Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/930388.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Other, Multi
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Original_Male_Character_&_Original_Male_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Birds, Shapeshifting, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Rape/Non-con_Elements,
      Past_Child_Abuse, Cannibalism, Polyamory, Community:_smut_fest, Captivity
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-17 Completed: 2013-12-03 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 11893
****** Songs of mockingbirds ******
by Ischa
Summary
     Connected stories about Bird-people from the Mockingbird verse. This
     is pretty much a darker, more twisted version of Birdland.
     “There is a saying our people have,” the mockingbird replied. “If you
     love something then set it free and if it comes back, it’s rightfully
     yours.”
     Peter laughed, but it sounded bitter even to his own ears. “That
     clears up one thing, doesn’t it?”
     The mockingbird kept silent.
Notes
     Originally written for narroch.
     Beta by Icalynn. <3
***** Chapter 1 *****
One
The heat was nearly unbearable. Even during the night hours it was way too hot
to sleep. Peter was wandering the halls of the manor barefoot; the floorboards
stuck to his skin and made a sucking, unpleasant noise with every step.
He wiped away the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and stopped at
the door to his mother’s room. It was empty now, with her gone, but sometimes
he could swear he heard her voice – in the walls or in the air. He looked
around the corridor and listened, but it seemed the house was still empty. His
father wasn’t back yet from what he called business trips, but Peter knew they
were visits to the whorehouse two cities over.
He stepped in front of the door and tried the handle. It was locked, it was
always locked. Since his mother had passed away and there was only one
key…well, two. One had been his father’s and one had been his mother’s. Peter
was pretty sure that his father wouldn’t come back until late Sunday evening
and it was only Friday night/early Saturday morning. The staff was gone, except
for old Misses Bay, but she slept like the dead.
He took a deep breath and ran down the stairs to the mausoleum where his
mother’s bones were lying in. The one thing that was a stark memory from his
mother's funeral was his father kissing the key and putting it into her coffin.
It had been such an overly sentimental gesture and so unlikely from his father
that Peter hadn't forgotten it.
Suddenly he needed to see what was in this room. He needed the key.
 
~+~
The mausoleum had always looked cold and foreboding to Peter, ever since he
first laid eyes on it. It was like a gate to hell, if you believed in something
like that and…well, Misses Bay had her way of installing fear in a young boy.
Now at sixteen Peter didn’t believe her stories anymore, but the mausoleum
still creeped him out. Or maybe it was the thought of what he was about to do.
The doors weren’t locked, they lived so far out in the swamp that no one really
came here, except when they were invited. And there was really nothing to steal
in a tomb. Not anymore, not here.
The grass tickled his toes and when he stepped on the marble he nearly yelped
from the cold. It was pitch black inside. Somehow Peter was glad for that.
The place gave him the chills and he wondered what the hell he was doing here.
But now that he was already here, he could get it over with. He stepped closer
to the coffin. It was made of wood and the lid gave as he pushed it. He didn’t
look inside, just stuck his hand in and fumbled for the key. He tried not to
think what else he was touching in the process until he could make out the key,
finally among rotting lace and…other things.
His fingers closed around the metal and he exhaled slowly in relief.
“Wasn’t so hard, after all…” he muttered under his breath as he pocketed the
key and then nearly, as an afterthought, “I miss you mom.”
He wanted to say he loved her, but it wasn’t true, but he did miss he. And how
life had been before she had died, what little he could remember of it.
Peter stepped out of the chilly mausoleum and into the damp night’s air,
closing the door behind him gently.
He looked at the key in the pale moonlight. It looked dirty, so he rubbed it
clean. It seemed old and odd. The new house keys were all the same, but this
one looked like a piece of art. Ornamented richly with filigree. A key a young
girl would like, he thought.
~+~
Peter took a deep breath before he inserted the key into the lock. It made a
soft sound when he turned it and the door swung open silently.
“You’re back early, darling,” a soft voice said and Peter knew that voice, it
was his mother’s.
“I…” he said, thinking I am not crazy, I did hear her voice, stepping inside
and closing the door hastily behind him. Why had his father lied to him?
The woman turned then, her movement sharp. “Oh…” she said.
Peter’s hand closed around the key harder. It wasn’t his mother. “You’re not-”
“No,” she said gently and her voice was different now, deeper with a slight
French accent. “I am not.”
Peter nodded. Of course she was not. His mother was gone. Her corpse lied in
the mausoleum. He had just stolen the key from her coffin for heaven’s sake.
“What’s your name?”
“Adrian,” she answered. Her voice didn’t sound like a woman’s at all anymore.
“Peter,” Peter said and offered his hand.
She smiled, getting up from the big armchair by the window and came closer.
Something jingled as she stood. Peter’s gaze was drawn to it. Around her
slender ankle was a cuff and attached to it a chain. It didn’t look solid at
all, but it was very long.
“Oh…that,” Adrian said. “Don’t mind it.”
But how could Peter not? “Is he keeping you here? Against your will?”
Adrian shrugged. It looked strangely graceful. “He does.”
“But…” Peter’s mind was racing. What would his father want with a woman here?
He was at the whorehouses every weekend, had gone to them since his mother
passed away.  
“He visits me when you are at school, Peter. Sometimes before he goes away for
the weekend too.” She stood now before him and took his hand. Peter had already
forgotten he had been offering it. Her hand was slim and warm, but surprisingly
strong. She had the most amazing eyes. A brown so deep it almost looked black.
“Goes away,” Peter said faintly. To the whorehouse after he’s been with this
woman that sounded like his mother. That was wearing his mother’s clothes. He
remembered the nightgown she was wearing now from his childhood. It was too
short on her. He could see her bare calves.
“Maybe you would like to sit down?” She asked.
He nodded and just sank to the floor. She followed, not letting go of his
hand. The nightgown slide up and he could see her knee now as well. There was a
bruise there. His mind supplied a million unpleasant ways on how she got it.
“How long have you…how long,” he took a breath and she waited for him to
continue. “Since you’ve been here?”
“How old are you?” She asked.
“Sixteen.”
“Nine years then,” she answered.
“Nine years in this room. With only my father and my mother’s things as
company.”
“Your mother had beautiful things,” she said.
He looked at her then, she was beautiful, but something about her seemed almost
feral. Her voice was all wrong now too. “You don’t sound like her anymore.”
“It doesn’t help you to hear her voice,” Adrian said.
It helped his father then. He came here to listen to his dead wife speak . and
to watch this woman. Adrian was older than Peter by at least five years, maybe
more. She was tall and slender and barely had any curves that he could see. His
father dressed Adrian in his dead wife’s clothes and…and what? What did he do?
For nine years? What had he done to this woman? Nine years, he thought again.
Nine years, which meant she had been his age when he brought her here.
“What does he do?” Peter asked.
“He makes me tell him stories. He dresses me in her clothes. He lies beside me
while I stroke his hair.”
“You don’t look like her,” Peter said.
“You do,” Adrian answered.
There were pictures of his late mother everywhere, even in this room, and Peter
knew he looked like her more and more every day. Maybe that was why his father
could hardly be in the same room as him. It hurt too much.  
“But-”
“He closes his eyes when he’s with me,” Adrian cut in. There was something like
anger in his voice now. Wait, his?
Peter looked at Adrian again. She looked the same, but the voice had become
male. With shorter hair, hell, even in boy’s clothes Adrian could pass as a
boy.
“He doesn’t look at you when he’s…” he trailed off. Peter didn’t want to think
about what his father might have done to Adrian over all these years.
Peter straightened his shoulders and looked at her ankle again. His
ankle…Adrian’s ankle. The chain didn’t really look like anything. He could
break it and free Adrian. It wasn’t right to keep Adrian here. Peter grabbed a
handful of the chain and pulled.
Adrian smiled, shifting a bit. “It won’t work.”
“It doesn’t look like anything. I just need to break one link and you’re free
to go.”
“You’re sweet,” Adrian replied. “But it won’t work.”
Peter pulled as hard as he could and nothing gave. “A hammer then,” he said,
getting up. “Be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” Adrian answered.
 
