Title: Taint of Indigo
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse, 'Clerks'-era
Pairing: Randal/Dante, Randal/straight chick, Randal/Rick Derris (inferred)
Rating: R shading towards NC-17, only for mentions of homosexuality and cursing
Status: New
Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's how:
Feedback: kelandris@insubordinate.net
Series/Sequels: Answer to the Remix Challenge; Jess's "Stains in Blackberry Indigo", my version. Original story available on KS-Slash.
Disclaimers: Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, Jason Mewes and Scott Mosier have creative control and ownership of Dante and Randal, not me.
Notes: Eleventh-hour kinda thing. Hope I do it justice, Jess.
Summary: Randal wants Dante all to himself…but can't tell him so to his face.
Warnings: Loads of misogyny. I switched the approach vectors in the original story. Wanted Randal sedentary and Rose walking in. Don't know if I kept up the original level of bitterness. It got long.


"Taint of Indigo"
by Kelandris


Until Randal saw Dante's latest slut-for-hire, he wasn't sure why he was even *in* the bar. He'd been sitting there, nursing a bottle of Grain Belt, for a good hour--ever since he'd overheard Dante talking about taking the bitch out. And not in the comfortable, he was gonna take her out back and spatter her brains on the pavement way. No, he was going to take her out *dancing*. Do it up in fucking *style*. Randal was sure he was gonna be sick, right there on the counter.

He turned the amber bottle in his hands, picking lethargically at the label. He'd originally decided to come here, he thought, just to twist the knife a little. Maybe crash the date. Maybe even bring his own slut on a rope--it wasn't like he didn't know the chicks in the area, would drop it for him in a heartbeat. He'd done it before, even.

But then…and man, wouldn't you just fucking *know* it…Dante'd called her, saying he had to work. Shit. *Had to work*. As if the world would collapse and the drains start running backwards if Dante's narrow ass wasn't behind the counter of that stupid convenience store. And Randal-standing close enough at the time to lean over and lick the smooth column of Dante's pale neck-heard the bitch whine on the other end of the phone. Said she was going to go out anyway. He could join her or not.

He remembered actually folding the porn mag he'd been reading, because A Plan Was Forming. Yet another way to disentangle Dante, make him see what was standing in front of his wide, hurt eyes. Not that Randal would ever come out and tell the boy, shit no. He wasn't a…well, he wasn't for just anyone, after all. Besides, Dante, he had to see it, he had to *know* it. Randal just couldn't slink up and throw it down. The man was the epitome of clueless. In fact, most days, he wasn't even the epitome of *conscious*.

He watched the dark-haired girl approach the bar, and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch up. One-sided smile, his specialty, sarcasm and attack all in one. And potentially charming, to boot. What more in life was there? Charm and venom. It was kind of his trademark.

Of course she slinked over. Randal fought back a sneer, keeping his smile just pointed enough. God knew, she'd seen him enough times, standing beside Dante in the Quik Stop. But he knew her kind of girl-if it wasn't male and *actively* sleeping with her, it got dismissed in favor of the male that *was*.

Unless she happened to be alone.

Which she was, right now.

"Well, hello stranger," she purred. Obviously her attempt at being charming. Randal set the bottle down, swiveling out on the barstool towards her. Slow even pivot, arching back against the bar. Ladies, it is on display. Take it but don't break it. 'Cause breaking costs.

"Hello yourself," he purred back, every ounce of charm he possessed pointed in her direction. If he thought it'd do any good, he'd flip her over the bar and flip her skirt up now, but patience had its place. It was a good plan, maximum shattering, and there'd be a good two weeks solid, maybe more, of nursing Dante back to what passed for emotional stability.

Still. Sitting here, thinking of Dante, thinking of Dante *with* her…fuck, he was already hard and aching.

She looked…he almost shook his head, fighting down laughter. Entranced. A little scared. Nervous. Excited. She was so easy to read. Pushover in high heels.

She heard the accent, matching half the guys in here, and smiled wider, like she'd answered the big math problem on the front board. She giggled, just a little, mostly breath and shoulders. Randal fought down another sneer.

"Ah," she said, still laughing a bit. "A local boy."

"Born an' raised," he said, fighting a grimace off his narrow face. Wouldn't do to scare the deer away, not when he had this handy steel-tipped arrow set against its throat. Speaking of throat…

He reached out, picking up her drink, taking a sip. Know thy enemy. His enemy drank it clear, whatever it was. He turned the glass slowly in the light, the strip of cyan lights from the stage tinting the drink clear blue for a moment, before they cycled back to the dance floor.

