Caught in Possession

Do-Si-Do

Warnings:

Threat to life of main characters. Firearm use.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

~~

"Kraisee Lang", Mew said with an unnatural calmness as he faced the man and the gun, as with one fluid movement he shoved Gulf behind the shield of his own body - squeezing his still interlocked hand tightly as he willed the younger man to feel his unspoken love, yes love - and prepared to die.

But...

Gulf stepped out from behind him - stood level with Mew.

The elder angled a shoulder to push him back urgently, yet, again, he moved forwards to stand together, side by side.

Mew sought desperately to cover the younger, then, grasping both arms in an attempt to force his retreat, brief seconds of almost comical wrestling between them, teeth gritted in mutual stubborn determination.

Until suddenly a loud shot - akin to a crack of sharply whipping thunder - pierced the air and froze the moment, dawn chorus sent squawking skywards in a flurry of panicked wings, as the Lang son loomed, revolver aimed upwards to the heavens as if confronting whichever deities the universe housed there above the clouds.

"Enough! Enough country square dancing. No more fucking do-si-dos with your pretty little bitch, Suppasit"

His voice was loud - too loud for their serene setting, Coniston's waters whispering 'Hush' with every gentle ripple - none of Mew's control. This man was on edge, rogue, unpredictable.

"What do you want?", that level of calm maintained, though Gulf could feel the masked elevation of the elder's pulse through his fingertips even as he spoke.

"You know what I fucking want. I want what's mine. What you and your slut of a sister took from me"

A visible tensing of Mew's already taut frame, hands balling into unconscious fists at the words, as he replied with a bitter undertone to the control then:

"I don't have anything that belongs to you or any one of your family"

"PAITHOON!" - came Kraisee's impatient shriek, gun waving wildly, dangerous volatility. He was a flaming match hovering above a glinting puddle of spilled petrol fuel.

Gulf sensed the minute intake of breath from Mew at his side, understood that he was digesting the word - a word that meant nothing but mystery to himself but seemingly so much to the two elder men.

Until finally, Mew repeated, measuredly and deliberately...

"I don't have anything that belongs to you or any one of your family"

Incensed, Kraisee flew at him, metamorphical match hurtling towards the flammable diesel, Mew forcibly shoving Gulf down onto the grassy verge to their rear in the brief seconds before the unforgiving coldness of a gun was pressed to his own forehead, odours of stale sweat and tobacco invading his nostrils as the Lang man spat out, amber-flashing eagle eyes mere centimetres from his face:

"Doesn't belong to me? My own flesh and blood doesn't belong to me? Tell me where the fuck you're hiding Paithoon or I will fire this second bullet, and you of all people know that I shoot to kill"

"Do it you bastard, I will never say a word. Take me and leave them. Do it!" - the growl crescendoed to a roar as Mew's temper frayed at last, those symbolic, imagined petrol flames engulfing them all as he squared up to the gun's holder, reckless with ignited, uncharacteristic rage...

"No!" - the hollow cry came simultaneously from Gulf as he scrambled desperately to find his footing and return to Mew's side.

But only a laugh from their opponent, a spine-shivering, nape hair-raising laugh - maniacal, demonic hysteria - head thrown backwards before...