First Being Human fic, so I hope this works! *is nervous*
Everyone has scars. Some are just a little more noticeable than others.
George has a perfectly placed bite-mark on the right side of his neck. It looks so delicate – in fact, it’s almost invisible unless you know it’s there and you’re actually looking for it. George notices it every time he looks in the mirror.
Mitchell has scratch-marks on his back, clawed into the skin over his shoulder blades. Four on each side, drawn down and outwards like some artist’s impression of wings. He chose to keep those, consciously refused to let his body heal at its normal rate in that area until the slices through skin and tissue and muscle had knitted together as scars.
When they’re in bed together, George props himself up and he’ll stroke the tips of his fingers oh-so-softly down the scars on Mitchell’s back, words of apology all ready to fall from his mouth. Mitchell will roll over and reach up, first laying his fingers against George’s mouth to silence the words before they’re even spoken, and then his hand will slide down and come to rest at the side of George’s neck, the pad of his thumb covering the marks he put there with his teeth.
Then George leans down and covers Mitchell’s lips with his mouth, and rolls them until Mitchell is lying on top of him, and their scars will be forgotten.
Until the next time George remembers and feels the guilt start to rise. Mitchell would worry about it, but he knows he’ll be there to stop it – he can’t imagine not being there ever again.
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Re: Scars, Being Human, George/Mitchell
Date: 2009-01-25 08:27 pm (UTC)Everyone has scars. Some are just a little more noticeable than others.
George has a perfectly placed bite-mark on the right side of his neck. It looks so delicate – in fact, it’s almost invisible unless you know it’s there and you’re actually looking for it. George notices it every time he looks in the mirror.
Mitchell has scratch-marks on his back, clawed into the skin over his shoulder blades. Four on each side, drawn down and outwards like some artist’s impression of wings. He chose to keep those, consciously refused to let his body heal at its normal rate in that area until the slices through skin and tissue and muscle had knitted together as scars.
When they’re in bed together, George props himself up and he’ll stroke the tips of his fingers oh-so-softly down the scars on Mitchell’s back, words of apology all ready to fall from his mouth. Mitchell will roll over and reach up, first laying his fingers against George’s mouth to silence the words before they’re even spoken, and then his hand will slide down and come to rest at the side of George’s neck, the pad of his thumb covering the marks he put there with his teeth.
Then George leans down and covers Mitchell’s lips with his mouth, and rolls them until Mitchell is lying on top of him, and their scars will be forgotten.
Until the next time George remembers and feels the guilt start to rise. Mitchell would worry about it, but he knows he’ll be there to stop it – he can’t imagine not being there ever again.