He held an old-fashioned glass, heavy on the ice, heavy in the hand, and took another sip. Sharp bite of cheap gin and tonic on his tongue, taste of blackberry lipgloss on the rim. He turned to look at her, his eyes half-lidded, his smile grown large and lazy.

She couldn't help laughing at him, and he cocked his head to one side, watching her. Cyan stageglow cycled around again, and for a moment he saw himself in her eyes: a thin man, muscled but lanky, blue lights in his hair, blue lights in his eyes. They darkened as he watched, as he leaned forward.

She leaned forward as well, like she'd been programmed, pressing against him. Her long-nailed hands trailed down her purple blouse, obvious invitation. She pressed her breasts against his arm, and he looked down for a moment, judging price. Those weren't cheap. He'd say, maybe three grand to look that good. Bet she still had scars, though, fine curving lines under each tit. Hadn't had the time to fade, she hadn't had the time to care. Had Dante even noticed?

He fought back another snarl. You'd think, the sheer amount of porn he forced into that gullible, clueless brain he would've *gotten* it by now. Women, they were mostly worth it. In it, like she was in it, for whatever stupid things they could get. They weren't in it for the long haul. They weren't in it for the emotional collapses, for the mornings after the nights before. They didn't have the stamina, or the desire. He knew it.

Dante still believed, though. Well. Maybe this would step him closer, towards Randal. Maybe…finally…it'd be enough.

She breathed another laugh, using his forearm as her new push-up bra.

"Kinda bold, eh?" she crooned. He wanted to slap her.

Instead, he just shrugged, looking away, like he didn't care. The honest truth was, had she not been Dante's latest thang, he wouldn't have. Hmm. File that away for later midnight thinking. Don't think about it now.

"Mm," he said. "You gonna slap me or somethin'?"

She pressed in further, breath heating his ear.

"Dance with me?"

He grinned down at her. Dancing she had in mind did not involve the floor of this bar. He fought the urge to check his watch, to mark the exact moment she'd caved.

"You don't even know my name," he said, talking down to her face but still ignoring the cleavage. It was driving her mental. He was enjoying the view.

"Does it matter?" she asked sharply. Shit, he had her. This was too fucking easy.

"Guess not," he said, his voice softer than his eyes. He pulled her away from the bar, and she went willingly.

Randal's smile sharpened again, watching her, and he led her out to the dance floor. No harm in shaking it a little, making her pant for it. Made it all the easier half an hour later when he turned, walking out of the bar, knowing he'd follow.

Short walk home, bring her back to his place, 'cause she would've recognized Dante's apartment by now. Much as he wanted to bring her back to Dante's, fuck her on Dante's excuse for a bed, all tattered pillowcases and sheets tossed every which way. But no, he was keeping it cool, because she was still dim enough she hadn't caught on.

Short walk home, short walk upstairs, he heading up and not looking back, as if he had all confidence that she'd follow. Her, following after, nearly tripping on her high heels in her eagerness to catch up. Slut in forward motion. He wanted to slap her again.

He wasn't a bad lover, when he was with someone he cared about. Unfortunately, he hadn't cared about anyone since he'd met Dante, and, well…He'd come close with Dante, once or twice, when they'd gotten drunk, but never…quite…all the way. He got there, he got ready, he looked down into Dante's glazed eyes, and always pulled back. It wouldn't be right. He couldn't go through with it.

Chicks, though…he didn't care about 'em, didn't want 'em, took 'em like they were fast food and he was just driving through. Thing about the slut at present, she didn't even care. So either Dante was even more nervous with her than usual, or…she didn't care if it got a little rough.

Randal didn't much care if she cared. Quick and hard, get it over with, see Dante's eyes and growl whenever he did. Pound her into the mattress like someone he was paying, maybe like someone he didn't even care enough to pay. And she moaned and urged him on and he felt those long red nails clawing down his back and growled some more.

Once, his imagination got away from him. He was thrusting into her, and he actually paused to run his hands over her breasts, down her belly, thinking for an insane moment, **Dante was here…Dante was here, *right* here…** He hadn't had her yet, thank God--Randal knew, Randal always knew, even though Dante never said a thing. He was a gentleman, but his walk betrayed him, the way he stopped leaning against his girls, like he was begging to be allowed inside. Once he had, he stopped asking with the whole of his body. Randal knew. Randal always knew.

And so far, he was still knocking.