~+~
Adrian had been right. The chain didn’t give: Peter had tried everything he
could think of during that first weekend.
And the next weekend, and the one after that.
Every Friday night he would unlock the door and slip into the room when he was
sure that his father was gone and Misses Bay was sleeping.
He would try to break the chain for about an hour or so, and then he would get
something to eat and drink, and keep Adrian company.
“I just don’t get why it doesn’t work,” Peter said with a look at the chain
again.
Adrian shrugged. “I don’t know either.” He put an orange slice into his mouth
and Peter looked away hastily. Lately, Peter has been… has had feelings when he
saw Adrian do certain things. He has had dreams about Adrian’s mouth. He’s
never had such dreams about girls, but Adrian didn’t look especially feminine
anymore when Peter entered the room. Didn’t sound like a woman at all. Peter
wondered about the gender, but he wasn’t about to ask. It seemed a rather
private matter.
“I want to help you,” Peter said softly.
“You are helping me,” Adrian whispered. 
Peter made the mistake of looking at him again. Adrian’s lips were shiny from
the juice and he wanted to lean in he realized, and taste them.
He leaned back instead. He wouldn’t do that. He would not become his father.
 
~+~
“How did he manage to smuggle you inside the house? We had a lot of staff back
then. Even after my mother died. To keep up appearances,” Peter asked.
“I was smaller then,” Adrian answered. 
Of course, Peter thought, a child of sixteen. Who would have looked at him
twice? But then if he had been even half as beautiful as he was now, everyone
would’ve stopped and stared.
Peter played with the chain. He let it slip through his fingers and then tugged
gently. Adrian wriggled his toes. He wondered where Adrian came from. How his
father had found him, if he had stolen Adrian, if he had bought him. The
thought made him feel sick. He didn’t ask. He let the chain slip through his
fingers and it made a soft sound as it hit the hardwood floor they were sitting
on.
“He’ll be back soon,” he said getting up.
“See you next week,” Adrian answered.
 
~+~
During the next week it got even hotter and more humid. Moving was a chore.
Peter looked at the meal Misses Bay had prepared and didn’t feel like eating at
all. He refilled his glass instead. He wondered how Adrian could stand the heat
in the closed off room. The windows couldn’t be opened without some serious
force in that room either.
He pushed the meal away and grabbed a peach.
“You done, dear?” Misses Bay asked.
“Yes, thank you, Misses Bay. I’m just not hungry.”
“It’s too hot to eat,” she nodded.
“Yes,” he replied. It was too hot to do anything at all. “I’m going to the
library to read and then to bed. Good night, Misses Bay.”
“Peter,” she said as she was cleaning the table.
“Yes, Misses Bay?”
“Your father wants to speak with you when he’s back from his business trip. He
told me to tell you to not rush off again on Monday.”
“Thank you, Misses Bay,” Peter said.
He has been avoiding his father, because he has felt angry at him for locking
someone so beautiful as Adrian up. And he has felt jealousy too. Of all the
things his father was doing with Adrian. All the things Peter wanted to do. To
kiss Adrian, to touch him, to stroke his fingers over Adrian’s soft looking,
pale skin.
He’s dreamed about Adrian again.
He dreamt that they were down in the garden. He was lying in the high grass.
Peter could smell it, could feel it under his fingertips and between his toes,
tickling him gently. He could feel Adrian looking down on him. He was wearing
the nightgown Peter had first seen him in. Peter was naked. And hard. There was
a faint sweet scent in the air and he could feel himself sweat under Adrian’s
gaze. Birds were singing in the distance.
Peter ran a hand over his chest, it came back slick, and he moaned, getting
harder.
He’s never done anything with another person, except kissing Mary Evans after a
fair last summer. She had tasted like candy apples. It hadn’t done anything for
him. It had been nice, but with Adrian just staring at him he felt hot, his
stomach clenched in a pleasant and strange way.
He touched himself then, ran his fingers over his arms, his hips, his thighs.
Circled his nipples gently before he palmed his cock and started stroking, and
all the while Adrian was watching, looking down on him.
The birds were singing louder now. It was nearly a scream and then he had woken
up, panting harshly and so hard it was unbearable.
 
~+~
When he unlocked the door on Friday night, the sight took his breath away.
Adrian was standing naked in front of the window. The pale moonlight made his
skin nearly luminous. Peter was thinking of Adrian as a boy now constantly, as
he was sure he didn’t feel that way about girls.
Adrian turned his head slightly, his eyes were black. “Come here,” he said
gently.
And Peter couldn’t do anything else, really. He closed the door and made his
way to the window. He didn’t touch Adrian once he was there. He stared at the
garden outside. Tall grass and shadows under a bright, pale moon. He could hear
birds.
Adrian grabbed his hand and turned, Peter turned with him, so they were facing
each other. He brushed Peter’s sweaty hair out of his eyes and then leaned
forward slowly as if to give Peter time to get away. As if Peter could get
away.
Adrian’s lips felt soft at first but there was something hard and unyielding
underneath. Peter moaned and Adrian slipped his tongue inside Peter's mouth.
Peter clutched at him. His skin felt soft, but his fingers couldn’t really find
purchase.
Adrian dragged him closer still. Male, Peter thought, feeling the hot length
against his leg. Male.
Peter broke the kiss and panted. “I don’t know-”
“I know,” Adrian cut in, dragging his shirt up until Peter got the hint and
started stripping too. “You want to touch me, right?”
“Yes,” Peter breathed. He ached with the need to touch Adrian, to kiss him
again, and do all the other things he’s only heard about in whispers.
“You want to make me feel good?” Adrian asked and there was a sharpness in his
voice underneath the French accent Peter loved so much.
“Yes,” Peter answered.
Adrian stroked his cheek. “You are a good boy…” he whispered, leaning in again
and kissing him gently. Peter couldn’t help the feeling that there was
something underneath Adrian’s skin.
Fluttering like a heartbeat, like something caged that wanted out desperately.
He just didn’t care enough to stop.
“I want to…” he trailed off, his eyes darting to Adrian’s cock. Peter licked
his lips.
“Yes?”
“I want to,” he swallowed, would he have to say it? Ask for it? Was that really
a bad thing?
“Peter,” Adrian said softly. “Look at me.”
Peter did. Adrian’s eyes lacked all the white now. Peter blinked, but Adrian’s
eyes stayed the same. A brown so dark it was nearly black filled out his eye
sockets. He ran his knuckles over Adrian’s cheek. “What do you want to do to
me?”
“Nothing,” Peter realized.
Adrian smiled. “What do you want to do for me?” He asked.
The answer was obviously everything. “To make you feel good…”
“Yes.”
“To touch you, to kiss you.”
“Yes.”
“To please you,” Peter said.
 
