Sayuri's Art

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There was not much that Yuuri feared. But when he had been young, before he had perfected his techniques, the thumping of cannons echoing across the water had filled him with dread. During his first hunt, he nearly had his wing ripped out by one and it left him anxious of them.

He had learned, with practice, with age, how to avoid them. The angles at which they fired, how quickly they could be reloaded, the speed and strength at which they shot. He knew to approach ships from the rear or the head, how low to dip and how close to fly. He had learned to distinguish the type of cannon by sound and he knew the sound that he heard now. They were Victor’s guns. His guns. 

Yuuri broke through the clouds and nearly fell from the sky. Two ships, side by side, held together by ropes spanning from a sloop to Victor’s. He heard the clash of swords, the firing of bullets. He heard a woman’s shout, watched a body fall lifeless into the sea below. He looked, for a flash of silver amongst the wood and the rigging, for it to catch in the sunlight from above. 

Victor was not on the deck, he wasn’t there, there was blond and black and brown, but there was no silver, not on their ship, not in the water, not–

Yuuri saw it. Through the smoke burning off the sloop, Yuuri saw silver pulled tight, saw Victor being dragged. His wings threw him forward, fatigue washed from him like a flood. He saw the light reflecting off the blade in Victor’s hand, and saw the fray of Victor’s hair as it was cut, saw the fall of his own feathers. It hit him like a cannonblast, the anguish, as if he were seeing Victor lose his wings. 

Yuuri was close, so close, his voice would reach, his voice would carry to Victor who turned, his sword aimed at the heart of his opponent. Yuuri saw the gun pulled from a belt, saw the flash of the muzzle, saw the bullet hit Victor.

And then, Yuuri saw his whole world turn red.

A scream ripped from his throat and he plunged down, streaking from the sky. His claws seized around the human’s throat, talons sinking deep into flesh. Yuuri tore the body apart like a rag, blood spraying like the ocean’s mist, coating the ship in red. He tossed the body overboard, two separate splashes haunting the waves but Yuuri cared not.

He crashed into Victor, hands a black blur as he tore into his clothing, searching, frantic, to find where his wound would be seeping blood, staining his clothes, angry and worse, so much worse than before.

His vision clouded with the tears spilling from him, unable to focus, unable to see, unable to find where the bullet had struck so he could push down, stop the bleeding, again, again, just like last time except there would no stitching this, no salve, no siren herbs he could give to Victor to save him.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s voice was dull in his ears. Yuuri clung to him, hearing the fall of running footsteps on approach, glimpsed navy blue. His wings swept the sailor off his feet, knocking him down onto the bloodied deck. Voice stuck tight in his throat, Yuuri grabbed a pistol from the sailor’s belt and fired a shot through his skull before letting it clatter onto the wood. There would be more, more, more filthy, foolish, undeserving humans all around, a threat that prey like them never meant to pose.

His arms winding around Victor, Yuuri held him tight, cradling Victor’s head against his collar, hands protecting his mate’s ears as the command for all of the rest of them to just die readied to bite from his tongue.

Yuuri saw the rest of their crew, still fighting, struggling to stop the men in naval uniforms from getting back to the sloop. Victor safe in his arms, Yuuri thrust out his wings and flew, his voice booming thunder across the waves, screeching a command for all that opposed them to perish. Instantly, bodies crumpled, dropping onto the deck and into the water.

Silence buzzed through the air, save for the whisper of Victor’s voice against the fabric of his robes, speaking to him, calling his name with hushed promises that, it’s fine, lovebird, it’s okay, I’m okay.

Yuuri landed them at the stern of their ship, Victor still cradled against him. He saw the softness of blue eyes, of a pink smile, and it broke him. He didn’t want them to fade, didn’t want to see that sparkle go dark, because of him, again, because of him.

Yuuri’s pulse drummed in his head, drowning out how Victor repeated his name, until Victor’s hands tangled into his. Victor guided them to his heart, where his skin was smooth and his tattoo unmarred, the only red staining it the color of Yuuri’s feathers in ink.

The pounding in Yuuri’s ears ceased. Victor curled Yuuri’s fingers around metal, drawing it out from the inner pocket of his captain’s coat. Lodged in a case of bronze was the bullet Yuuri had watched hit Victor, stopped, shredded, useless.

Victor’s hands cupped Yuuri’s face, wiping the streaming tears off his skin. “It’s okay, lovebird, look, I’m okay.”

He was fine. Yuuri dropped the case, searching Victor again, tearing the fabric from his chest so he could see it all, see that no other wound was there, that he was fine, he was fine, he was fine.

The tears fell from his eyes like summer rain, breath choking in his throat, and Yuuri crushed Victor in embrace. His wings wrapped around them both as he wept, everything coursing through him. Victor’s hands slid up his back, so warm, so loving, curling into his robes to pull him closer and Yuuri jerked away.