Page 86 of Runes To Rain
“Hush, I’m right here,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk. “I saw your scars, now I’ll show you mine.”
He begins to slowly and carefully unbutton his shirt, neatly rolling down each sleeve. I take a step forward,but without glancing up, he says, “Don’t. You are going to watch while I do this.”
I stop moving with a groan, and he chuckles darkly.
Then he’s sliding his arms out of his sleeves. Because he’s Dio, he can’t just allow the shirt to fall to the floor. Instead, he folds it carefully before setting it neatly over the back of a chair. As he does, I watch his muscles bunch under all the tattoos.
When he faces me again, I can’t help myself and step forward, closing the distance. I feel him looking at my face as I stare at the tattoos and scars that cover his abdomen. Then I reach out and trace the tattooed rune I watched Malam trace all those months ago.
As I do so, he wraps his fingers around my wrist, his hand dwarfing mine. His hold is firm but not overly tight. As he holds my hand immobile, I look up at his face. His expression is now shielded as he says, “You saw that when you were spying, didn’t you?” I can’t read the tone, and I tense slightly, unsure where this is going. “Chaosta?” he asks. There's a quiet warning in his tone I don’t understand.
“Yes, I saw Malam trace it through the crack in the door,” I say, my voice quiet.
“Do you know what that rune means?” he asks gruffly.
I shake my head, suddenly worried I’ve done something I shouldn’t.
“We’ll need to talk about that later,” he says quietly. Then he looks down at my hand caught in his and closes his eyes for a moment. I see an expression of pain flash across his face.
“Fuck,” he says, “if I were a stronger man…” Then he releases my wrist and steps back away from me. His eyes are still closed, and I feel as though I’m losing him again.
Cursing myself internally and near tears, I take a step forward and put my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. “Dio?” I ask quietly.
“Hmm?” he mumbles, eyes still closed.
“Where did you go?” I ask quietly.
His eyes open, and they are dark as he stares at me. Finally, just as I’m sure he is going to turn and leave, he seems to make a decision. With a tight voice, he says, “The monster in me is hungry for you, and it is glorious and unbearable. I have been trying to save you from the shadows of it, but I’m clearly not virtuous enough.”
It is clear to me that he is referring to more than just his treatment of me. I feel a chill pebble my skin at his words, and yet I am also not a virtuous being. I wasn’t created to be anything other than a tool, a weapon against the power of the angels. My very existence threatens not only them but their human wards. Dio may not be aware of it yet, but I am the villain of this story.
My voice still shakes slightly as I say, “I’ve seen those parts of you I think you’d like to cast away, I’ve also seen your strength. I don’t need a hero or someone to rescue me, I want you.”
I watch as his jaw tightens and he swallows. “You would willingly accept my darkness?”
I draw in a shaky breath before saying, “If you accept mine?”
I see something on his face change. His expression starts as acceptance and then changes to something like worship as he looks at me as though nothing else exists. He cups my jaw as he says, “I’m not a patient man, but I’ll be patient with this. We’ll go slow, hmm? I’d never forgive myself if I pushed you too far.”
I nod, still unable to pull my gaze from his.
He focuses on my lips, and I feel his thumb against them. I part them, and he takes the invitation. When I open my mouth for him, he presses the pad of his thumb against my tongue, tipping my head down. I bite gently, and he groans and closes his eyes.
My teeth still gently holding his thumb, I reach out and unbutton his pants.
“Chaosta,” he warns. “We’re going slow, remember?”
“Mhmm,” I mumble around his thumb as I press my hand into his pants.
I moan as I feel how hard he is, the size of him, the heat. As I wrap my hand around his cock and run my fingers over the smooth, taut skin, he wobbles slightly, and I open my mouth, releasing his thumb.
He grabs the back of the nearby leather chair and leans against the support of it as he groans again.
I have a moment to wonder what he looks like under the pants he’s still wearing before he gasps, “I should really leave now.”
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask.
He closes his eyes and groans again as his fingers tighten against the back of the chair. “No, I don’t want you to stop, but I mean it,” he says roughly, “we should go slow.”
