Blood and Tea

The apartment door opened ten minutes later.

Vane walked in. He smelled of rain and iron. His right hand was swelling, the knuckles split and raw.

He stopped in the entryway, water dripping from his hair. He looked at Julian, who was standing in the middle of the living room.

"I told you not to look," Vane said roughly.

"I had to," Julian whispered.

"Is he dead?"

"No," Vane said. "But he won't be walking without a limp for a long time. And he won't be coming back to Oakhaven. I made that... very clear."

Vane waited. His shoulders were tense. This was the moment where people usually ran. This was the moment where they realized that Detective Vane was exactly the brute the internal affairs division suspected him to be.

"You’re bleeding," Julian said.

Vane blinked. "What?"

Julian walked to the bathroom and came back with the first aid kit. He walked up to Vane, who towered over him, dripping darkness onto the floor.

"Give me your hand," Julian said.

Vane hesitated. Then, slowly, he extended his bruised hand.

Julian took it. He didn't flinch. He poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad and began to gently clean the split knuckles.

"You saw what I did," Vane said, his voice low and dangerous. "I enjoyed it, Julian. I liked hurting him for what he did to you."

"I know," Julian said. He looked up, meeting Vane’s intense gaze. "He was going to kill me one day, Damien. Everyone else just watched. You... you stopped it."

Julian lifted Vane’s battered hand to his lips. He pressed a soft, reverent kiss to the raw knuckles.

"Thank you," Julian whispered against the skin.

Vane let out a ragged breath, like a tension cable snapping.

He dropped the first aid kit. He wrapped his uninjured arm around Julian’s waist and hauled him in, lifting him off the floor.

Julian gasped, wrapping his legs around Vane’s waist, burying his face in the damp crook of Vane’s neck.

"You’re mine now," Vane growled into Julian’s ear. It was a promise and a threat. "I keep what’s mine. If anyone touches you again, I’ll bury them."

"Okay," Julian breathed, tightening his grip on the detective’s shoulders. "Okay."

Vane carried him to the couch, sitting down with Julian straddling his lap. The storm raged outside, and somewhere down the street, an ambulance siren wailed for a broken boy who had pushed his luck too far.

But in the apartment, it was warm. Julian rested his head on the chest of the monster who loved him, and for the first time in years, he closed his eyes and slept without fear.