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Just Good Friends	By : auntfanny Category: +1 through F > Dungeons and Dragons Views: 2198 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dungeons and Dragons, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Just Good Friends
- 2-Two
- 1
- 2
The day wore on, and Hank dozed and drifted as the others wandered in to rest, then out again. There was always crying outside. It went on for hour after hour after long, painful hour. And then, at long last, it faded away into nothing. A large shadow fell onto Hank. He opened one eye to see the small group in the door of the cave, carrying the comatose Cavalier. Diana had taken his feet, but Bobby was bearing most of his weight. It took Hank by surprise, as it often did, what a giant the young Barbarian had become. As for Eric... he’d always been skinny, and had stopped growing any taller either during the first visit to the Realm or shortly after. Since that had happened, he’d watched from a fairly medium height as Presto had outgrown him, followed by Bobby who now towered over everybody else at well over six feet. Eric looked so small and fragile by comparison, passed out in Bobby’s arms. There was only one other in the group who looked as tiny and pale and frail as he did - Sheila. The redhead flitted and worried around him like a fretful moth around a candle flame. Her eyes were as tear-worn as his; the same dark circles against the same white skin.

Hank continued to watch from the corner of his eye as the group carefully placed him on one of the few mattresses in the hideout and covered him with a blanket. Then, wordlessly, they dispersed. Diana curled up in a corner and appeared to go to sleep. Bobby and Uni found a quiet spot in which to share an apple. Presto leaned against the door of the cave, gazing out into the wilderness as afternoon slowly turned into evening. Sheila stayed with Eric as he slept, taking his hand and nodding off lightly herself. Hank sighed inwardly and closed his eye.

And when he opened it again, it was night. Diana was gone - God knows where. The others were all asleep - Presto in Diana’s previous spot, curled foetally as always, Bobby draped over Uni’s warm belly, Eric still on the mattress, Sheila laid out on the floor next to him, her hand still loosely in his...

...her hand slowly creeping up his arm, shifting herself closer and closer until she was on the mattress with him, leaning close in to him, and God Dammit, that little Fuck wasn’t asleep at all...

Hank blinked. That wasn’t happening. Eric was still fast asleep - Sheila too, on the floor, an arm’s length away from the Cavalier. He was imagining things... wasn’t he? He hadn’t imagined their little secret Talks together, had he? Or the way they joked and giggled and tickled and teased and held each others’ hands. Or the times he’d caught them sitting too close, way too close together, and always looked so guilty when he did. Or the way they had held each other that morning. So tightly, so desperately. And they were both single now. Single and miserable and hurting. So broken. So vulnerable.

...she was on the mattress again, wrapping her arms around Eric the way she had by the shrine. His arms came up and wound around her, holding her tight. They rolled a little, so that she was lying on top of him as they continued to embrace. She sighed, propping herself up, allowing her bobbed, copper hair to fall down over his face.
‘Say something,’ she whispered.
Hank wanted to say something. He desperately wanted to yell, to scream at them to get their hands off each other, but he couldn’t. He was paralysed. He watched helplessly as Eric combed Sheila’s hair back with his fingers, tucking it behind her ears.
‘He doesn’t deserve you,’ replied Eric. ‘He’s been given the most beautiful flower, and he’s just let it wither.’
Sheila smiled sadly, shyly. ‘And what about you? You gave her your heart. Your wonderful heart, you kept it hidden away for so long. Such a precious thing. And you give it to her and she just tosses it aside.’
‘It’s OK.’ Eric returned her smile. ‘I’ll grow a new one. Just as long as I’ve still got you.’ There was a pause before Eric spoke softly again. ‘I love you.’
Hank held his breath. He knew that was how Eric felt. He knew that bastard was crazy for Sheila. He couldn’t hide it. But what about Sheila? Seven years Hank had been with her, seven years she had said that Hank was the only one. She didn’t love Eric. She couldn’t...
‘I love you, too, Sweetie.’
It felt as though a black hole had opened up in Hank’s belly. He could feel the vacuum, sucking him into himself. He wanted to be consumed. He wanted to disappear. But he didn’t. He had to stay. He had to stay, and watch in silence.

