#lord scourge

Time for another WIP excerpt! The fic is almost done, I’m just sort of refining it now.

Once more he glances up, expecting to see that same tiny smirk still tugging at Scourge’s face. What he doesn’t expect is the Sith’s brow to be lowered, shadowing his eyes to the colour of dark blood, all traces of levity suddenly fled from his face.

“Scourge?” Cas’ own brows draw together. “You alright?”

Now barefoot, Scourge discards his tunic and crosses the room back to Cas. “Stand up,” he says, soft yet abrupt.

Perplexed, Cas does so, rising from his seat on the bed. Scourge circles him halfway, and then reaches out, his fingertips brushing at the Jedi’s abdomen. A moment later Cas feels a corresponding touch at his back, and he realises what Scourge has fixated on.

Two marks. One for the entry point, one for the exit point.

“What is this?” growls Scourge.

Cas exhales slowly, and bites his lip. “Arcann,” he explains. “When he came after me on Asylum.”

The memory is a distant one now; the echoes of Arcann’s lightsaber no longer twist inside him whenever he moves, and he’s grateful for it. Sometimes he even manages to forget, for a time, the many scars he bears thanks to the son of Valkorion. But they’re new to Scourge, new and frightening, and he can see by the way Scourge has tensed that the other man is not taking it well.

“And this.” Scourge reaches for Cas’ left hand now, turning it between his own, glaring at the Rakata-based implants embedded in the dark skin that allow the Jedi full use of the limb again. “He did this to you, as well.”

“Scourge…”

Cas can feel the storm gathering in the other man, as surely as if clouds were seeping inside and darkening the warm glow of the room around them. Scourge’s moods are unpredictable these days, and understanding this, Cas has all the patience in the galaxy for him, but still - this is not how he hoped their first night together would go. He desperately wants to head this off, the waves of emotion he can sense churning towards the surface beneath Scourge’s rigid form. But he’s not sure that he can.

He twists his head up towards the Sith. “Scourge, it’s not -” he starts - but too late.