Dark Waters Rising

Mistakes

Valentine laid awake long into the night. He stared up into the night sky and listened to the crackling of the fire, but all he could think about was the man curled up in the sand on the other side of the flames. 

Valentine did not have the words to describe what it felt like to be kissed by Wesley. Sure, their lips had connected before, but not like that. It was nothing but a press of lips to lips, but to Valentine it was everything. For that brief moment, he had felt whole again.

And he hadn't been stabbed, which was a bonus.

The pirate's lips tingled at the memory of the merchant's. Despite the brilliant view of endless stars stretching above him, all he could see was Wesley. His black heart ached for what it could not have and he silently cursed the gods for pairing him with a man that deserved so much better. 

Valentine turned his head to gaze upon the other man. He was facing the flames as he slept, so the pirate was easily able to discern each of the merchant's impeccable features in the firelight. If Valentine had to describe them, he would use the word soft paired with strong. Every aspect of his face was distinctly masculine, but it lacked the harsh edges and severity that appeared on his own. Wesley appeared warmer, friendlier, and kinder just from the way he looked. Valentine couldn't quite make out the soft smattering of freckles across the merchant's cheeks in the dim lighting, but his memory would not let him forget about them so easily. He could see the flush of the man's cheeks and nose due to some combination of the alcohol and too long in the sun, though, and he found it rather endearing.

The more Valentine let his eyes linger on the merchant, the more his thoughts wandered into dangerous territory. He forced himself to look back up at the stars as memories of heated kisses and the man pinned beneath him resurfaced. Though the prelude to his latest injury had not been his finest moment, he found his mind drifting back to it often. The healed wound in his thigh throbbed as if remembering the knife, but that was soon forgotten as his mind played out scenes of what might've happened if his mate had not been so eager to kill him.

It was not a healthy train of thought, but he could not help it. He was as vulnerable to the cursed mate bond as Wesley was, if not more so. He suspected that very bond was to blame for Wesley's moment of weakness earlier that night, for he could not conceive of any other plausible explanation for the kiss.

Valentine turned on his side, away from both the merchant and the flames, and tried to rid himself of such thoughts. They were not doing either of them any good.

Sometimes the pirate felt as if Wesley was the one who had sung and that he was the one lost in an enchantment. It was ridiculous, he knew, but nothing else explained the painful yearning inside of him. All he wanted was to be closer to Wesley, and constantly denying himself that hurt far more than any knife wound could. 

But he was doing it for Wesley, and that was what made it more bearable. 

Sighing deeply, he forced his eyes closed and willed sleep to whisk him away from reality.

----+------+----

"So what did you do?" Wesley asked as he chewed his breakfast. 

Valentine looked up tiredly, not quite sure what the merchant was asking about. Though he had not slept well, the bruises from their encounter the previous night had already disappeared from his face. They were replaced by the dark circles beneath his eyes. 

When he did not answer straight away, Wesley gestured to the pirate's blackened hand, which by now sported tendrils snaking up to nearly his elbow. 

"It's a long story," Valentine breathed, examining his afflicted arm lazily.