That didn't mean he hadn't touched her, and for some reason, he couldn't shake that thought from his head. He couldn't stop thinking about Dante, Dante's hands on her. Dante's fingerprints marking her skin. Something of the shock in his eyes, or the feel of his hands, got through to her, broke through however many gin and tonics she'd had tonight. Woke her up, just a little, which hadn't been anything close to his intention.

Her eyes widened almost comically as her mouth dropped open.

"You!" she gasped. He looked up, vaguely irritated at the distraction. "It's you! The guy from the video store!"

Randal leaned up, pushing into her, pushing against her, until she gasped a second time. His grin grew wide and sharklike.

"Yep," he said simply. He leaned down, grazing those sharp, sharp teeth along a shoulder that already bore bite marks.

She blinked, apparently trying to think. Hmm. This might take a while. He leaned back up, supporting his weight on his wiry arms, waiting.

"But…" she finally said. "You're…you're Dante's *friend*!"

"Yeah," he drawled lazily. "And you're his girlfriend. It didn't stop *you*."

She blinked, little tremors almost shaking her head. He pulled out, almost entirely, just rocking the head of his penis inside her. He leaned down at the same time--difficult, but not impossible. He breathed words against her ear.

"Want me to stop?"

Just for a moment, she looked lost, and he almost got why Dante had started dating her. His heart clenched in his chest, and for one moment, he was more naked in the room than he'd been the entire night. Then both their armor reformed, and she grinned, tangling her hands in his short hair.

"Hell, no," she breathed, and he hammered into her, making her scream.

"Good," he said, growling the word, and drove them both to the brink.

It wasn't enough, though, not nearly enough, and that moment of lost little girl kept flashing behind his eyes. When he came, he came whimpering Dante's name, apologizing, begging for forgiveness. It was only his dumb luck that she didn't notice, clenched around him and shrieking as she rode him down.

He couldn't get away from her fast enough after that.

***

He stayed in bed, rigid against any intrusive touch, until his bedside clock clicked over the hour. Midnight painted crimson across his pale face, and he rose, staring down at the pathetic scene on the bed. Girl was tangled in his sheets--shit, he'd have to burn those now--and still mostly naked. She'd put her bra back on, and that was just mystifying.

He stood, pulling on clothes roughly, running his hands through his disheveled hair.

"Bitch," he muttered, to the oblivious girl. "Bitch. Whore. Slut. You and all the rest of 'em…how dare you…how *dare*--"

She moaned, turning in the blankets, and he quickly escaped to the bathroom, breathing hard. Okay. The Plan. Remember the Plan. He could do this.

He splashed some water on his face and slipped back out, searching the pile of girl gear at the foot of his bed. Skirt, blouse, the bra was on her, the shoes, the hose…fuck, where *were* they?? He needed-

Ah. Nearly underneath the bed, caught somehow on one of the heels and pushed under when she'd shed her skirt. Cheap nylon, in red, of course. Pink stitching across the elastic--*Rose*.

Wonderful.

"*Thank* you, Rose," he purred, stuffing her panties into the front pocket of his jeans. "And now, to finish out business."

Rose didn't wake, even when Randal gave in to the impulse to laugh coldly, as he walked out of the room.

***

He walked into the Anchor bar, eyes flitting through the dimness to focus on Rick Derris. Grinning, he walked over to where the man sat, breathing heat across his bare neck. Derris only grinned, swiveling the stool around.

"Randal," he said, grinning. "Welcome back."

"'lo, Derris," Randal said, picking up Rick's drink, downing a sip or two of cheap Scotch, no ice. Yick. Still, it was free, and it wasn't like Derris didn't clench up at the thought of putting his mouth on the rim where Randal's had been.

Randal's smile widened. Shit, it wasn't like it was a well-kept secret, but Derris would justifiably freak if it got out he cruised at night. Derris was one of the local studs, local fixture of the chick-magnet set. Nobody'd believe it, frankly, though…well, Randal had a persuasive side.

That wasn't why he was here, though. This was more of the bait and switch. Just like he hadn't quite gotten anywhere with Dante, Derris hadn't quite gotten anywhere with him. Oh, the man kissed like a piledriver, and more than a few times, Randal had thought the hell with it, let's just go find a bed and get *on* with our lives, but…something always stopped him. Dante always stopped him. Without even knowing he had.

Randal leaned in closer, lifting a hand to stroke against the back of Rick's neck, watching him tremble. That much want was almost scary. That much want was intimidating. That much want…He grinned again, leaning forward.

