bakerstreet | Kissing Scars

Kissing Scars

The Kissing Scars Meme

Despite the romanticism surrounding the emotion, it can be difficult to be loved completely — not just the beautiful parts of us, but also the sad parts, the injured parts, the hidden and less-than-pleasant parts. There are marks on us, both physical and mental, that we'd often rather forget. The mental ones can just be easier to hide. As for physical scars, they can be off of our minds some of the time, but that's exceedingly hard to do in more intimate, close moments.

Whether it's to your dismay or otherwise, your partner is not looking away and ignoring your scars. To the contrary, they're providing attention in a way most heavily associated with tenderness: kissing. It may be an accidental slip off target, or they may be trying to show you that what you've done and who you've been don't matter to them now.

Does the gesture touch you? Make the walls come up once again because of the memories that are dredged from somewhere you'd rather no go? A mixture of both?

The wound has long closed, yet the pains remain; these days, however, there's someone who may be willing to help you bear it.

Reply with the usual: canon, character, preferences, et al. You may also want to say if you're down for smut or not, since it's not a given.
Be sure to include what side you'd like your character to play. Mention if you can do both the kisser and the kissed.
Also, feel free to talk about your character's scars.
Reply to others.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

(either role! he's got quite a few. m/f, m/m with castmates only. 21+.)

[ It's called the Scar Game. Back in the day, when he had been part of the Crusaders, Reinhardt had played it a lot. You whipped out your scars and you competed for who had the best scars and the best stories to go along with them. The wilder the story, the better. And the drunker you got as well.

It's not something he plays often now. Mostly because he's got so many over the years and because there aren't that many these days that would sit with him with whatever alcohol is available and get drunk off their asses with a shirtless old man.

Well, there is still one, but they all know the stories behind each other's scars. But he still plays it because it's something to pass the time. Jack can call bullshit on him at any time he wants, but then the Supersoldier isn't going to get more alcohol or what comes once miracles happen and the boisterous German is finally drunk. ]

This one! [ He points to a set of thick scars that cross through furry abs. I got this from a tiger! Beat that!

When did you fight a tiger?

[They've known each other for so long--Jack is pretty sure he would've heard by now if Reinhardt actually fought a for-real tiger. Somehow he doubts that he ran into one on the fields of the Crisis, and his eyebrow is raised with no small amount of skepticism.

Jack can't get drunk, not the way normal humans can. If he really puts his mind to it and imbibes enough, he can pull it off, but he's declined to remind Reinhardt of this fact as he slams back most of whatever it is he has in his glass.]

I don't remember that story.

[Said with an air that indicates maybe he thinks Reinhardt is making it up--because he's sure he would've heard about it before now.]

[ There is a huge grin from him as he keeps pointing to what is very much like claw marks over his stomach. He can't help but laugh at the skepticism of the other soldier and throw a beefy arm around him to thump him on the back with each booming guffaw. A few dozen more beers in and Jack would be in very real danger of ending up in Reinhardt's lap being cuddled by the knight. ]

Of course you hadn't. It happened while you were away!

[ He calls it that. He doesn't say it happened while he had been mourning Jack. He never calls that time Jack had been gone anything but "away". Like he hadn't been presumed dead and buried. Just like he had gone on extended leave is all. Because anything else would ruin the good time he's having. ]

So, the tiger. He was a fearsome beast! Full of life and vigor. Wild and feral. We battled all through the night, with our bodies as our weapons! I have him a pounding like you wouldn't believe and in return, he gave me a parting gift to remember him by. [ Tiger, one night stand, same difference, right? ] So, can you beat that?! Or have I finally won!

[Right. "Away", said like he hadn't abandoned all of them without a word for six years. Like he hadn't let them bury an empty coffin and thrown them to the UN as they systematically dismantled everything they worked for. He justifies it by telling himself that he was the one at fault--they could live through hearings and testimonies just as long as they were blameless in the end. A living Jack Morrison would have just dragged them all down with him.

That's what he tells himself, anyway. Makes it easier.

The alcohol makes it easier, too, and so does Reinhardt telling stories. He's not sure whether or not to believe it, but there's a comforting familiarity to this that he wishes he didn't enjoy so much.]

Not sure I can beat a fight with a tiger.

[Jack is pretty sure he could end the contest by showing off some of the scars he sustained from having a building dropped on him, but that's going to bring up things he would rather leave alone.]

You've seen all my worst ones.

[Maybe not all of them.]

[ His smile grows even more bright, a twinkle in his good eye. The arm he had thrown around Jack stays there, comfortably resting across broad shoulders, secure in the knowledge that the huge limb wouldn't be too heavy or cumbersome to the super soldier. He knows he should pull it away. That would be the proper, polite thing to do. Instead, this is where his arm has decided it was going to live. Plus, he'd stepped across the line of proper the second he started playing the scar game. ]

Maybe I have. But I still like them. Yours are a lovely map of your accomplishments.

[ His thumb moves a little against Jack's arm, brushing at his sleeve and a scar he knows to be under there. Only then does he pull his hand away because he knows he can't claim drunkenness for such familiar touches. ]

But since I won, this means that drinks are now on you.

That’s one word for them.

[Some of them are accomplishments, maybe. Some of them are from particularly stupid moments of his, rushing headfirst into a fight, only to have the others scrape him off the pavement when he inevitably got in over his head.

All of them are reminders, and a good deal of those aren’t exactly pleasant.

Reinhardt, however, makes it all sound very noble, as he usually does. The arm around him makes him tense, but he finds himself relaxing into it, a familiar and not unwelcome touch. The broad thumb brushing at a scar underneath his shirt has him shifting in his seat, an attempt to get more comfortable. He supposes he could just leave it all at this, buy the drinks and be done with it, but after a moment—]

Could show you a few new ones. Not exactly pretty.