~+~
Adrian pushed him to his knees and Peter went willingly. The floor was hard and
uncomfortable, Adrian’s hand on his cheek made up for it. Adrian sat down on
the edge of the bed and spread his legs.
“This,” he said in a gentle voice, but there was something underneath the soft
French accent, “This pleases me,” he grabbed Peter by the neck and pulled him
forward a bit, so Peter’s mouth was only inches away from Adrian’s cock.
Peter knew what was expected from him. Adrian’s nails dug into his skin. Peter
leaned in and licked hesitantly. “I-”
“Lick, suck, kiss it,” Adrian said. But what Peter heard, what he understood on
some deep level was: worship it, worship me.
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure that this was a good idea, that he wanted it, but
then Adrian’s other hand brushed his lips and he opened them on instinct,
sucked on one of the digits and Adrian moaned. It went straight to Peter’s
cock.
“Just like that,” Adrian whispered. It was nearly a song. He let his finger
slip out of Peter’s mouth and ran it down his jaw, his neck and down over a
nipple. Peter exhaled sharply and leaned forward again. He licked and kissed it
gently, daring to use his hands to stroke a bit like he liked to do it to
himself. The angle was all wrong, but the sounds that spilled out of Adrian’s
mouth were music. Were a song and it encouraged Peter to take it in his mouth
and suck gently at first and then harder and a bit faster. It was messy and
wet, but Adrian didn’t seem to care.
“Don’t stop,” he said, or ordered, as Peter wanted to pull away a bit so he
could take a deep breath. Adrian’s hand at the back of his head tightened, his
nails dug in so sharply that they broke skin. Peter could feel it running down
his back. He didn’t dare stop. He watched Adrian instead. His eyes weren’t even
human shaped anymore and that feral quality Peter sometimes heard in Adrian’s
voice took over slowly his whole face. His whole body, actually.
Peter panicked a bit as he watched, the cock inside his mouth was chocking him
and he couldn’t get away. Wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“Don’t,” Adrian said again and this time it was an order, a threat even. Peter
knew that if he should stop, Adrian would be furious and maybe even hurt him.
He sucked harder. “Yes,” Adrian whispered. “Yes.”
He didn’t need to tell Peter to swallow, Peter did it anyway. He didn’t allow
himself to think about the taste.
Adrian’s hand loosened and became something else as Peter watched. “You did
well,” Adrian said, but his voice was losing the human quality.
His foot shrank and became a claw, the cuff slide down and he slipped away.
Perched on the windowsill. He looked back, breaking the glass of the window
with the only part of him that was human. His hand. And then he just flew away.
Leaving Peter alone in the darkness.
 
~+~
“You had to go and fall in love with it,” his father said looking from the
chain in Peter’s hand to the open window.
Peter clenched his fingers around the links, they crumbled to silver dust. He
had been standing here for hours. Waiting. For what he couldn’t say, maybe for
his father to come home.
“And now,” his father continued, stepping closer to Peter, putting a hand on
his shoulder and squeezing gently. “Now they will descend on us like a horde of
vultures.”
“Father…”
“They will bring this house down and then they will make the land theirs and
when they’re done with it, they will find us and tear us to pieces.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said, but he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for.
“It’s not your fault, really. It’s mine,” his father replied. “I should have
told you, should have warned you.”
“You shouldn’t have imprisoned him in the first place,” Peter said.
“I honestly didn’t know at the time I bought it and it was so pretty…and the
things it could do. It could give me.”
Peter nodded. And that was why his father had been able to keep Adrian. He had
never asked Adrian’s name or touched him gently, or looked at him, never wanted
to please him. His father, like the sane man he was, never loved Adrian. Not
more than he loved his favorite watch.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said again. This time he knew what he was sorry for.
“Go and pack some things. I’ll stay here and wait for them. Take all the money
and run. Maybe you…” he trailed off. False hope wasn’t something his father
gave. It wasn’t in his nature.
If Peter were a better man, he would have stayed and waited with his father for
them to come back, but he wasn’t. He was a boy and he was afraid.
So he ran.
Two
The old man hadn’t run. To some point Adrian could respect that, but the anger,
it was more like blind rage, really, prevented him from thinking about maybe
letting him go. His people had done it before. They weren’t monsters. No matter
what humans had told their children.
Mariella dragged him out into the backyard. Adrian wasn’t about to set foot
into the house any time soon. The old man didn’t struggle. He had pretty much
given up at this point. She forced him to his knees and held him by his neck
with long, slender fingers.
“Killed the housekeeper,” Mariella said matter of fact. “There wasn’t anyone
else in the house. We looked, but Etienne is still searching it from top to
bottom. Just to be sure.”
“No,” Adrian said. “He fired them all and made them pack their stuff.” He
wondered why the old man hadn’t fired the old housekeeper too, but then where
would she have gone? And Adrian would have come for her too. She knew.
Mariella nodded. She didn’t care, but Adrian knew that Etienne would.
“The boy?” Nicolas asked.
Mariella shook her head. “No one there.” She hated it when people asked stupid
questions and she already told them that there hadn’t been anyone in the house
except old Misses Bay, the witch, and the old man.
“You told him to run, hmm?” Nicolas asked, kicking the man in the ribs hard
enough so he toppled over.
Of course he did, Adrian thought, Peter was his only child.
“We could probably hunt him down,” Mariella said.
“Leave it,” Adrian replied. Nicolas gave him a look. Adrian could feel it, but
he didn’t look away from the old man. “He’s only a kid. We don’t kill
children.”
“Children usually aren’t that eager to suck cock,” Nicolas said. Adrian nearly
regretted having told them the details, but they knew of course that there had
to be some kind of proof of love, of devotion to break the imprisonment.
“I said leave it,” Adrian hissed. Nicolas backed off. This was Adrian’s show.
He was allowed to take his revenge on anyone he thought wronged him.
Peter…Peter hadn’t wronged him.
“I guess leaving that boy hard and knowing he brought doom on his father’s
house, could be considered enough,” Nicolas said.
Mariella snorted.
Adrian didn’t think of it that way. The one who brought this on the house,
family, and staff was the old man. He should have known better. Adrian looked
at the old man again. He was holding his stomach and staring down at the grass.
“We’re taking your land and your life, but I will spare your son,” Adrian told
him. It was his final word on that matter. They didn’t kill children, it was
none of the ‘sins of our fathers’ nonsense with his people, but he was aware
that he, in fact, didn’t want to kill Peter. Was aware that Peter at sixteen
wasn’t really a child anymore, neither in the eyes of humans nor in his
people’s.
Peter had always been kind and even when he wanted so badly to touch Adrian he
refrained. He had been the one with the key, he had been the one with the power
– how much power he held he hadn’t known of course – he didn’t abuse it. It had
to count for something.
“Thank you,” the old man said.
“I don’t want your thanks!” Adrian hissed. This wasn’t a gift, this was
justice.
The old man nodded. Adrian looked to the back entrance of the house. It was
getting dark and there was a storm brewing in the distance. His family was
getting restless.
They waited for Etienne to come out so the old man could be executed.
 