That much want could *always* serve a purpose.

"Stop by the Quik Stop tomorrow," he said, words floating on the briefest cushion of air. Derris shuddered, eyes half-closing as he stared at Randal's lips. He leaned in just as Randal pulled back a bit, and Rick hissed in frustration.

"Why'n hell would I wanna go ta *that* dump?"

Randal grinned again, the shark within stretching his mouth. Derris stared at him, enraptured.

"'Cause I might have a…*surprise* for you."

Derris grinned back, cocky smile, cocky attitude.

"Well, I need to take Grandma grocery shopping anyway," he said. His eyes belied his words, traveling up and down Randal's body in slow, easy sweeps. Randal just smiled, cocking a hip out and watching Derris swallow.

"You…um, still need a ride?"

Rick growled softly as Randal leaned forward, licking along the line of his jaw, and then stepping back, watching him, watching the promise and the premise sink in.

"You know it, Rick. You know it…"

He laughed silently, watching the larger man cling to the bar like it was the only steady thing he had left.

***

The next day, Randal suffered a moment of indecision when he walked up the parking lot. Video store, not opened. No one was pounding down the door, but still. On the other hand, Dante was already inside, and he smelled blackberries.

Damn. He turned his lanky form towards the Quik Stop, flipping the collar of his jean jacket up as he did so.

He walked in just in time to catch Dante, eyes closed, face a rapture of ecstasy, eating something with dark, rich berries and intensely flaky crust. His knees almost gave out, imagining that expression for a more unsuitable activity. He couldn't help it--he walked behind the counter, reached out, and snagged a drop of dark juice from the corner of Dante's lips.

He licked his finger clean just as Dante opened his eyes. Shit. He tried to play it cool.

"Damn, Dante. No matter how much of a bitch your mom is, she makes a *damn* good blackberry cobbler."

"Fuck you," Dante said without heat.

"Amazing. You sound almost exactly like your mom last night. Only the 'you' was 'm'--"

Dante swung at him for that one, putting the empty plate down with his other hand, and Randal shut up, ducking and laughing. Truth was, he railed on everyone, but he actually kinda liked Mrs. Hicks. She was good people. Dante knew that, too, and took the ribbing in stride. Of course, anything was better than *his* home life. *His* mother, for example--

**Damn it, Randy, where the hell you been? Most likely sucking off your little Jew boyfriend--**

Randal shook himself, good mood fled a bit. He hadn't had Dante over to his house more'n the one time. He hadn't been home much himself after that fight. And sure, he'd been interested in Dante even then, but he'd never, not once, not *ever*…

Shit.

And he *hated* being called Randy to this day.

The bell over the door jingled, and Dante's face brightened as he saw who walked inside. Randal fought back a sneer of disgust.

"Rose!" Dante called, reaching over the counter for her hands. She reached over, just grazing them with the tips of her blueberry nails, bright and metallic. Randal tilted his head to one side. Guess the Dragon-lady red was for night-time use only.

"Hey, Tiger," she said, but her eyes were already on Randal. *Bitch*.

"Hello, Randal," she purred. She had the audacity to grin, and even wink saucily, and what the fuck did she think she was doing? Shit, the bitch *wanted* to get caught.

He shrugged, mumbling something, and looked down at the counter. Hey. It wasn't a *completely* empty plate after all. He ran his fingers through the remainder, picking up juice-soaked bits of sweet crust, half a berry here and there. Dark juice dripped down his skin, over his pale wrists, like a suicide in reverse.

"Have fun last night, Rose?" Dante sighed.

Randal looked up, fingers in his mouth. Dante looked miserable. As usual. He pulled his fingers out of his mouth, slowly, watching Rose heat up at the sight.

"Sorry about fucking work…"

Rose grinned through the bitterness in her boyfriend's voice, and Randal, just for a moment, entertained earlier thoughts of Dante taking her out back and reducing her to jelly. Out of their lives once and for all, with just a few dark stains on the pavement to remember her by. With a jolt, he saw Dante looking at him, and realizing the shark was back, exposing full fangs in a somewhat lethal fashion. He pulled it in, quirking up a corner of lip, and Dante just shook his head.

**Keep it together, dude,** he thought urgently. **Do *not* terrify the love interest. Jesus.**

Another jingle of the bell and Randal smiled at the newcomers. Derris moved into the store with all his linebacker assurance, trailed by a small porcelain doll of a woman. Still beautiful, and sharp as daggers, her hair as wild a cerulean as Randal's eyes. She bent over a worn bamboo cane, peering up at the three by the counter.

