#arinn

Dry clothes, a warm bed and a meal do wonders for the demon. Arinn doesn't say much but he's grateful...especially when they don't ask any questions about the marks on his body. He manages to tell them his name before falling asleep.

Exhausted by everything he's been through, he sleeps well into the evening, looking much better than when Liv found him corpse-like on the beach.

But the next morning his condition has taken a turn. He's somehow more pale and drawn, barely able to sit up.

Liv and Emmeline assume he's sick after too long spent soaked out in the cold. He isn't sneezing, coughing or feverish, but they can't come up with another explanation. They give him plenty of blankets and bring him food and water but nothing seems to help.

"We have to do something," Liv whispers to Emmeline out in the hall. "He's dying."

"He isn't dying," Emmeline answers calmly, her hand on Liv's arm. "He just isn't well."

She peers into his room.

"Oh - he's awake. Let me see if he needs anything..."

Liv doesn't argue; Emmeline's bedside manner is a lot better than hers. But she watches from the doorway as Emmeline goes to sit at the edge of the bed.

"Hey," Emmeline says softly. "How are you feeling?"

Arinn's slowly blinking eyes meet hers. "I'm okay," he answers unconvincingly.

Emmeline puts her hand on his. He's cold to the touch and shaking slightly, but the longer she holds his hand the less he trembles.

The two women exchange a glance and Emmeline nods her head. Without a word, Liv goes to sit on the other side and takes the demon's other hand.

"Tell us what you need," Emmeline gently insists.

Tears spill down the young man's face. He can barely stay awake, but his grip on their hands tightens.

"This," he pleads brokenly. "Just this. Please, it's - it's hard to explain..."

"You don't have to," Liv interrupts. "Not right now. Just get some rest."

----

Alex doesn't spare a moment to ask who did this or how when he finally finds Arinn.

He nearly misses the familiar voice feebly calling his name. The desperate sound comes from a fallen stack of paperwork, shoved aside in Alex’s frantic search of the office.

He was being kept in the musty old mansion somewhere, Alex knew it. But he didn’t expect to find him here, and definitely not like this.

Alex drops to his knees and carefully removes the strewn items one by one, following the sound of muffled, ragged breaths. Finally, near the bottom, he finds a manila envelope that has crumpled under the weight of the pile.

Inside lies Arinn, smaller than a doll. He’s sprawled on his back with his hair a mess around him. His small form heaves as he gasps for air; his skin is flushed from the heat of being smothered so long. Above his head someone has written Specimen 27 in black sharpie.

Who and how can wait. Alex curls his hand carefully around Arinn’s little body and pulls him up from the paper, too quickly. He lifts only a couple inches, something pulls taut, Arinn screams.

Horrified, Alex lets go of Arinn. His shaking hands nearly drop the folder in the process, so he quickly sets it on the stable surface of the desk and sits in the chair.

Arinn is writhing in pain and Alex’s stomach lurches to know he caused it. Not now, he tells his despondent mind, you can beat yourself up later.

As gently as he can Alex turns Arinn onto his side and - 

oh.

Of course he didn’t budge. Not with his tail, more vulnerable than ever in his shrunken state, stapled to the inside of the envelope.

Three staples - one at the base that has fractured the largest tailbone, one in the middle that has broken that bone entirely, and one at the end, which is so fragile that the staple has left it bent at an unnatural angle.

“Oh, babe,” Alex breathes. He can’t begin to imagine the pain Arinn must be in.

While Arinn catches his breath again Alex finds a pair of scissors and carefully cuts away all of the cardstock except the sliver attached to Arinn’s tail. It does nothing to relieve the pain, but at least this way he can scoop his boyfriend’s trembling body into his hands and cradle him to his chest. It rumbles beneath him as Alex says, over and over,

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The sound of his voice and smell of his shirt soothe Arinn almost instantly. The gentle touch of Alex’s thumb rubbing his back gives the touch-starved incubus the energy to open his eyes.

No sooner has he opened them than they blur with tears at the sight of Alex’s warm brown eyes looking back. He truly believed that Alex might never find him - that he would die like this and be discarded, and Alex would never know...

Arinn curls up against Alex’s chest, solid and warm and right above his beating heart. It’s the safest place Arinn has ever known. He sobs into the worn cotton of his t-shirt and lets Alex pour comforting words and touches over him. It’s too much touch at once and he knows it; he lets it overwhelm him until he blacks out, finally escaping the pain.

-

Arinn wakes tucked into Alex’s jacket pocket, loosely wrapped in a microfiber cloth. One of Alex’s keychains - a squishy sauropod from the natural history museum - is in his arms. He squeezes it tight.

-

He wakes when his tail is jostled as Alex carries him up the steps to their apartment. Alex is slow, cautious, nothing like the way he usually charges up them, taking them two at a time. But any movement is too much movement for his ruined tail.

- 

He wakes in agony when Alex manages to remove the staples. Careful as he was, there was no way to do so without hurting Arinn. He mumbles apologies and as soon as Arinn’s mangled tail is free he smooths something cool onto it with his thumb. It quickly numbs, leaving Arinn shuddering. Alex’s kisses his head, tells him he’s brave.

