Leave A Scar

Scars were a funny thing. How they can seal a moment in time with a sliver of skin.

I never paid much attention to Ed's scars, when he would reach with his flesh hand. Skin against skin, gently cupping my neck, my face, my waist. Always with clothes on, however minimum we gave the night.

But now... Now I was staring at Ed's back, seeing the pricks and cuts sealed within the skin of his left arm. My sight naturally went to the center of his back, where that insignia would be, if he wore his coat.

But I was greeted with the length of his hair, each braid sealing in a year of travel.

His hand rose, pausing at his mouth before slowly lowering again. And with a heavy, soft breath, his back deflated as well, too.

My eyes traced what the moonlight caught, and for a second, seeing those scars again, a dozen memories shot into me. Walking out of one of the first hotel rooms we shared together, seeing the automail catching light as he swirled his glass. The scar on his inner-shoulder, exposed by a strap slid an inch or two past his shoulder. And then that first night together, watching him watch my lips and seeing the scar on the corner of his neck and shoulder. I wanted to kiss it away, that pain. I didn't want him to hurt anymore.

Just give the weight to me. I can bȧrė it.

Once again, my sight went to something I knew wasn't here. His flamel insignia, on his back. My beacon was gone, for the night.

I lifted my stare, straight up like an elevator. Each braid was a floor, and like he'd told me there were six in total. Six years, over 2,000 days. All reduced to one consecutive line.

A lot of time. I wondered what he thought about those times; what he would say if I asked him. I imagined his voice to be thoughtful, patient with himself as he tried to put it all down in words.

I looked up, slowly tracing the long braid, stopping at the back of his head. I wondered what went through that brain of his, when things were quiet like this. When silences were the loudest and voices the smallest.

Here I am, trying to be poetic again. Blotching the pages with my sorry excuse for ink.

I got on my knees, like always, and with the mattress below me, I placed my hands on his shoulders. Sliding them a little towards his neck, and I was surprised to feel the skin rise, underneath his shirt. He didn't glance back like I thought he would. He just stared down, kept staring down, and I leaned over, peering past his shoulder. Seeing his finger and seeing the blood forced out from a bite.

I wanted him to lean back, give me something I could bȧrė. I wanted that weight, however physical it may come.

I wanted to cure, however little I could.

So my hands went to the tendon along his shoulders, squeezing gently and feeling the tension beneath my fingertips.

He ġrȯȧnėd, in response, head rolling back. Telling me in a sound that he needed this. He needed me.

So, with a kiss against the side of his neck where the skin curved into shoulder, I told him to lie back.

"You've never had a massage, have you?"

"No, I've never had a massage," he hissed quietly, turning enough for me to practically see the forked tongue sticking out in between gritted teeth.

I leaned back, gently slapping my hands together, pretending to dust them off. "I'm giving you one. Lie down."

With a few grumbled protests about my "fancy massages", he did as he was told, lying on his stomach with the side of his face against the pillow.

"You can give me these any time you want, if that's what you'll be doing," he murmured, voice muffled. I grinned, satisfied.

I reached to his hair, tugging on the base of his ponytail enough to raise his head up an inch.

"Ah!" he cried out, voice still soft enough to let me know he was playing along. "What? That was a compliment!"

I leaned forward, still keeping my hand pulling his head up. I saw his eyes sweep towards mine, probably unable to see me given the proximity of my face.

I breathed into his ear, lips trailing down the lobe before planting a kiss to his neck. "You sure you wouldn't want me to get rougher?" I murmured against his skin, and before he could do anything, I twisted a finger around his hair, tugging enough to earn a quickly stifled mȯȧn.

"I knew I was keeping it long for a reason," he said through clenched teeth.

I grinned, lips spreading out against his skin. I kissed him again, teeth nipping before gently releasing, hearing him breath out deeply. Trying to control himself again.

I heard him swallow, my hand relaxing and letting go of his hair. His eyes opened, and I found myself leaning forward, planting a kiss on his cheek. I felt how his face moved a little bit, mouth curving into a small smile. I tried to ignore the feeling this gave my gut, tried to focus on why I had just kissed him like that. When I didn't need to.