"Ah. Hello, Dan-tay," Grandma Derris said, peering at the dark-haired young man. She always spoke deliberately, but precisely. She was one of Dante's favorite customers.

"Mrs. Derris," Dante replied, in those smooth professional tones he was so good at. He stepped out from behind the counter. "Will you be needing any help today?"

"Oh, no, dear. Such a good boy…"

Dante blushed slightly as she reached up with one soft, wrinkled hand, to pat him on the cheek. "Ricky's going to help me today. Aren't you, Ricky?"

"Sure, Grandma," Derris said. His attention was elsewhere, Randal noticed. Grinning, he scooped up another bit of juice and leftover crust, sucking on his fingers until Derris turned red and looked away.

"Yeah, I'll help ya."

"Good. Though," she said, turning back to Dante, "perhaps you could help us carry things out later?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Kinda sad, really," Randal breathed across Dante's exposed ear. Dante jumped as the Derrises moved deeper into the convenience store.

"Hmm?"

"No one should have to do all their grocery shopping in a shithole like this."

Dante glared at him.

"They don't do *all* their shopping here. She goes over to Bonus Foods first of the month. She only comes here when Derris gives her a ride."

"Why here?"

Dante shrugged. Randal watched him carefully.

"She goes wherever Derris drives her, I guess."

"Guess that makes sense."

Dante had time to nod lightly before he froze in place. Randal was close enough to feel the puff of air as it emerged from Rose, on Dante's other side. She nibbled along the outer rim of his ear, eyes locked with Randal's Her expression was wicked. Randal wanted to slap her again.

***

It seemed to take longer than usual for Mrs. Derris to finish shopping, but maybe that was because Randal was alternately enraged at Rose pawing Dante, and thrilled that Randal was making him react, too. Dante, in fact, was the only person not catching on to their little tug-of-war for Dante's attention. That, too, was on the sad side.

He watched as Dante grunted softly, finally escaping the blue-nailed Rose, carrying two heavy bags that seemed closer to a month's worth of food, rather than just enough for the week. He heard Rick laughing lightly as he left the store, carrying a much lighter bag. Randal thought he'd have to find a way to make Derris pay for that little bit of malice.

In some way he wasn't already suffering, that was.

He drifted over behind the counter, pressing himself against the window. He didn't need to hear what was going on, unless it got good--he just wanted to see it. The moment of revelation. He watched as Dante opened the back door of the car, setting the two bags inside, Derris having already set his single bag on the other side of the back seat. He paused for a moment, rubbing his back, and then leaned forward.

Randal splayed his fingers on the glass, leaning closer. There. Has he seen them? Has he--?

Dante leaned into the car, disappearing for a moment, before surfacing holding a pair of red underwear. Cheap-looking, even across a parking lot. He was baffled at first, turning them in his hands. His bearded face grew pale, then flushed as he read the name stitched in cursive across the back. Pink thread. Randal remembered.

His mouth formed a word that Randal could read clearly.

"Rose…"

Rose, having drifted out onto the sidewalk, perked up like a puppy when she heard the sound of her name. Randal grinned like a knife, pressed against the chill glass. Then he remembered. The last carton of eggs on the counter. Dante'd rung them up, but hadn't carried them out. Perfect excuse.

He picked them up, leaving faint, bruise-toned smudges along the pale styrofoam.

"Rose?" he heard as he walked outside. Not seeming to notice, he walked to Derris' car, where Grandma was being carefully buckled in.

"Forgot these," he said softly, and got one of Grandma's pointed smiles.

"Well, aren't you considerate?" she said softly. Dante was moving away from the car, red nylon clenched in a tight fist. Randal leaned in, placing the egg carton in the top of the emptiest bag. He smiled at Rick, moving around to the driver's side of the car.

"Drive safe now," he said.

"Thank you, dear," Grandma replied. Rick just shuddered, and got into the car. Then Grandma looked over, and her eyes narrowed. She followed Dante's progress away from the car, his fist clenched around some bright red material, and turned to her grandson.

Grandson suddenly had to duck a wildly swinging cane in a closed space as Grandma railed at him, over and over.

"How *could* you? Someone else's girlfriend! That boy has *manners* and you don't have the consideration God gave a small rock! I raised you *better*, young man! You foul little--"

Ignoring Rick's glare, he stepped away from the car, Rick nearly spinning it out in his hurry to get away from the Quik Stop. One down. Randal turned his attention back to the main event.

