#alaatum

She shouldn’t have to see him like this: pale and listless, hardly able to lift his head from the pillow, still stained in mottled bruises from his jaw to the breadth of his back. It had been a long Visitation. There had been much to commune. The Spirit had burned inside of Dominic for hours - an indiscernible amount of time for the vessel being hollowed out, for a man whose tongue still tasted of the consecrated wine, who had to be escorted from his chambers to the church when the draught went right to his head. All he knows is that when Their Grace finally withdrew, it left behind a deep, gnawing pain, too diffuse to touch but too sharp to ignore.

He’s been stripped to the core in an evening; all Dominic is now is a body, mere evidence of the mortal coil, of sinful flesh that tried to contain the Purest Light. The Elders had left him alone in his chambers for a reason.

He’s always been left to recover on his own, but somehow, Saskia has made her way in — and she’s looking at him with tears in her eyes, stroking his hair back from his face so gently he can hardly feel it. Does she not know she’s dirtying her hands by touching him? Can she not see that this is his only purpose?

He prays she doesn’t see the blood that sticks his shirt to his spine.

“This… it’s not for human eyes.” Dominic’s breath trembles as he inhales, trying his very best not to cry in front of her. “I’ve upset you,” he whispers. If he had the strength to move, he’d reach out to smooth the furrow of her brow, to dry her eyes before his pain could wet her lashes. But he is weak. His fingers curl around the blanket.

“Forgive me. I’m… it isn’t so bad.” He’ll be better in a day or two, and the Message will be written out, ready to be given in a sermon. But Saskia will still have the image of his impurity carved behind her eyelids. “You weren’t meant to see.”

God, her touch is a balm on his aching forehead; like the selfish, wicked creature that he is, he longs to drift closer to that comfort. To her, in all her lovely radiance. He always wants Saskia to be near, and perhaps that is the problem.

Saskia’s hair tickles his nose when he breathes in, chest rising slowly beneath her familiar weight, and it is resplendent, this little vision of heaven he’s stealing. Wandering rays of sunlight tangle effortlessly in her sleep-disheveled locks; when he tucks the strands behind her ears, it falls over the gentle slopes of her face like warm water tracing the riverbeds, like gold leaf laid over ancient marble. She’s beautiful. There is nothing on this earth or of the heavens that could ever compare.

“Perhaps they were blinded,” Dominic murmurs, soft and honeyed as his heart when he’s with her. “Every morning, I open my eyes and see an angel. She’s warm, and soft with sleep, and I’m blessed enough to hold her in my arms.” Those first few moments of the day feel sacred, if only because she’s curled around him so tight.

           ❛        christ    !!    steady     !!     ❜

( I FEEL YOU ON A PERSONAL LEVEL. I had all needles. Bloodwork, IVs, shots, you can freaking forget it man I will cry like a baby. )

{thankfully i’ve never had to get any bloodwork or iv’s or stuff, but oh man. fuck shots.