~+~
From a human point of view, Adrian mused, letting Nicolas brush away blood from
his cheek, it was probably a savage display. An inhuman way to execute a
criminal. But his people had witnessed worse (or what they considered worse)
crimes than that.
The old man was still alive, they were careful not to kill him instantly. They
knew how to make his suffering last, how to make his heart beat while he was
being eaten alive.
“It’s stupid to leave the boy alive, Adrian,” Nicolas said, rubbing the old
man’s blood between his fingers.
“He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe, but it’s still stupid. He saw you, he knows what you are. His blood is
tied to you…”
The old man moaned in pain as Mariella tore into his chest, lapping and licking
at the blood, tearing small pieces of flesh out. She was a mess. But so were
all of them.
Adrian nodded. He knew that. He had known that the only way to get free, to
leave this house was for the old man to love him, or the next of kin. Adrian
had pretty much given up hope after the first few years of Peter hearing his
voice and coming to look. He hadn’t know either that there had been a second
key. His world had consisted of the room, the bathroom, old Misses Bay’s
cooking, and the old man. And with the binding curse in place he hadn’t been
able to turn.
“I know,” Adrian said, but he wanted to be better than the old man. He needed
to be the better person, needed to prove to himself that he wasn’t broken,
because of what the old man did to him.
“Eat his heart,” Nicolas whispered. “Eat his heart so we can finish this and
bury his worthless bones.”
“Away from his wife,” Adrian said. He wouldn’t allow the old man to lie next to
his wife for all eternity. He wouldn’t allow him to be with the woman he loved
the most, in whose name he had tortured Adrian. More than the sexual abuse it
was the fact that he hadn’t been allowed to fly that made him feel all this
rage. It had made him feel crippled. “Throw them in the swamp.”
“As you wish,” he replied, leaning in and kissing Adrian gently.
Adrian’s lips remained closed. He wasn’t able to kiss back right now. If he
did, he knew things could get out of control and he would be tempted to hurt
Nicolas. Like he had wanted to hurt Peter all these days ago. Adrian had been
tempted to fuck the boy raw, to spill all his hatred and rage for Peter’s
father into the boy’s body.
How he did treat Peter was probably only slightly better. He refused to feel
guilty about it, instead he turned into his bird-form, perched on the open
chest of the old man and started to devour his heart.
 
~+~
“You made him fall in love with you,” Mariella said.
Adrian nodded. He did, it had been the only way to get away. He didn’t regret
it. Much. Maybe he regretted that it had to be someone like Peter, who was a
good person. Who had been so innocent.
“And you left him,” Etienne threw in.
“And you killed his father.”
“And I stole his home,” Adrian said, but it was more of a hiss. 
Mariella put a hand on his naked chest and he turned to her. Her fingers
stroked gently over his skin.“Did you fall in love with him too?” She asked.
“No.” He spat out. “No, I didn’t fall in love with him in return.”
She nodded. But he knew that Mariella knew he wasn’t sure. It was normal to
feel something towards your jailer if he treated you nice, if he treated you
like a human being, like an equal. It didn’t mean that he was in love with
Peter. Whatever he felt, it would go away.
With time.
Etienne cuddled closer to him, they stayed in human form for the night. The
swamp was singing and the night was warm enough that there was no need for
clothes or feathers. For the first time since he had been taken, Adrian enjoyed
being naked. Nicolas kissed his shoulder gently. Just dry lips to damp skin.
Nothing sexual at all about it. Mariella ran a hand through his hair.
Maybe they’ll burn down the house and stay in its ruins.
They would make a nest here, would turn this place of torture into a home.
 
Three
“But is it in a good condition?” Peter asked the man on the other end of the
phone.
“Well…” The man trailed off.
“I won’t pay for damaged goods,” Peter said firmly. At twenty-one, he might
still be young, but he had his own company already. He was a respected member
of society whatever that meant. He knew how to get shit done. And no matter how
shady this was, he would not let the man take advantage.
“It’s not damaged. But the previous owner had used it. It’s in good, used,
condition.”
Used, Peter thought, clenching his free hand into a fist. “I want to see it
before I purchase it.”
“Sure thing. You got a pen?” The man asked.
“Yes,” Peter answered and started writing down the instructions.
 
~+~
The mockingbird was young, Peter could see that and there was something wrong
with its wing.
“Is it broken?” He asked the man.
“Sure, was at some point. Probably wasn’t set right by the old man.”
“You didn’t tell me that before,” Peter said.
“It’s not like you’re going to show it off. And how else would you prevent it
from flying away?” The man asked.
Well, Peter thought, brute force worked for sure. His father’s method had been
more subtle, but he guessed not any less cruel.
“Good ‘used’ condition is a bit farfetched, don’t you think?” He asked,
straightening to his full height.
“Fine. I see you are a gentleman who knows what he’s looking for. Let’s discuss
the details in my office.”
Peter nodded.
 
~+~
The bird didn’t sing in the car, it shied as far away as it could in its cage.
Peter thought that was probably normal. There wasn’t exactly a track record of
what the previous owner had done to the mockingbird, but Peter knew all too
well what a grieving mind could come up with. It was of course no excuse to
kidnap, imprison, and torture a feeling being.
When they finally arrived at the house Peter sighed in relief. He took the cage
in hand and carried it carefully to one of the guest-rooms.
“Okay…” he said, opening the door. “You can come out now.”
The bird didn’t. It watched Peter with its dark eyes, which seemed to swallow
his soul, instead. Peter guessed he could just reach inside and grab the bird,
pull it out, but that was not why he had purchased it in the first place.
It had taken him years to track down someone who was willing to sell one. He
wouldn’t blow this by being inpatient.
He left the cage door open and left the room.
 
~+~
Peter didn’t know if the bird could talk in bird form. There were very
different reports on that. He presumed that they could speak even in bird form,
but chose not to. Out of spite for their captors most likely.
He heard and read about the most obscure methods to make the mockingbird turn
into human-form, but he wasn’t going to use any of those. They all seemed too
cruel.
He sat down in an armchair by the window after he feed the bird and looked
outside. The garden here was small and had been manicured. Nothing reminded
Peter here of the house in the swamp he grew up in.
“When I was a boy,” he began, “Of sixteen, I fell in love with the most
beautiful young man.”
He could feel the bird watching him with something like cautious interest. He
smiled to himself. “From the first time I saw him I knew he was special,” he
looked at the bird then. “He was one of your people.”
The bird turned away.
“He left me.” Peter sighed.
The bird kept the stony silence. Peter grabbed a book.
 
~+~
“I had been aware at the time that I wasn’t particularly fond of girls in a
romantic way, but hadn’t been sure about being able to fall in love with a boy
either.” He ran his finger over the rim of his cup. The bird was still in its
cage, but he looked at Peter now when Peter told his stories. Stories from his
childhood and of his mother’s death and stories about Adrian. Peter was pretty
sure that the mockingbird wanted to know that particular story.
“Of course he changed that. I dreamed about him nearly constantly after the
first few weeks of visiting him during the short dark hours of the weekend. We
talked. He didn’t tell me anything about himself, not the real him anyway. He
left things so vague, that I made up my own picture. Which wasn’t pretty
either. I tried to free him. Tried to break the chain that bound him to the
house.”
“He left you,” the mockingbird said. “So you did.”
Peter looked at him. He was perched at the door of the cage. It was still the
old one. Peter hadn’t bought a new cage, he didn’t want to use them at all.
“He was able to leave, because I fell in love with him,” Peter whispered.
“There is a saying our people have,” the mockingbird replied. “If you love
something then set it free and if it comes back, it’s rightfully yours.”
Peter laughed, but it sounded bitter even to his own ears. “That clears up one
thing, doesn’t it?”
The mockingbird kept silent.
 