"Yeah, baby?" Rose was saying. The Derrises were pulling away. Randal was walking back to the store, his attention only now turning towards the pair, as they moved closer together. Clockwork. It was coming together like clockwork.

Casually, Randal looked over, as if he was puzzled. He frowned, taking in Dante's obvious upset.

"What's going on?" he said. Picture of concerned friend. Perfect.

"I don't--" Rose began, and then saw what Dante was holding. She took a step back.

"Rose…" Dante gasped.

Perfect.

***

**This is better than late night HBO,** Randal thought happily. He was perched behind the counter, porn mag open but unread, watching Dante and Rose circle each other like pit bulls. Rick was long gone, fearful of being exposed--or beaten to death by his grandmother's whippy little cane. The glare Rick had sent him hadn't even disturbed the surface of his satisfaction.

"Dante, I never--"

"How long--?"

"I swear--"

"How *long*--"

"I swear, Dante--"

"How *LONG?" Dante screamed, throwing the underwear at her feet.

"I never cheated on you!"

Randal couldn't help it; he snorted in disbelief. Yeah, right, and he was fucking sure it hadn't been only with *him*, either. He'd just been the last in a long, *long* line.

Rose's eyes turned on him, widening in realization.

"You…*YOU* did this! It was *you*! You put my panties in that guy's car!"

Randal blinked, looking down at her. He pasted a look of confusion and slight amusement on his face. It was a look he'd honed for years. Nobody, not even Dante, could shake that look once set.

Dante *growled*, which was pretty impressive on its own.

"Oh, so now you're saying you fucked Randal *too*?"

"Hmph," she sniffed. "I wouldn't soil my hands with that--"

Randal almost snickered again. But Dante was still on a roll.

"And I guess he fucked *Rick*, just so he could put 'em in the back seat?"

Randal's eyebrows hit the ceiling briefly. Well, not exactly. There had been some groping in the back. Nothing, you know, without pants. Still, that was pretty damn close.

"Not really my type," he said quietly, trying not to grin too widely.

"Oh, as if you have a *type*--" Rose snarled.

"I've never heard such a load of *SHIT*!"

Rose's head snapped to Dante, glaring at her with galeforce anger.

"He *seduced* me!" she yelled, one last desperate attempt to clear her name. Slut really had no clue. She never even noticed when Randal stepped towards her, only swallowing a small scream when Randal laid a gentle, nearly brotherly hand on her shoulder.

"Now, Rose," Randal said softly, staring down into her midnight eyes. "Who's he supposed to believe? His best friend?" He touched his chest lightly with his free hand, as if to cement the point. "Or…you?" he finished. He flicked his hand back towards her, and shook his head in resignation.

He moved towards Dante, laying a protective arm across the bearded man's shoulders. Dante stood just a little bit straighter, and Randal could've cheered if the slut weren't there.

Instead, he cocked his head, looking at her. Fat tears welled in her eyes, pouring down her face, as she looked from one stern face to the next.

"Get. Out," Dante hissed.

"But--"

"GO!"

Without another word, Rose moved towards the door, wiping tears away angrily. She picked up her purse from the counter, daring only one look back. Dante was looking down, arms wrapped around his lean frame. Randal hadn't moved, but his sapphire eyes speared through her like knives.

*Mine*, he mouthed silently, and Rose shook with new tears, fleeing the store into darkness. The bell tolled, and she was gone.

For a few moments, the two men just stood there, and then Dante turned into him, wrapping his arms around Randal and pulling him close. He collapsed, Randal holding him up, sobbing weakly, the words he used now and again inaudible, pushed through a locked throat. Randal stroked his hair, murmuring soothing sounds, trying to calm him. This was the part of the plan he always hated, as much as he loved holding Dante. The fact that Dante would only let him hold him like this, when he was on the verge of collapse. The fact that Randal kept having to arrange collapses, and frequently, so that Randal didn't do something with Dante he didn't want to do.

Eventually they ended up on the floor, Dante curled against him, hiccuping slightly. Randal looked down, feeling his friend's pain.

**Damn you, Rose. Damn all of you,** he thought resentfully.

He saw his fingers running through the smaller man's hair, fingers stained in indigo streaks. Tinted. Tainted. Unclean. His own tears dropped, unnoticed, into Dante's ebony locks.

**And damn me, too.**

END
*******************
Kelandris the Mad
damn, I want blackberry cobbler now