#malonasks

Counting Azrael’s scars was a feat that Malon was never entirely sure she would complete. For one, the sheer number was astounding and secondly, she was almost certain that there would be more in places her eyes hadn’t quite had the pleasure of seeing. Sometimes she caught herself wondering about the ones that might be hidden and the thoughts would send her face into a cherry-toned conundrum that usually ended with her knocking something over.

But the others…

She had counted twenty-seven so far. The twenty-seventh being the one she’d recently spotted on the back of his hip earlier that day. Shaped like a hook but jagged enough to match number thirteen which lay across his shoulder and chest right next to scars number seven and eight— the bullet wounds. Number 13 had a name now, though; Wolfos Attack. She nodded silently, reminding herself of her new label and the notion seemed to catch Azrael’s attention. He raised a brow at her and heat filled her cheeks as she quickly turned to busy herself again with the cleaning of her new gun. She glanced at him again after he’d lost interest, her eyes falling on a new piece of lightened flesh that marred his forearm.

This is both vague and horrifying.

T-treason? That’s a heavy question, friend. I think it’s when you betray your country in a way that’s er… really dangerous, right?

A-ah…ha…? I’m afraid I’m not really a fightin’ type. I mean, I guess ye could say I fight horses sometimes.

Fluff.

The sun trickled in through the cracks in the curtains, hitting in just the right way that it shined on Malon’s face as she slept. She blinked sleepily and turned her face more into the pillow. She no longer needed to rise with the sun, but she never broke the habit of waking up early despite that. Her stirring caused the cool arm around her waist to tighten, bringing her closer to the man that lay behind her. The sensation sent an oddly comforting chill up her spine and her lips curled up in a sleepy grin, rolling over to face him. Azrael’s brows were furrowed and his mouth was tugged down in a discontent frown, clearly not ready to wake up. “Nh,” he mumbled defiantly, “Go b’ck t’sleep, lass.”

Malon chuckled softly, running her hand up his shoulder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. The sunlight painted patterns over his cheek bones and she gently drew in the outlines with her fingertip, a soft grin plastered on her face. He didn’t open his eyes; instead he exhaled slowly through his nose, unbothered by her touch. Her wandering hands were, after all, something he’d come accustomed to. Her kisses that feathered his neck and jaw caused him to stir, tiredly turned a red eye on her face. Malon grinned at him widely, her green eyes bright as she shifted closer to him hurriedly. “Mornin’,” she said as she wiggled herself upwards to place more accurate kisses on his cheek and lips. When their lips met he returned the kiss and mumbled again, voice low and groggy, “Goddesses help you sleep in for once.”

She chuckled apologetically, “I can’t help it. Ye can keep sleeping— I’m just enjoying myself.” She whispered, kissing him again as he closed his eyes, shrugging. “S’abit distracting. I’ll want to wake up if y’do that, dearie.” Malon sighed and rested her head on his arm, watching his face as he dipped his head to press their foreheads together. “Do ye want me to sing for ye?” she offered while smoothing his hair and moving the strays away from his eyes.

“There’s a knife hidden in me cane, lass. If ever I say no to that, I want you to take it and kill me with it.”

Malon shook her head, denying him with another chuckle and nuzzling him as she did so. She hummed softly, her voice growing as she began to sing a wordless lullaby. Her fingers still traced the different angles of his face as she sang, making note of the gauntness in his cheeks and planning ahead for the meal she would no doubt have to force him to eat. In her time with him, Malon had noticed that the man could drink all night and day but eating just didn’t seem to be an activity he enjoyed and it showed in the emaciated look of his body.

“One day, you’re going to wither away, y’know?” she sighed mid-song and kissed his jaw again, though he seemed to already be drifting again because all he did was tighten the curl of his arm around her waist and bury his face into her neck lazily. The motion pinned her to his chest—gently, but pinned nonetheless, and Malon couldn’t help but laugh at her trapped predicament.

She sighed in defeat and let her body relax against him once more. “Alright, you win,” she whispered, closing her eyes and willing herself to sleep again. Though Azrael’s face was hidden, she had her suspicions that she could feel his mouth turn up in a lazy grin against her nape.