The Music of Us (sfw) (Patreon)

The idea for a blind hellhound and his sighted hellhound boyfriend struck me earlier like a bolt out of the blue, and when I get an idea like this, I'm overcome with the need to write it out. So, here is a little snapshot of Finn, a blind hellhound, as his boyfriend comes home after shepherding a soul to the next place. Hope you like it!

“Finn?” the cautious voice echoed down the hallway, and I exhale with relief and hop off the couch where I’d been dozing in the late afternoon sun, landing silently on the floor. It’s easier for me in this form, though in his apartment, I know every square foot. Nothing is ever out of place. Plus, as a hellhound, my hearing is amazing. Not that that doesn’t mean I haven’t bashed my nose on half a million things… 

I yip softly before I can stop myself, and my claws click on the hardwood floor as I scoot round the corner, sliding a little in my eagerness. His scent fills the hallway and I can feel my tail whipping back and forth. 

I shift, knowing that tendrils of misty darkness swirl around me as I take on my human form. I’m taller than him like this, but not by much. 

I reach out my hand. A massively over-exposed, bright patch in the bottom right of my vision, with everything else washed out into blankness; yeah, my vision really is terrible, but I’m used to it now. Yes, it bothers me from time to time, but mostly when I want to see his face when he laughs, or when he comes...

“Finn.” He murmurs my name like a prayer, taking my hand and placing it on that solid chest of his. 

I inhale deeply, sinking my nose to his neck, feeling the warmth of his body beneath my cold hand, and stand there a moment, just breathing in the scent of his hair and skin, listening to his heartbeat pounding. He smells like death to me, like the incense of a funeral, like sunlight on coffin wood and freshly dug earth, and I whine softly. 

He shudders. 

He knows that I know all too well what it’s like afterwards. 

Just because I don’t get sent for souls very often these days – not since that run in with an angel that left me in this state – I still know the crushing weight of making the journey to the gates of the Beyond, of shepherding a soul, sometimes driving it with snarling bared teeth, sometimes dragging it, sometimes just keeping it company as it tips willingly along like tumbleweed…

“Finn,” he whispers, clinging to me. 

“Shh,” I murmur. “Come inside, sit down.”

He kicks his old clunky boots off and takes my hand. He lets me steer him further into the apartment, and I can feel how the last few days have already taken a toll on his body. Hellhounds may be made of physically stronger stuff – we have to be in order to make the journey to the Beyond and back – but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t nearly kill us each time we do it. 

He kisses me unexpectedly, and I laugh. Oh it’s good to have him back.

“I don’t want to sit down,” he says quietly, going over to the piano and lifting the lid. “Play with me?” he says, fishing out a piece of music and turning the cover open. 

I know what it is, already I know what it is, and I laugh. “Alright.”

I cross to the corner of the room where my cello case rests against the wall. The smell of rosin as the latches click open always sends a thrill through me in a way I can’t define, and playing with him is something akin to heaven. 

His fingers dance across the minor opening while I’m still settling into my chair, and I have to smile. “Dvorak?” I laugh as I tighten my bow just so. 

“I’m in a Dvorak mood,” is all he says as he continues. 

“You’re always in a Dvorak mood,” I snort good-naturedly. 

The intensity in the theme mounts, growing more animated, rising and then falling. I hear the whip of the page turning. I set my fingers to the strings, feel the bite of the horse hair on the string, and begin. 

I lose myself in the music of us. 

It’s just us in all the world, and it’s perfect. 

I wish it would last, but I know that before long, one of us will feel the tug and have to answer. I just hope we get to the last few bars before anything intrudes on the music of us. 

(If you don't know Dvorak's cello concerto in B minor, I recommend listening to this recording with the incomparable Jaqueline du Pré.)