I went slow. One hand holding at the wrist, the other kneading his shoulder muscles palm-first. They were tense; everything I touched was tight. A net snarled with knots.

So I spent a few moments staring. Staring at the small scars along his exposed ċhėst and arm, wondering how each one came to be. I hadn't even let him see all of mine...

Ed shifted, gently looking at me.

"Something wrong?"

I looked to him, snapping out of my thoughts. I shook my head, trying to resume my task.

"N-no," I replied. "Just got distracted. Sorry."

I felt Ed's grin before I heard it in his voice.

"Well, my body is pretty distracting..."

I grinned a little, trying to hold down a laugh as I gently used the curve of my elbow against a muscle running beside his spine. He flinched away, a hiss shooting from him. Darkness screamed in my ċhėst; I hurt him.

I instantly sat up and took my hands away, watching him relax again and nestle back against the mattress. He was grinning a little.

"Sorry," he told me. "Guess I'm a little tense. Never gotten one of these before."

I didn't answer. I ignored the question, reminding myself not to make this about me. I leaned over him, kneading the crook of his right shoulder and neck with my fingertips. He winced again, the quick hiss bȧrėly audible from the back of his throat. I looked back down to the muscle and continued the small movements of my fingers, trying to tell myself that I was helping him by doing this...

"This is a stress spot," I recited, pulling that bit of information out from... Somewhere. An old, dusty box of all the useless information in my mind.

"What's that mean?"

I gently drew my fingers towards one another, running my thumb along a thicker knotted muscle and running my pointer along the top muscle of his shoulder. I saw his metal hand curl against the pillow again.

"When you're stressed," I said quietly, "It's easier for these muscles to get really tense."

I heard a small grin tick onto his lips. A sarcastic one; I didn't have to ask if he was stressed or not. Another reason to do what I could to help...

"Mine must feel like metal then," he said, and then grinned a little at his own joke.

I smiled, moving my attention to another spot on his opposite shoulder, resolving to come back to that tension spot later. I rocked the side of my pinkie's knuckle into one spot on his shoulder, speaking softly like he would for me.

"Just let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?"

I couldn't help myself from leaning down, placing a kiss against the largest one; the scar lining his shoulder and automail arm.

He hummed through his smile, and I looked up, keeping my lips to his skin. Feeling a grin on my own form.

"You like that?" I asked in a whisper.

"Just a little..." he returned, and the way those words breezed through his lips made me focus drop back to the scars in front of me. I centered in on one, something that looked like a small blade had nicked him.

Tongue running along, my eyes gently closing to the sound of his soft mȯȧn. I think we just found a new kink...

I grinned against his skin, and before I could get lost, I forced myself up.

I picked myself up, steadying my balance on my knees as I told him to flip over. And when he was facing me, a hazy smile on his face, I straddled his torso, gently rocking against him and earning the softest of mȯȧns inside of his throat. I tended to his ċhėst, hands sweeping apart from one another, tracing over the beginnings of his pecs. The features of his face twitched; a discomfort settling in, I suppose. Something I had caused, but something I was trying to soothe away, too.

I just didn't want to be that source of pain anymore...

I leaned forward, gingerly placing my lips upon his. Delicately adding pressure, feeling him relax completely. Feeling it all fade away like a demon leaving his soul.

It was just hard, most times.

His lips dropped away, as softly as mine had come. And then he spoke, resting his forehead against the space between my brows.

"Thanks," he said, and we were in silence after that.

Eventually, I moved, dismounting and curling up beside him. On my side, his arm around me. Head leaned against mine, and he breathed out. Perfectly content, while there was a riot in my ċhėst.

Tears stung my eyes, but I tried to not let them break. They would get on his shirt, and it'd be another stain I was making.

So with a silent breath in, I held the sadness at bay. Keeping it behind all those walls. They came in handy, times like these. Times I couldn't show my emotions, times I couldn't run as hard as I wanted to. I wanted to bolt, when he got like this. Silently intimate. The borderline sėx, I could do. I could get lost in the feelings he gave, the wickedness I returned.

I could do that.

But this?

I was a fool lost in a sea of gold, thinking it was logs of shit.

I would drown, given enough time.