dolevalan | Fic: Come Love, Come Lust

Title: Come Love, Come Lust
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Arthur Sloane, Katiya
Rating: PG
A/N: The only way I write anymore, apparently, is by trading fics with

rougen.

Getting her mother out of the house had been the hardest part; Katiya was old enough now that watching her wasn’t that much of a chore. Which was lucky, because keeping up with her was proving a challenge. Arthur couldn’t remember having that much energy, at seven or ever.

But eventually, she’d run out of energy, as all children must. At her insistence, he curled up in bed with her and let her tell him a story. Just as well – she was better at it than he was, though they did have a tendency to wander. Still, it was an epic affair with magic rings and lots of swashbuckling, and he oohed and aahed at all the right places. Some time later, he ended up holding the little girl as she slept, curled against his chest. Warm weight.

There were, he was sure, a long list of women who would laugh hard at the image of Arthur Sloane holding a seven year old little girl. It was a departure, that was certainly true.

He could remember a time, not too long ago, when the brunette he held was much taller, and much more… anonymous. Not that they’d all been one night stands, but… well, he’d always liked having company. Holding the child, it occurred to him that it was around the time his brother died that he’d stopped bothering trying to remember their names.

It had hurt, when his father died. When Danny was reported missing it was just… empty. There was a part of his life he learned to stop reaching for.

And it was easy.

It was easy to charm women into bed. Easy to make love to them, to promise to call, to never call. Easy to mix himself a drink, light himself a cigarette, take a job. The less he cared, the easier it was not to anymore. Everything was clear, simple. Dark, but never clouded.

Though he stopped caring gradually, he could remember the moment he started caring again. And the moment he wished he could never care again. Another child. Blond, a boy. About seven, just like the one he held now. But not warm. No gentle breath curling against his neck. Just a smaller neck turned the wrong way and open, staring blue eyes.

And he’d thought it was the end.

So here was a little girl with her arms around him, a mother who needed him sane, a blonde who’d tried to kill him and now was the last shred of his old life, and the woman he loved most in the world in another man’s arms.

His life used to be easy.