-

Arinn wakes splinted, bandaged, and bathed, lying on Alex’s bare chest and covered by a soft, clean hand towel. He rises in falls in a soothing wavelike motion from Alex’s slow breathing. The days of searching have finally caught up to him; he is sleeping soundly.

Though his tail still throbs dully, Arinn is at ease, too. For now he can’t be bothered to think about the days of painful healing to come or the matter of returning to his usual size.

"Keep whining and I'll double the time."

"NO! Alright - a-alright..."

Standing there in his own kitchen, Arinn stands on a small stool and dangles his slender, sensitive tail over a large pot of boiling water and cheap herbal tea. Thick steam rises up around it, the damp heat only a tease of what comes next. He's already quivering with dread, on the verge of panic, and the pain hasn't even started yet.

If he can drop his tail into the scalding liquid, leave it in, and remain standing for ten whole minutes, you won't pour it over his entire body.

You were being generous, really. You gave him a choice. But for the incubus, whose alluring appearance is necessary to tempt potential partners, there was no real choice. In the end his poor tail is the sacrifice you require to leave the rest of him undamaged.

"And your time...starts...now."

As soon as you tap start on the timer the demon takes a deep breath and releases his tail.

"AAAAAGGHHHHHHHH!!!!"

-

"One!"

The first sixty seconds are a blur to the demon.

He seems half in shock. His wide blue-green eyes stare beyond you. He's hardly moving except for the heave of his chest with raspy, frantic breaths. One hand reaches for the wall but doesn't dare touch, because even through the blinding agony he knows that if he supports himself against anything it's over, he's lost.

Your voice snaps him out of his stupor. Arinn locks eyes with you and he remembers who you are, why you're here. He gets his breathing under control, tightens his jaw, and steadies himself, all while tears cascade down his flushed cheeks.

-

"Two."

Arinn makes no attempt to hide his anguish or appear brave. He cries openly, loudly. In an attempt to regain some control, he bites down hard on his lip until it bleeds, trying to distract from one pain with another.

(It doesn't work.)

-

"Three."

It's getting a little boring, you think.

Arinn has done little so far but sway on his feet and groan with his eyes squeezed shut. The endless pain renders him dizzy and nauseous, but he can't afford to be sick. It wouldn't take much to knock him off his feet like this.

You consider adding an extra challenge just to hurry things along. What could it be? From your chair you pluck a fork off of the counter and twirl it in your fingers. You imagine dragging its cold metal prongs down Arinn's hot skin...

But you quickly change your mind. It isn't necessary; the demon won't last long.

-

"Four."

"Fuck," Arinn breathes.

He shifts on his feet to get more comfortable, as if there is such a thing. You stand and take a closer look at the pot. Though the bubbles and steam keep you from seeing much, you can tell that most, but not all, of the tail is submerged.

You choose a ladle from a utensil drawer and scoop a full spoonful of the piping hot water.

With his eyes still closed, Arinn doesn't see, doesn't know until you pour it over the thickest part of his tail at the small of his back. He jerks forward with a scream and nearly loses his balance.

Nearly. But so what if you cheat a little, if you keep him upright with a hand gripped in the back of his hair? You never said you were honest.

-

"Five."

At 50° Celsius, or 122° Fahrenheit, it takes five minutes to for a healthy human adult to develop severe burns from hot water. At least according to one article. Another one said eight minutes. But then another said between three and six, so you aren't really sure...

Regardless, the boiling point of water is 100°C or 212°F,

and Arinn is an incubus, a creature built for sensation,

and his tail is particularly sensitive.

You're no scientist, but the math practically does itself.

-

"Six."

You're honestly impressed that he makes it to six.

Arinn is as surprised as you are. His confidence bolstered by making it this far, he straightens and takes a deep breath.

"F-fuck you," he says with a wavering voice. "I can do it."

By now the thick floral scent of over-stewed tea fills his lungs and makes his head spin, but he remains standing.

-

"Seven."

You start reconsidering the fork.

With nothing to lose, really, you pick it up and walk over to Arinn. His clouded gaze darts between your face and the utensil as you approach.

He licks his dry lips. "That's cheating," he accuses hoarsely.

You lightly press the tips of the fork to his chest. "Not if I'm the one who makes the rules."

Arinn looks like he might argue, but his tail throbs and he accidentally sways forward, pressing into the blunt metal points with a gasp.

You keep it there, pressing four little indents into the skin, and don't pull away until,

"Eight."

-

"Nine."

Arinn's legs are close to buckling.

He's convinced he's going to die like this, cooked alive at the whim of this cruel stranger.

It hurts...it hurts so much...

He wants to say it aloud but what remains of his dignity won't give you that satisfaction.

Besides, you already know.

-

"Ten!"

Arinn nearly faints at the sound of the word. Somehow, though, he keeps himself standing as you approach with a pair of tongs. Through his exhaustion you think you see a flicker of satisfaction on his face.

You slowly lift his ruined tail from the tea and the look is gone. Arinn whimpers at the sight of it raw, blistering, and so unbearably tender that when you give it just a liiiittle squeeze with the tongs, the demon's eyes roll back and he crumples.

On his way down he bumps the handle of the pot. It starts to tip over the edge.