made him look even younger. His skin was riddled with scars that he refused attempts at healing. They were his; his to keep and carry proudly, but sometimes they just spoke too loudly. Water dripped down his face and back as he pulled clean sweatpants from his dresser. There was no reason to put on anything else. It wasn’t like he actually went out. He rolled his eyes when his bedroom opened with a light squeak.

“Mama, seriously. We talked about you-“  Elion’s words dropped like lead blocks when he turned around. Stavros shifted nervously on his feet; a hand rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and his eyes traveled to every nook of the room before falling on Elion.

Stavros lowered his chin and cleared his throat. “You asked me if I loved him.”

Elion’s thick tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, refusing to let any words form. A simple nod was all he found himself mustering.

“I thought I did. I
thought
I did because I had nothing to compare it to,” Stavros said, dragging a palm over his face. “I don’t- I didn’t love him.”

“You came here to tell me that?” Elion asked dryly.

“Yes,” Stavros nodded, his gaze drifting to the floor. “That’s not how I was supposed to say it.”

“Say what?”

“I brought you these,” Stavros blurted, and Elion gasped in surprise when a thin bouquet of brightly colored flowers was shoved against his chest. “I burned my bed. And my couch. I had to because they smelled like you.”

“Wow. Alright,” Elion gaped. “I’m not sure— how am I supposed to take that?”

Stavros hands balled into tight fists that rested against his thighs. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed as if he was ready to explode, but he wasn’t, Elion noted. His cheeks were darkening by the second and his shoulders were so tense that they were trembling. Stavros was terrified.

“I told you things, and I’m wearing jeans, because I do own them.” Elion’s eyes flickered down to the dark washed jeans he was wearing with a plain white t-shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He looked back up with a twisted tongue and a furrowed brow. Stavros threw his arms up with a frustrated growl and Elion found himself stepping forward.

“Why are you here?” Elion asked hesitantly.

“You’re in love with me,” Stavros stated with no room for denial. “I don’t understand. No one has ever done that. I don’t know what it means, Elion. I don’t- I was scared. I didn’t understand. You didn’t hurt me. You never hurt me. You said things, nice things. You were bleeding and I was scared. Do you understand? I was so scared. You asked why I starve myself. I hate it. I hate people doing those things to me; I hate what I have to do. I thought that’s what you wanted, but it wasn’t, was it?” Stavros rushed out, forcing him to suck in a deep breath.

Elion didn’t bother to try and hide the hot streaks that burned trails down his cheeks as he shook his head. Not when Stavros was standing in front of him, voice trembling and swiping furiously at his own face with the back of his hands.

“I thought I deserved the things they did. All of it.”

“And now you don’t?” Elion sniffed. Stavros shook his head.

“You said things.”

“I did, and I meant them. But none of this tells me why you’re here, Stavros.”

“I burned my bed!” Stavros shouted. “And flowers, Mikhail said flowers are a thing and- I had nothing to compare it too and then you showed up and you’re such a damn brat!” Stavros groaned a sniffle into his palms and Elion found himself choking on dormant laughter. Stavros glanced up from his hands, his eyes narrowed in confusion and his blush rushing towards the tips of his ears.

“Holy shit, you really can’t say it,” Elion breathed, his heartbeat pounding violently behind his ribs.

“Elion-”

“You are a socially awkward jerk. You infuriate me. You make me go out of my mind. You made me cry!” Elion yelled, shoving forward slightly. Stavros looked at him with a pained expression before his hands dropped with a heavy, shaky sigh. Elion didn’t have time to move before muscular arms were around him. It took him a moment to realize that Stavros wasn’t trying to hurt him, but that Stavros was
hugging
him. Awkwardly, at best, but it was a hug nonetheless. Elion’s arms stretched up and snaked around Stavros’ neck, forcing him closer. Stavros bent slightly, just enough to allow him to bury his face against the crook of Elion’s neck, and cling to him like Elion was the only thing keeping him grounded. Despite being the saddest thing Elion had ever experienced, it was almost beautiful; the awkward liberation of the jaded man clinging to him.

He hushed Stavros as he dragged him backwards with awkward steps until he was hitting the edge of his bed. Elion tucked himself around Stavros, his leg thrown over the older man’s waist and his arms snaked around him, trapping him tightly. Large fingers knotted in the back of Elion’s shirt though he had no intention of letting Stavros go anytime soon.

The sunlight was inching down and blanketing them with late shadows when Stavros finally moved. Elion did his best to smile at Stavros who looked exhausted and terrified. Elion’s arms had gone dead hours prior and his body was achingly stiff, but that face- that made it okay.

“Why did you say you were sorry at the hospital?” Stavros asked quietly, his voice slightly hoarse.

Elion’s lopsided smile fell and his brow furrowed tightly. “Because I couldn’t protect you. I tried, but I failed.”

“Elion, it wasn’t your fault. You shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, because I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant protecting you.”

“Elion-”

“What?” Elion asked, frustrated and prepared for an argument. Stavros was frowning at him with his elbow propped on the bed and his jaw resting on his hand. It was a breathtaking sight, really.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. Who do you think you-” Elion involuntarily fell into the arms that snaked around him at the same moment lips cut off his words. It was an amateur kiss, a bit sloppy and unpracticed, but it didn’t stop them from making it more, from adding whatever they wanted to say through breathless moans and nipping teeth.

But once they had slowed their frantic pace, had given into to each other, there wasn’t any holding back. Elion was split between leaning into the hands cupping his throat and cheek or leaning in to swallow more of the sounds that Stavros was making, like they could fill the hunger that he felt burning in his bones. Blunt teeth claimed a patch of flesh at the base of his throat while Stavros yanked Elion’s leg over his hip roughly. The intent was clear, but not rushed.

“What’s this mean?” Elion asked as experienced fingers slowly slid down his spine and slightly chapped lips memorized his jaw line.

Stavros huffed irritably and shoved Elion’s shirt up. A warm palm pressed to the center of his chest, making his racing heart stretch towards the surface. Stavros didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. Elion gave a small nod and Stavros grinned. Elion froze in the basking warmth of it for a single breath before he was shoving Stavros off of him and onto his back. Stavros looked up with disbelieving eyes and Elion couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re seriously off your game, old man.” Stavros growled in response, though his eyes were dark and hungry. It made Elion feel untouchable.