~+~
“If you change we can reset your arm,” Peter said a few weeks later. The
mockingbird ate and talked now. He hopped around the room, but he didn’t let
Peter touch him.
“For what?” The bird asked.
“So it can heal properly, so you can fly.”
The mockingbird, whose name Peter still didn’t know, looked at him with his
dark eyes. They weren’t brown like Adrian’s, they were black with a slight
green rim. “You would let me go?” He asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Why buy me then?”
“I…” he had hoped for some kind of lead on Adrian. Some word, something. It had
been a foolish hope to begin with. “I never approved of what my father did. I
understood to some point, because he loved my mother very much, but I never
approved of it. I could never do that to a fellow being.”
“So, you didn’t buy me to take your lost lover’s place?” He asked. “Because you
know I could sound like him.”
“No, I didn’t buy you for that,” Peter answered.
The mockingbird turned. It was as beautiful as it was horrible to watch. It
looked painful, it hadn’t looked that way when Adrian turned all those years
ago.
The mockingbird was no more than a boy, really. Maybe around the same age Peter
had been when he fell in love for the first (and pretty much the last) time.
Even if it didn’t mean he hadn’t fallen in lust with pretty boys and men over
the years.
His arm looked wrong. And there were deep scars around his ankles. Peter
grabbed a light blanket and handed it over. The boy was being so careful that
his fingers didn’t even brush Peter’s as he wrapped the blanket awkwardly
around himself.
He was pale like Adrian had been and beautiful in a way that couldn’t be tied
down to a gender. In the light of the sundown he had a certain resemblance to
Adrian and Peter wondered if it was a trait of the bird-people or if they were
related.
Peter had never asked Adrian how he ended up a captive in his father’s house.
 
~+~
“This will hurt,” The doctor said. Peter was watching nearby, hovering really.
“Whoever did this to you deserves to rot in hell,” Doc Evans continued. He was
an old, grumpy man, but Peter liked him. He cared about his patients.
The boy flinched the first time from the doctor’s touch and Doc Evans swore in
a colorful way that made the boy smile. The second time the doctor took his arm
in his hands, he didn’t flinch, he bit his lip so hard it bleed to keep the
scream in as his arm was being broken again.
“There, now I’m going to set it right and in a few weeks you’ll be running
around again,” Doc Evans said and produced a lollypop out of his bag.
The boy took it gingerly.
“Peter here is going to take good care of you in the weeks to follow. You’ll be
fine.”
The boy nodded.
 
~+~
The boy wasn’t big on clothes. He tore them away from his body as soon as Doc
Evans was gone. He perched on the edge of the armchair and looked at the
lollypop.
“What it’s for?” He asked cocking his head like a bird of prey would.
“It’s candy. You eat it.” Peter thought that it was a crime the boy never had
had candy before. But maybe bird-people had other things they loved.
The boy unwrapped the lollypop carefully. His tongue darted out, it was a bit
pointier than a human’s Peter noticed, and licked it. “Not bad.”
“Kids like them alright,” Peter said. He hadn’t even thought about getting the
boy candy when he was still a bird, it was vegetables and fresh insects.
The boy opened his mouth, his teeth were small and sharp, and put it between
his lips.
“Do you want me to get you more candy?” Peter asked.
The boy shrugged, pulling the candy out of his mouth. “I like the food you give
me.”
“You never told me what you liked,” Peter said.
“This is good. I like the lemons too and the strawberries.”
Peter nodded, filing it all away.
 
~+~
The boy spent the next few days exploring the house and the grounds. He lay in
the grass under the apple tree and slept naked. Peter was glad his house had a
high fence.
Two weeks after the doctor set his arm he pulled out a book and asked Peter to
read to him. The book he pulled out was at random, of course, because the boy
couldn’t read. It wasn’t necessary in his bird form.
“I hear it’s a way to pass the time,” he said.
Peter nodded, looking over the shelves he found Treasure Island and sat down in
a chair. With his arm healing, the boy had to pretty much stay a human for as
long as it took.
“This one is about pirates,” he said.
“Okay,” the boy replied, perching on the edge of the other arm chair.
Peter started to read.
~+~
The boy didn’t like clothes at all and Peter tried not to notice his nakedness
in any sexual way, but the boy was beautiful and in a certain light he reminded
Peter of Adrian. Maybe it was the sharp cheekbones or even sharper eyes. He
didn’t like sleeping in a bed, opted for the grass at the back of the garden
instead when the night was warm enough.
In his human form he looked very vulnerable. Especially when Peter concentrated
on the littering of scars on his body. Which he tried not to do. He knew his
father had abused Adrian too and it made him still angry thinking about it.
“I like this one,” the boy said…Peter still didn’t know his name.
Peter thought the boy would like the story of the Eleven Swans; it was one of
favorite fairytales too. “I like it too.”
“But I would stay a swan if I had the choice,” the boy said.
“Yes, but then the bird form is your natural state, as the human form is for
the eleven swans,” Peter replied.
“But what if in the meantime, one of the princes fell in love with a swan?” The
boy asked.
Peter never had thought about it. “I don’t know if they were also swans in
mind, not only in body.”
“And if they were only swans in body, they would never consider falling in love
with a swan,” the boy nodded. “Because to them swans are only animals after
all…” There was something bitter in his voice and Peter wanted desperately to
reach out and offer some kind of comfort, but the boy still didn’t allow any
kind of body contact. Except for when Doctor Evans checked on his arm and
handed over a lollypop.
Peter put the book in his lap and looked at the boy. “Do you want to talk about
what happened to you?”
“No, not really,” the boy answered, rubbing a long pale scar over his ankle
absentminded.
“You can tell me. I am here.”
“I don’t want to speak about it,” the boy hissed, getting up.
Peter wanted to ask where he was going, but there was no point to it. The boy’s
world consisted of the house and the garden. He would most likely be on the
grounds digging for worms.
 
~+~
“It’s healing just fine, I think in a week we can take off the cast and you
will be able to do handstands in no time,” Doctor Evans said, patting the boy’s
shoulder lightly. The boy didn’t shy away, by now he knew that the doctor
wouldn’t hurt him. At least not for his own pleasure. What he did, he did to
help the boy. Doc Evans fished for another lollypop in his jacket and handed it
over.
“Thank you,” the boy said. It was the first time he had said anything at all in
Doc Evans' presence.
The Doctor seemed delighted. “You are very welcome, my boy, very welcome
indeed,” he replied.
Peter had the feeling the boy was grateful for more than just the candy, but he
also suspected that old Doc Evans knew that as well.
 