[The use of new and the serious tone he suddenly takes should tell Reinhardt all he really needs to know. He’s referring to scars he earned when HQ went up in flames, and he’s giving the other man an out if he’d rather not walk that path.]

[ The thing is, Reinhardt hasn't changed all that much. To him there is great honor and glory in rushing in like an idiot and playing the hero. He just had a lot more armor than Jack did, which in a way made Jack that much more courageous. He did that despite not wearing much to keep himself safe.

He keeps right on laughing and his grin gets even larger when he feels Jack relaxing a little. That's better. The former commander needs to relax. He can let go and enjoy. Reinhardt will be certain that if trouble happens, it would happen to himself and not to Jack. Give the man a well deserved break.

Only his jovial laugh stops short when he hears that tone. It takes quite a bit not to stiffen up into a position of attention. Instead, he keeps loose and warm, that huge smile drifting to something a little softer and more intimate instead of loudly friendly. ]

Jack, look at me. Do I look like I care what is considered pretty and what isn't? I'm sure to me, they would be just as good to look at as the rest of you. [ He knows it's rare for him to just openly admit to finding the man attractive. He's always been careful, almost chivalric about any sort of attraction to any of his teammates, current or former. ]So I would like to see them if you would allow it.

[There is a comforting familiarity in how much of Reinhardt is exactly the same, but in a way it only serves to remind him of how changed he is. How something vital inside of him burnt up when Overwatch crumbled, and how he's not ever going to be able to get it back. Jack can pretend all that he likes, especially in the company of old friends, but some things are buried too deep to dig up.

Or he's not letting himself do it, but it's easier to just tell himself that it's gone.

For now he tries to concentrate on the first hurdle in front of him, pulling up his shirt to give Reinhardt a good look at the damage he sustained when Swiss HQ was dropped on his head. It's mostly burns--he hadn't exactly taken care of himself in the aftermath, so it's all much worse than it would have been if he'd allowed himself real medical attention.]

Not as good as your tiger story.

[Reinhardt finding him attractive doesn't exactly bother him. They're close, after all--it's the public setting that has him on edge, but he'll make a concerted effort, even if he doesn't quite meet Reinhardt's eyes.]

[ Reinhardt understands deep down that things have changed. However, he's allowed to be stubborn in his old age. More so than when he and Jack had first met all those years ago. If the former commander had thought him pig headed then, he hasn't seen anything yet. To Reinhardt, it's like the years didn't matter.

No matter how broken or scarred Jack was, the man was still Jack. Still his friend. Still a man he cared for and respected. He would cling to that no matter how much of a refusal that might be thrown his way.

So when Jack finally hikes up his shirt and Reinhardt sees first hand the damage that the explosion has done to the man, he doesn't show any pity or horror for the marks. Instead, he puts his drink down to carefully reach out and brush over one of the worst scars with careful fingertips. ]

They are perfect. You are perfect like always. You make a man have self-image issues.

[ He pulls his hand back and sort of dips his head to catch Jack's eyes with his single one, a grin on his face that is strictly from warrior to warrior. ] They are beautiful because they prove that you are a survivor. If this were a different place and a different time and if we were different men, I would kiss every one of those because they show just how formidable you are.

[ But he knows they aren't. They aren't different men and he doesn't think Jack would be into him enough as anything but a friend to allow such things. ]

So I think I have to declare this my loss and the rest of the night, drinks are on me. Even the imported stuff.

[Jack is far too old to do things like get flushed or flustered, but Reinhardt’s praise of him has heat rising in his chest. He's almost embarrassed, in a way he hasn't been in a very long time. It mostly manifests in him looking vaguely uncomfortable. Those are some fairly heavy hints being dropped, but the assertion that they need to be different men cuts a little, in a way he didn't know it could.

Jack leans back a little in his seat, sighing. He scrubs a hand over his face, as if trying to work himself up to something.]

Can't get drunk, Reinhardt.

[A gentle reminder, but perhaps one with an ulterior motive this time.]

Maybe we should go somewhere else.

[Because it's the public setting that's flustering him, of course.]

[ Reinhardt laughs a little, unaware of just how uncomfortable or cutting his words might have been. He's spent many many years assuming certain things and he's set in his ways. It takes a large flashing sign to the side of his head for him to realize that he's been obtuse for pretty much the later half of his life. ]

I know that, but it's never not fun to challenge it. I think at least once, I must have gotten you a little tipsy, ja? Even if not, let me at least pretend I did.

[ Still, he's pulling out his wallet and easily paying the tab for the both of them. Jack won the scar game, after all. He's more than happy to pony up the bill before standing to once more tower over the other man. ]

Somewhere else it is then. Please lead the way, my friend! Where you go, I will be happy to follow.

Sure, I'm feeling it.

[Even if it it takes a not insubstantial quantity of some kind of unholy jungle juice to get him really drunk, there's no harm in relenting a little. Maybe he's a little buzzed, if it makes them both feel better. There's no harm in it. Jack stands, leading them both out of the bar and back to their temporary base--a nearby safehouse, part of Jack's network of them. He'd spent a lot of time alone in the years following Overwatch's fall, and he's still a wanted vigilante. This town is fairly remote, allowing them the night out they had, but in the morning it will all be back to business.

Which is how it should be, really. It's what he's good at.

It's an innocuous flat, tucked away down a side street, fairly inconspicuous, all things considered. Jack takes care not to linger outside it as he unlocks the door and ushers them both inside, which is fairly spartan. He's never meant to spend long periods of time in any one safehouse. Harder to find him that way.]

It ain't much, but...thought we could use some privacy.

76 | overwatch

if this works for you

oh yes

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject