Dusk in Kalevia by Emily Compton & Onorobo

Author:Emily Compton & Onorobo [Onorobo, Emily Compton and]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: prose, light novel, illustrated prose, alternate history, spy novel, intrigue, communism, revolution, fantasy, non-religious angels, Boy's Love, BL
Publisher: Chromatic Press and Sparkler Monthly
Published: 2013-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

Toivo ran his thumb over the grooves in the grip of Demyan’s Makarov, staring down at his once-strong enemy, brought low by the bullets of his allies. Even now, in this weakened state, a faint hint of despair radiated off of Demyan, reminding Toivo of the danger he posed. Assailed by indecision, emotions racing helter-skelter inside him, Toivo grappled with the ramifications of the shadow’s surrender. Nothing had prepared him for this.

Finally, Toivo crouched by the prostrate body of the dark angel, setting the gun beside him, and extended a steady hand.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

**

Demyan’s apartment was smaller than Toivo had expected. When he stepped through the bathroom door on the 24th floor of the State Security Building and into Demyan’s living room, his eyes trailed over the clean, raw wood tones, all Scandinavian modern design straight from the pages of a government department store catalog. The flat felt standoffish, lacking the inherent warmth and friendly chaos of a lived-in space. A bright cushion or two attempted to inject a small hint of color, but the effect was unconvincing.

Demyan cracked a half-hearted smile.

“Home sweet home,” he said, dragging himself from Toivo’s back. He stumbled over to the rug and sprawled across it with a moan, adding a few new abstract accents to its geometric pattern.

Toivo hovered over him, awkwardly trying to shepherd him to a more comfortable resting place.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.” Demyan waved him off, affecting a drunken bravado that failed to hide his pain.

Demyan clutched the leg of the coffee table, his knuckles white, his eyes unfocused and dull. Although his bleeding had slowed, it seemed to be taking all of his effort to remain conscious. He was so pale and cold against the rug, but still impossibly, unnaturally alive.

“Fuck, I’m thirsty...” Demyan took a rasping breath and leaned into Toivo’s hand as it supported his neck. “My veins must be dry.”

“Do you have any bandages?”

“Don’t need ’em. Just get me a clean sheet and I’ll sleep it off.”

Toivo slid a hand under Demyan’s back and lifted him, trying to coax him out of his overcoat and jacket. Although he tried to be as gentle as possible, he felt Demyan’s muscles tense under his hands, knotted hard with suffering.

His skin was cold, too cold--like lifeless stone, like the wind that whined outside. As Toivo unbuckled his holster, Demyan kept talking in his deep, ragged voice, as though trying to distract both Toivo and himself from his shameful weakness.

“I’ve done this before, anyhow. I got shot twice during the war.” Demyan talked with his eyes closed, his teeth clenched to keep from chattering. “They were so surprised when I turned up at the station a few days later, not a scratch on me. Earned me the call sign ‘Lucky’ for a while.”

The shirt was plastered to Demyan’s chest, caked with congealing blood, dark holes alluding to the horrors underneath. Toivo held his breath and began to unbutton it slowly, peeling the cloth back as gently as he could.

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