~+~
“One week and then you’re free to go,” Peter said, running his fingers over the
backs of his books. He needed to choose wisely for the last story.
“Yes,” the boy said, stretching. Peter could hear the joints pop gently.
“Ah,” Peter said. “This one, I think you will like this one.”
“I liked them all,” the boy replied. “I get now why humans like books.” There
was something wistful in his voice. Peter nearly offered him whatever book he
wanted to take, but it would only serve as a cruel reminder. Possibly for them
both.
So he began to read instead.
 
~+~
The cast came off on a Wednesday morning. It was a warm and sunny day. Doc
Evans stayed for tea. He brought strawberry shortcake with him.
The boy sat at the table and watched them, sipping tea and eating strawberries,
while ignoring the shortbread.
Doc Evans didn’t try to talk to be boy, he concentrated on Peter instead, but
Peter was very distracted. He had become attached to the boy. He liked the
boy’s company and he realized he would miss him. A lot.
 
~+~
Peter opened the window wide in the guestroom. It was the one that oversaw the
garden. The house had only one balcony and that was too close to the street.
“So,” Peter said, not knowing how to follow that up. Don’t go would be really
selfish.
The boy bit his lip and then reached out carefully and slowly to cradle Peter’s
cheek. Peter held as still as he could. “You are a good person,” he whispered
and it reminded Peter so much of Adrian that he flinched. The boy took a step
back, confusion and hurt on his face. “Peter?”
Peter took a deep breath. “Sometimes you remind me so much of him it hurts,” he
replied.
“Oh,” the boy said. He hesitated again. “Your mockingbird was bond by a blood
curse to you. Traces of it are still there. Will always be there. You are still
connected and you could, if you really wanted to, reach out to him,” he said.
“But, it works both ways,” he finished and then quitter. “I’m sorry.”
Adrian could have found him, if he had wanted to. Adrian had known for sure
about the effects of the blood curse, but Adrian had never tried. Not once in
the last five years. Peter’s love was pretty much a lost cause.
“Thank you.”
“For what? I didn’t give you anything to lessen your pain,” the boy replied.
“You gave me a secret. You gave me your trust. I am very grateful for that,”
Peter answered.
The boy nodded, changed, and hopped on the windowsill. “What if I want to come
back?”
“I will leave the window open,” Peter answered. “Goodbye-”
“William,” the boy said softly. “My name is William.” And then he spread his
wings and was gone.
Peter stared at the smaller and smaller figure until it was only a dot and it
could have been anything at all and then he left the room.
Leaving the window open.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Four
Adrian felt a tug at his chest. It was a feeling like he would lose his balance
any second. He grabbed the nearest piece of furniture and blinked. What the
hell? The room didn’t spin, nor was it silent. He could hear his flock in the
house. Knew Mariella and Nicolas were in the kitchen, fucking on the counter.
Knew that Etienne was outside, close by, in the wild garden staring at the
pumpkins they had grown this year. They were big and he knew Etienne was
already planning on how scary he would carve the faces. Really scary was always
the answer to everything.
He took a deep breath and listened to his heart beating. It was…normal.
Everything was very normal.
He would have liked to chuck it up to stress or imagination, but- but there was
this nagging feeling in his stomach.
Maybe Peter had found out about the connection. Maybe he was trying to call to
Adrian.
Scratch that. He had never felt anything like this before, but he knew in his
bones that that was what was happening to him.
The human boy that had fallen in love with him so many years ago was trying to
contact him. It was funny really, Adrian thought, because they were still here.
Still living in the house Peter’s family built. Where Peter had been born,
where Adrian killed Peter’s father. It was theirs now and no one even dared to
cross over the fence, or spoke about entering the house itself. It wasn’t so
much a house anymore, anyway. It was a nest. It was their nest.
He hadn’t thought about Peter in a long while.
~+~
He nearly doubled over the next time it came. It was so hard. He fell into a
nearby armchair and breathed carefully.
“You okay?” Etienne asked from the door to the backyard.
“Yes,” Adrian said.
“You don’t look it,” he replied. His dark eyes and sharp features gave him,
even in human form, a birdlike appearance. Even more so when he cocked his
head, like now, and stared at you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“There are no ghosts in this house,” Adrian said.
“There are plenty, Adrian. There are plenty,” Etienne said and then got
distracted by a big black raven outside the window. “The season of the witch,”
he whispered. It was not hushed, it was an excited whisper. Etienne had always
loved autumn.
And maybe there were. Sometimes Adrian felt haunted by piercing blue eyes. By a
soft mouth and tender skin. When he looked at a child absorbed in their play in
birdform his mind sometimes flashed to Peter for a second or two. To that
innocence that had been nearly tangible. It had always been a rather fleeting
feeling, but it was very strong now. He had been thinking about Peter
constantly for the last few days, since this tugging started.
“It’s an omen,” Etienne said suddenly and looked at Adrian again. “Something is
going to happen.”
“Something bad?” Adrian asked. He could still feel his heart fighting whatever
it was that was happening to him. (He knew, he knew, but wasn’t ready to face
it.)
Etienne looked to the big black bird outside and then to Adrian again. “It’s
you and that boy you tricked into loving you all those years ago…”
“I imagine he isn’t a boy anymore, Etienne,” Adrian said. It was years, so many
years. Adrian still looked the same, but then their people didn’t age that
fast.
“He’ll be over thirty now, I imagine. And he calls to you,” Etienne said and
then looked at the raven again. His dark eyes widened a bit. “He’s dying.” He
spun around and looked ad Adrian. “He is dying and you…you are still here.”
“And what if he’s dying?”
“If he dies he’s going to take a part of you with him, but you could go and see
if you can help him. I know you can. Everyone has a gift and you are… he is
blood-bound to you. You could help him.”
“Why should I even want to help him?”
“If you were a good person, because he helped you. And if you were a selfish
one, so the pain in your chest would stop,” Etienne said. His voice sounded
only the slightest bit hard at the end of the sentence.
“It will stop once he’s dead. The blood bond will be broken once he’s dead,”
Adrian said.
Etienne nodded. “It will and a part of you will be lost. No one can say what
part, but if I had to guess, I would say that heart, that cares for other
people.”
Adrian sighed. Etienne liked to paint the picture very bleak. But more often
than not he was also right. It was his gift: seeing the omens and interpreting
them correctly. Or as best as one could when one was mortal. And they were.
“Etienne-”
“I know you don’t want to think about him, or care, or meet him, because you
might have fallen for that human after all, but this is different. You owe him.
He loved you and he cared for you and he showed compassion, even before he
loved you, he wanted to help you, Adrian. You need to at least see him,”
Etienne cut in. “It’s a balance thing.”
“Fine. I am not promising anything.”
Etienne nodded.
~+~
The house was nothing like the one Peter grew up in. It was nothing like the
home Adrian and his flock made out of it. It was pretty and small and urban. A
city home with a manicured garden.
He perched on the branch of a tree and watched for a few hours before he flew
to the windowsill of the bedroom.
The lights were on, here and there. Small lamps in the corner, but Adrian’s
eyes were sharp. He could see perfectly. Peter wasn’t a boy anymore, but there
was still something lovely and innocent about him that tugged at Adrian’s
