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slashthedrabble Mar. 12th, 2005 01:44 am)
eloise-bright.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Mar. 12th, 2005 01:44 am)TITLE: Seeing Scars
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Wes/Gunn
NOTES: Set in Birthdayverse, mid alternate S2. Title and quote from "Stray Birds" by Rabindranath Tagore.
Seeing Scars
"When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing."
(Stray Birds - Rabindranath Tagore)
Wesley shifted position under the covers, breathing out a quiet sigh of not quite pain. He was finally asleep; after two hours of babying and cajoling and, in the end, outright threatening, he had reluctantly swallowed the pills that had sent him into this fitful doze.
“I’ve done nothing but sleep for a fortnight.”
“Sounds like you needed it.”
“I want to enjoy my first night home.”
He had been pouting, almost like a little kid, flashing him a killer look with those baby blues.
“Not going anywhere, Wes.”
He whispered that again now, as he rubbed his thumb over the warm palm, and remembered when he had grasped it desperately, pretending not to feel the cold seeping through it.
He loved the feel of that hand, worn with calluses from gripping his pen too tightly. In terms of scar tissue, though, relatively recent.
He had the old ones, fine raised lines on his knees and elbows and you had to wonder exactly how clumsy a kid Wes had been, especially when you looked closely at the ones that traced across his base of his spine. He didn’t talk much about how he had gotten those.
It had been a while before he’d been allowed to see the one on the shoulder. His fingers had moved over it in the dark, cradling; reassuring; as Wes had stiffened, then shuddered silently. When Wesley let him leave the light on for the first time, he’d become so familiar with Wesley’ body that the scar barely registered with him.
The skin there had healed before he ever met Wes; it was as much a part of him as his accent, or the glasses that he wore when the contacts irritated his eyes.
He leaned over and unhooked the glasses, sliding them gently off his nose. Wes sighed again in unconscious protest, his right hand going automatically to his face.
“Shh, sleep now.”
Wesley moved in response to his whisper, and the sheet rucked around his waist, exposing a white bandage around the gunshot, reaching under where his left arm would have been.
He didn’t want to look at this scar. The others were Wesley’s, part of him, making him the man that Gunn admired; the man he loved. But this one was different. This was Wesley broken for him, willing to give up his life for him.
This scar belonged to Gunn.
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Wes/Gunn
NOTES: Set in Birthdayverse, mid alternate S2. Title and quote from "Stray Birds" by Rabindranath Tagore.
Seeing Scars
"When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing."
(Stray Birds - Rabindranath Tagore)
Wesley shifted position under the covers, breathing out a quiet sigh of not quite pain. He was finally asleep; after two hours of babying and cajoling and, in the end, outright threatening, he had reluctantly swallowed the pills that had sent him into this fitful doze.
“I’ve done nothing but sleep for a fortnight.”
“Sounds like you needed it.”
“I want to enjoy my first night home.”
He had been pouting, almost like a little kid, flashing him a killer look with those baby blues.
“Not going anywhere, Wes.”
He whispered that again now, as he rubbed his thumb over the warm palm, and remembered when he had grasped it desperately, pretending not to feel the cold seeping through it.
He loved the feel of that hand, worn with calluses from gripping his pen too tightly. In terms of scar tissue, though, relatively recent.
He had the old ones, fine raised lines on his knees and elbows and you had to wonder exactly how clumsy a kid Wes had been, especially when you looked closely at the ones that traced across his base of his spine. He didn’t talk much about how he had gotten those.
It had been a while before he’d been allowed to see the one on the shoulder. His fingers had moved over it in the dark, cradling; reassuring; as Wes had stiffened, then shuddered silently. When Wesley let him leave the light on for the first time, he’d become so familiar with Wesley’ body that the scar barely registered with him.
The skin there had healed before he ever met Wes; it was as much a part of him as his accent, or the glasses that he wore when the contacts irritated his eyes.
He leaned over and unhooked the glasses, sliding them gently off his nose. Wes sighed again in unconscious protest, his right hand going automatically to his face.
“Shh, sleep now.”
Wesley moved in response to his whisper, and the sheet rucked around his waist, exposing a white bandage around the gunshot, reaching under where his left arm would have been.
He didn’t want to look at this scar. The others were Wesley’s, part of him, making him the man that Gunn admired; the man he loved. But this one was different. This was Wesley broken for him, willing to give up his life for him.
This scar belonged to Gunn.
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