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 remains; 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.
He gazes down at her, eyes soft, and rubs the tip of his nose lightly against hers. "I love you, too."
Whether they have another round of kiss-the-scar or not, he's satisfied with the way their evening together has gone. Even with Corypheus brought up, things have been pleasant, and Kore has seemed in good spirits. And he means every word he just told her. Maker's breath, does he love her.
"What now?" he asks, one corner of his mouth pulling upwards.
It's difficult to be in a poor mood when he looks at her so warmly.
"When we first came to Skyhold," she begins, combing her fingers through his hair, "I got a nasty splinter from one of the wooden doors here. I was practically impaled."
Not on her hand, which would be the logical place. She'd clipped her thigh with the side of the door when opening it with an armful of books that needed a home--a shard of wood broke off the edge and left a long gash down her thigh. Now it's her turn to make him move and search.
This one's going to be a tough one, even if he doesn't realize it. Alistair reaches up for the hand sliding over his scalp and draws it down to examine, feeling each finger, then the back of her hand, then her palm.
"That must've hurt," he says without looking up from the hand he's examining.
She hopes her examination of her body was as enjoyable as this is to her. There's something sweet about him focusing on just her hand, looking it over front and back.
"It did. I thought I was going to pass out." The bleeding alone was enough to make her want to slump to floor. Who would have thought a splinter--even a large one--could make such a giant stain on the leg of her breeches? Of course, that meant she was a touch too mortified to tell anyone about it, and so the clean up and care was left to her. Not fun.
He loved having her look him over, nearly as much as he enjoys looking at her now. It's a way to get to know her body, parts that don't necessarily get the same attention when they're busy enjoying each other in different ways.
There's nothing on that hand that looks like it fits the bill, so he kisses her palm and sets her hand down on his thigh. Time to check the other hand with the same care and concern. As she describes the experience, he hisses in sympathy. "What happened next?"
"I didn't lean over the war table for a week," she smirks, and perhaps that's a hint. It's true. She made sure to sit, made sure to not scratch her wrappings, made sure to keep herself busy. It healed quick enough and well enough, but the scar is jagged and uneven still.
As her fingers move up and down his thigh, she laughs. "I'm sure this is more fun with you. I'm relatively new to scars and injuries. You've got a decade of being a warden and a boy's childhood on me."
Alistair, gentleman that he is, laughs, drops her hand, and reaches beneath her, running his hands along her arse. (Which is a reward in itself, being able to palm her skin so casually. Who cares if he ever finds the scar in question?)
"Are you telling me you didn't get scraped up as a little girl?" He grins at her, shaking his head. "I've been picturing a little tomboy climbing up trees and falling down hills."
"I climbed trees and fell down hills. I just made an effort not to get too scratched up. My mother would have never let me go out. Dogs didn't like me, however," she says, motioning to the faint white scars on the side of her face, just barely on the tip of her nose and the corner of her mouth, trailing down her neck. Those he knows about, gotten while running around with her brothers. Her mother had nearly had a heart attack right then and there, seeing her little girl bloodied. "Most of my scars are from after the conclave. Very boring, I know."
She smiles up at him, lifting her hips so that he can get a good hold on her arse.
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bakerstreet2015-06-26 11:21 am
no subject
Whether they have another round of kiss-the-scar or not, he's satisfied with the way their evening together has gone. Even with Corypheus brought up, things have been pleasant, and Kore has seemed in good spirits. And he means every word he just told her. Maker's breath, does he love her.
"What now?" he asks, one corner of his mouth pulling upwards.
no subject
"When we first came to Skyhold," she begins, combing her fingers through his hair, "I got a nasty splinter from one of the wooden doors here. I was practically impaled."
Not on her hand, which would be the logical place. She'd clipped her thigh with the side of the door when opening it with an armful of books that needed a home--a shard of wood broke off the edge and left a long gash down her thigh. Now it's her turn to make him move and search.
no subject
"That must've hurt," he says without looking up from the hand he's examining.
no subject
"It did. I thought I was going to pass out." The bleeding alone was enough to make her want to slump to floor. Who would have thought a splinter--even a large one--could make such a giant stain on the leg of her breeches? Of course, that meant she was a touch too mortified to tell anyone about it, and so the clean up and care was left to her. Not fun.
no subject
There's nothing on that hand that looks like it fits the bill, so he kisses her palm and sets her hand down on his thigh. Time to check the other hand with the same care and concern. As she describes the experience, he hisses in sympathy. "What happened next?"
no subject
As her fingers move up and down his thigh, she laughs. "I'm sure this is more fun with you. I'm relatively new to scars and injuries. You've got a decade of being a warden and a boy's childhood on me."
no subject
"Are you telling me you didn't get scraped up as a little girl?" He grins at her, shaking his head. "I've been picturing a little tomboy climbing up trees and falling down hills."
no subject
She smiles up at him, lifting her hips so that he can get a good hold on her arse.