heart. He pushed it away. He didn’t want to care for Peter.
He knocked with his beak at the glass and the man inside startled and looked at
him. His eyes widened a bit. He closed the book he had been reading and made
his way to the window cautiously.
“William?” He asked and then he shook his head. “No, it’s you,” he said and
smiled. “Have you finally heard me?”
Adrian flew into the room and settled on the bed and then he changed and
stretched. “Who is William?” The question was out of his mouth before he could
even think about it. He looked Peter over. He didn't look sick, but he smelled
sick. Like he was dying. Something inside him was rotting.
“A boy I once met,” Peter said. “Why are you here?”
Adrian leaned back. “Because you called-”
“You could have found me sooner. You knew how the curse worked. I didn’t. I
only found out years after I had to flee my home.”
“It’s my home now. I killed your father-”
“You didn’t come after me,” Peter cut in with a smile.
“You were a child.”
“Ah…well, then. Why are you here now?”
“Balance,” Adrian said.
“Balance?”
“You are dying.”
“I know,” Peter answered. “But how do you?”
“I am a supernatural being. I have means and ways to find things out. You
called me so desperately because you are dying-”
“You could just let me die. The bond would die then too,” Peter cut in again.
“Stop interrupting me!” Adrian said sharply.
Peter smiled. It wasn’t the boy smile, it was the smile of a man who had seen
his fair share of how the world works and still kept his optimism. “Go on then,
please.”
“Nature likes balance. You helped me when I needed help. I will try to help
you,” Adrian said.
“I don’t think you can. My doctors say there is nothing anyone can do. I will
die.”
“I am,” Adrian said, getting up from the bed and crossing over to where Peter
was still standing at the window. “I am a supernatural being. I don’t have to
obey all your human laws. Our people, they have their own.”
Peter looked him in the eyes. He wasn’t looking at Adrian’s naked body at all.
Adrian wasn’t sure he was pleased about it or not.
“You think you can help me?” Peter asked.
“I think I can,” Adrian answered.
~+~
It wasn’t a nice, clean thing, this healing ability of his. It was messy and
bloody and it hurt and he wasn’t going to lie to Peter about it.
It would probably tie them together even more.
Adrian’s heart hurt as he cut them open and wove his magic – or whatever – into
Peter’s body.
“You are still beautiful. The most beautiful boy I have ever seen,” Peter said.
His lips were bloody and his eyes fever bright.
“You’re delirious,” Adrian snapped.
Peter laughed. “You know you are beautiful. I know you do. You used it to make
me fall in love with you.”
“I did. I used you.”
“I still love you,” Peter said and closed his eyes as Adrian squeezed his heart
not too gently.
“It doesn’t matter to me, Peter. I am not yours.”
“There is a saying your people have: If you love something then set it free and
if it comes back to you then it’s truly yours.”
Adrian’s heart skipped a painful beat. He took a sharp breath. And looked at
Peter. “There aren’t many people who know that saying.”
“I met a boy once. Maybe if you stay, I will tell you about it…” Peter replied.
His voice was faint. He was on the brink of passing out, and Adrian was glad
for it.
He had pulled out all that sickness and now all Peter needed was a lot of rest
and he would be alright again.
He withdrew his bloody hands from Peter’s insides and closed them up. He could
sew it so no mark would be left, but he…a part of him wanted Peter to have a
reminder. So he left a scar.
~+~
He didn’t wait for Peter to wake up before he changed and flew home.
Etienne and Nicolas were waiting for him on the porch.
“He told me everything,” Nicolas said. He didn’t look happy. But then Nicolas
had been the one who wanted to kill the boy. “I told you he would be trouble.”
“He didn’t deserve death,” Etienne cut in sharply. “Adrian did the right
thing.”
“Look at him! He looks half dead,” Nicolas said.
“He did the right thing,” Etienne repeated. “You did the right thing,” he said
to Adrian and grabbed him by the hand, pulled him into a hug. Adrian’s body was
feeling tender and it ached.
“I need to sleep,” he said, but he didn’t want to sleep alone. He needed to
feel all their bodies brushing his.
“Get Mariella,” Etienne said to Nicolas.
For a second it looked like Nicolas would snap at him, but then he just nodded
sharply and went to fetch her.
“Thank you,” Adrian said. He felt like he would fall over if Etienne wasn’t
holding him up.
“You did well. This boy won’t haunt us,” Etienne whispered.
No, Adrian thought, only me.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     This is set right after chapter 2.
five
Adrian was staring at his reflection. There had been mirrors in the room he had
been kept. Of course, but he had been a dead woman in that room and now it was
hard to connect who he was to that person he had been forced to be for so long.
Nicolas was watching him from the door. He looked like he only just woke up.
Understandable, last night had been tiring for all of them.
Adrian brushed a strand of his pale hair aside to see his own face better. He
didn't really recognize it. He didn't know who he was.
“Do you want to keep any of the furniture?” Nicolas asked.
“Yes,” Adrian answered. “The dining table and Peter's bed.”
Nicolas sighed. “Adrian-”
“I want the table and the bed, burn the rest if you want to.”
“As if Mariella would let me burn all of this,” he made a sweeping gesture with
his hand that covered the whole room and probably everything else.
Soon the unused parts of the mansion would fall to disrepair and parts of the
roof would collapse with time or with a little help from Etienne. He liked the
sun, and rain and wind. Even when he was inside.
They were starting to build a home here. And Adrian had no idea who he was
anymore.
~+~
Etienne was caring big branches into the house. And Mariella was putting plants
in every pot she could find. Soon the dining room would become a garden. A
piece of outside, inside and then nature would take back what had been stolen
from her and they would be one again. Whole.
He left Etienne to his redecorating and went upstairs to the room where he had
been imprisoned for ten years.
No one had bothered with the room yet. Everything was still as it had been. He
hesitated on the threshold and then took a deep breath and set his foot over
it. The floor felt cold under his bare feet. The pictures of the dead woman,
Peter's mother, were still there. He had the same eyes. She had probably been a
good and gentle woman. Adrian didn't know much about her. Only how her voice
had sounded and that she had been a mother. That she had died young.
He looked upon her face a minute longer and then he went straight for her
closet. He let his fingers run over the soft dresses and nightgowns and then
picked one on impulse. He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the bottom part
off until it was only covering his ass and a short stripe of skin underneath.
He put his hair into a ponytail and looked at himself. He had no resemblance
whatsoever to the dead woman in the picture.
“What are you doing?” Mariella asked. Her voice was gentle, for her. She looked
at him and he looked right back at her and shrugged.
“I don't know. I don't know who I am,” he admitted.
“You're one of us. You're family and if you want to wear a dress, I don't give
a fucking damn.” She stepped into the room fully and he let her invade his
space. Let her brush her knuckles over his cheek. “You look beautiful. No
wonder that boy fell in love with you.”
“Peter,” Adrian said.
“Yes, Peter,” she bit her lip but refrained from saying anything else on that
matter and he was glad for it. “Nicolas said you want the boy's bed. Does that
mean you want to sleep alone?”
“I don't know. Maybe. Sometimes,” he admitted. “I got used to it and being with
you, being with Nicolas-”
“He is too forceful, but he missed you. We missed you.”
“I could hear you. Outside the window. In the swamp.”
“We waited. There had been no way we would have left you here alone,” she