It was all about those two. So much of the crap in his life these days was down to those two and the stupid loyalties he and the others felt towards them. He remembered the morning after the night he and Diana had spent together. The Acrobat had only hit the roof when he had let her know categorically that nobody, including Sheila and Eric, was going to be told about what had happened. It had thrown Diana into such a moral outrage that she hadn’t spoken civilly to him since. But Hank could bet that she had no idea Sheila had such designs on her boyfriend, designs to lie on top of him only the night after Diana had broken up with him.

But it wasn’t Sheila’s fault. Sheila was tired and confused. It was Him. Hank watched helplessly as Eric brushed a hand gently down Sheila’s arm, and lifted himself up slightly to meet her lips with a small kiss. They pulled away a little, gazing at each other, wordlessly, then kissed again. Another little kiss. Then another, slightly longer this time. And again. And then the next time, sickeningly, he opened his mouth to her.
Hank tried to scream out for them to stop, but his voice was frozen in the back of his throat and his lips were heavy and lifeless. His fingers itched for his bow. He’d have happily killed either or both of them. Maybe even himself. Anything to make it stop. Make it stop. Please, God, make it stop!

Sheila was hardly just letting it happen. She pushed down onto him, straddling him possessively. Oh God, she wanted it. How long had she wanted it for? Hank watched as their hands moved over one another, and could do nothing when Eric began to hitch her short skirt up around her waist. Those hands, that Son of a Bitch’s hands were caressing her backside, pulling down at those little white underpants until they were gone. They were both naked - Hank wasn’t sure how. And... and it was horrible that they looked so good together. Sudden shocks of ebony black and vibrant orange all against their white, white skin. The murky browns of the hideout cave turned to gold and bronze around them. They looked like a Klimt painting. Their kisses moved all over one another's’ bodies, tracing lines from one point of pleasure to the next. They shone as they tickled and licked and kissed. They shone with a brightness that only cast darker shadows on Hank as he watched, impotent and mute.

And then they stopped. Still naked, her sitting across the top of his thighs, they paused. The shining colours dimmed a little. They unlocked eyes. And looked at Hank. And, both watching his face, grinned.
‘No. No. Stop.’ He was speaking now, but they weren’t listening. ‘Please, stop it. Don’t do this to me...’
He had been warned. He would be usurped. This wasn’t how it started. It had started a long, long time ago. It was too late to stop it now.
Eric lifted Sheila up and then pushed her down onto his erection.
A bright, shining light ignited within them and came streaming out of their wide eyes and mouths, and from the writhing spot where their genitals were joined. Hank couldn’t hear his own scream above the inhuman cacophony issuing from them with the burning light. Yes. It burned. He could feel the heat of their lovemaking. Too hot! Too hot! Burning into his heart. And they were still watching him, smiling cruelly through their ecstasy as they gyrated faster and harder and louder and brighter and... and he could feel the wings of flame. Those wings of flame again, again, curling out of his heart and sending sparks into his fingertips. Take them! Take them! Revenge!

Hank awoke suddenly. His magic Bow was already in his hands. They were sleeping - Eric on the mattress, Sheila on the ground. They had dropped hands, and turned from one another in their sleep.
‘What’s up?’
Hank blinked in the direction that the voice had come from. Presto was still curled in a tight ball, but watching him intently, his eyes invisible behind the bright light reflected in his glasses.
Bright light... Hank looked down at his hands, and saw that he had drawn back a bolt.
‘I...’ he stalled, ‘I thought I saw something.’
He relaxed his hands, and the magical bolt faded away.
Presto frowned a little. ‘Another bad dream?’
Hank set the bow down. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Presto.’

The Wizard said nothing more, and after a few minutes, began to softly snore. Hank didn’t move, didn’t pick up his bow again, but lay watching Sheila until he drifted off again. And when he slept he didn’t dream of sex, or brightness, or fire. But there was crying. And, this time, the crying brought him peace.
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Just Good Friends