Yes! Thank you!
#20 – …on a scar
She learns early on that he is quiet and efficient, a product
of his life spent drifting along with the shadows. He never says more than he should,
never volunteers anything about himself. She finds that for him; every moment,
every word is calculated to give as little as possible. There is an intensity
about him that draws her in despite how little he says out loud. She sees that he
spends most days listening and watching others and so, she watches him. She
watches the way he furrows his brow when he is trying to puzzle something out.
She watches the way he appears devoted to a conversation but can see the way
his eyes never seem to stop moving or assessing.
She watches the way he watches her. It’s a quiet constant
and it’s another way she is learning to understand him. He is not the type that
will give her some grand declaration of love, a public gesture of his
intentions. He barely acknowledges his feelings to himself, she would never
expect such a display from him. Because
she knows this, understands this, she’s learned to understand that when he
walks by her with a quick greeting, nods curtly in group settings, sits quietly
at a shared table and lets Bodhi drive the conversation, it isn’t that he doesn’t
share those feelings with her. It’s simply that he can’t bring himself to voice
them quite yet.
She knows that in this one area between them, she is just a
tiny bit braver than he is.
No, courting her in outwardly displays in what was deemed by
polite society as appropriate would always be a struggle for him, a challenge
to all the years he spent alone. This was something he was never going to excel
at, only just manage. He was never very good at conforming.
But when they were alone, when it was just him and her, his
hand will chart a path, marking itself from one monument to the next. She
believes that he is a cartographer, creating a new world memorialized in the hills
and valleys of her body. His hands will linger on a prominent scar on her
collar bone, where a Vibroblade had dug in deep and left a reminder of its
deadly power. His hands continue to roam, seeking out the next landmine and
replacing it with the heat of his hands and mouth. He whispers against her
skin; praising every mark, thanking every muscle, remembering every scar as the
moment it was.
His mouth follows the path his hands have forged, seeking
out every reminder of how quickly their lives can change, where moments are
simply that. Moments.
With every pass of his lips and every brush of his palm, she
allows herself to fall under this spell he weaves until all she can hear is the
sound of his voice and the promise of his hands. His hands are a drug against
her heated skin, bringing a respite that she is addicted to, believing in what
they promise as they trace along her skin, through her hair, around her soul.
His whispers are smeared along her neck, between her breasts and she wants them
to remain forever tattooed there along with the scratches his beard leaves
behind and the scars he worships.
She is in love with him and he with her. It’s there in the
feel of his hands, the strength they lend each other in those long days and
even longer nights, there in the feel of his mouth along her marred skin. So
no, it’s rare that they publicly show affection, it’s hard to shake a lifetime
of training. But sometimes he’ll catch her eyes across the briefing room and
send her heart racing with a simple look and there are those days when she
passes him in the halls and brushes her fingers lightly against his in passing and
knows that he has lost his train of thought when she hears him repeat himself
awkwardly to his walking companion.
So, she lives for the moments they capture alone, those
moments where time slows down and she can gather together all their moments and
hold them close. She hears his love for her with every press of his lips
against her skin, against every scar and knows that theirs is a different kind
of love, a love that saves them both.
(sorry it took so long and is so short!) ❤
say you love me 