replied. There was anger in her voice again. Anger at what the selfishness of
the old man had cost all of them. “I'm glad he's dead,” she added with a sharp
nod of her head. She wasn't as birdlike as her brother Etienne, but it showed
when she was angry. That other person she was, that other being, that other
skin under the human one.
Adrian was glad too. The old man had gotten what he had deserved.
She grabbed his hand suddenly. “You will come back to us with time.”
“What if I'm not the person anymore I used to be?”
“Oh, silly,” she said. “Of course you aren't the boy you used to be. Ten years
of imprisonment and pain will change the best of us.” She leaned forward and
kissed his cheek gently. “You killed the man, you took his house and we're
making it our home now, Adrian. We will be fine. You will be fine. And we have
all the time in the world to let you heal.”
He nodded, but there was a dull ache in his heart he couldn't explain. “I want
to burn the pictures,” he said.
She nodded. “I'll tell Nicolas and Etienne to add them to the pyre.”
“Thank you.”
“We're here for you,” she replied and then left him alone.
~+~
He was wandering the nearly empty house in his human form, still wearing the
short dress. It was dirty and crumbled, because he was sleeping in it as well.
Mostly his flock let him alone, but he could feel their presence all around him
in the house. It wasn’t unnerving, but it was different, unfamiliar. He had
gotten used to being alone most of the time. He had gotten used to being a
prisoner and it was hard – he didn’t know what to do with his freedom.
He was still here, in this house, even it was theirs now. He was still here,
chained.
Adrian knew that they wanted him to get better. He knew that Nicolas was
waiting for him to come back to them, to him.
It was in the way he looked at Adrian sometimes. That need in his eyes to
touch, to kiss, to claim, to reclaim. Adrian wasn’t there yet.
Sometimes when he was lying on the table in the dining room, listening to the
insects in the earth and the plants Mariella dragged inside every day, he was
thinking about Peter’s touch. The total awe and then the fear as he realized
what Adrian was. Adrian wondered now if Peter could tell him who he was.
Probably not.
He had to find out for himself. Had to find himself again.
He let his fingertips wander over his leg and then up under the frayed hem of
the dress and still further up. It was a light and teasing touch. Maddening,
but only slightly arousing. At least to Adrian. He couldn’t tell what Nicolas
was feeling, watching him. Because Nicolas was watching him from the door to
the entry hall. Adrian could feel his gaze on his skin. There had been times
when that gaze, the pure want shining in Nicolas’ eyes had set Adrian’s skin on
fire. Desire flooding his system. It was a faint heat now.
He kept on stroking and teasing his skin until he grazed a nipple with one
short nail. He shuddered then, because the sensation was so unexpected.
There was a faint rustle when Nicolas stepped fully into the room. Leaves,
Adrian’s mind supplied, leaves blown inside the house littering the ground.
He could hear Nicolas coming closer, but he didn’t open his eyes and as Nicolas
leaned over and kissed his lips gently, he gasped softly, which allowed Nicolas
to slip his tongue inside Adrian’s mouth. It was just a dip really before
Nicolas withdrew again.
“I wonder,” he said, “Who you’re thinking about.”
“No one,” Adrian replied.
“It used to be me, or Etienne, Mariella even, sometimes,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian whispered helplessly.
“It’s not your fault,” Nicolas said, letting his fingers dance over Adrian’s
exposed thigh. “I want you to enjoy being touched again.”
“I know,” Adrian said.
~+~
As the days started to get shorter, his flock started to stay indoors. It was
getting cold outside and damp.
Mariella hated the rain, but Etienne loved it. He was usually the last to
settle down when there was a storm to see, feel and be part of.
Adrian opened one of the big windows downstairs, one of those that went out
into the garden and the swamp beyond, and let the rain hit his face.
“It’s a good thing we can’t get colds, like humans,” Etienne said from outside.
He was naked and spreading his arms wide. “I love it here,” he admitted. “I
know you have bad memories of this place, but I love it here. I think it’s a
good place for birds – and people.”
“It is a good place for birds,” Adrian said with a smile and then he reached
out and let his fingers brush against Etienne’s collarbone. It felt delicate
under his hand. Etienne leaned into the touch. Adrian grabbed a strand of his
wet dark hair and pulled him in. He could feel Etienne’s breath on his skin.
Warm and damp and then he could feel Etienne’s smile on his lips.
“Would you have killed them all?” Adrian asked.
“Probably. They took you away from us and more importantly, they took away the
only real joy in your life: Flying.”
Adrian nodded. “Yes.”
“But I am glad,” Etienne said, “That you spared the boy. He always seemed like
a good person.”
“He is,” Adrian replied and kissed Etienne again, just so he wouldn’t have to
talk about this anymore. Just so he wouldn’t have to talk about Peter anymore.
“Will you share our bed again?” Etienne asked.
“Yes,” Adrian said.
“Soon?”
“I don’t know,” Adrian replied.
Etienne nodded and pushed the strap of the summer dress Adrian was wearing down
over the curve of his shoulder and then he leaned in and kissed it with his wet
lips that tasted like rain and Adrian.
Etienne’s lips felt good. He had always been gentle and careful. He had an
empathy that the rest of them lacked. Adrian didn’t envy him that empathy.
He let Etienne disrobe him and stepped out of the dress pooling at his naked
feet.
Etienne kissed his neck and then held out his hand. “Come on,” he said.
Adrian took it and stepped out of the window and onto the wet grass. The rain
had stopped while Adrian wasn’t paying attention, but the air was still chilly
and damp.
Etienne kissed him again and then they sat down in the grass, it tickled
Adrian’s skin. Etienne was a warm presence pressed against him.
“You haven’t been flying. You haven’t changed at all since the night you ate
the old man’s heart,” Etienne said.
Adrian nodded. There was nothing he could say to this. He hadn’t and he didn’t
know why. Maybe because he wasn’t sure anymore who he was.
“I’ve never killed anyone before,” he said instead.
“But it didn’t feel bad, did it?”
“No,” Adrian answered.
“And maybe that is the problem?” Etienne asked, he was sinking down into the
grass and pulling Adrian with him. They were lying side by side now.
“Maybe.”
“We’re feral by nature,” Etienne said. “He domesticated you and it was wrong,
but you’re not that woman he wanted you to be. You never were. You never
stopped trying to break out.”
It was true.
Etienne ran his fingers over Adrian’s arm and then his chest, over a nipple,
hard and sensitive from the damp cool air. Adrian turned then and looked into
Etienne’s lovely birdlike face. The sharp eyes and cheekbones. The hard mouth,
but his lips were soft, like always, when Adrian kissed him hard. He wanted to
be gentle and tender, but somehow it wasn’t happening.
Etienne slung both arms around him to pull him down and on top of him. His skin
was cool and faintly wet from the rain. But they were warming up fast.
“I want to be gentle,” Adrian said.
“You don’t have to be. It’s alright,” Etienne answered.
Adrian kissed him and made room for himself between Etienne’s legs as he spread
them. It was tight and hot and everything Adrian needed right now. Etienne
pulled him even closer, deeper and Adrian let go of all the messed up feelings
he had been trying to make sense of and lost himself in Etienne.
~+~
“You’ll be alright now,” Etienne said combing his fingers through Adrian’s
messy hair.
“I know,” Adrian said. “Thank you.”
“Whatever for?” Etienne asked with a laugh and then he sat up and changed. He
looked at Adrian, but Adrian shook his head. He wasn’t there yet, but he was on
his way to be the person he used to be, the bird he used to be, or someone
better, stronger.
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