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I wake to the sensation of light fingertips drawing outlines around my scars. I knew this was coming. I knew the moment he felt me flinch away from his touch last night, his fingertips pressing just a little too hard. He’d done well trying to hide his reaction as he had the first time he’d seen them. Before he could say a word, I’d crowded him against a wall, kissing away his questions. Last night, a brief moment of pause and a slight hitch of breath was the only give away. Now though, in the gentle morning light, my marred skin is on full display, and my damned weak moment fresh on his mind.
“Serbia,” falls out of my mouth. I should say more or maybe I should have said nothing at all. We’re still working on the whole talking mess, though sometimes it seems I’m unable able to keep words from pouring out around him.
“Are you-“ he sighs, resting his forehead on my back and blowing out hot breath. “Are you ok?”
His mouth moves against my skin with his whispered words and I do nothing to suppress the shiver that rushes through me every time I feel his lips on my body.
I nuzzle my head into the pillow, taking a deep breath to brace myself before turning to face him. “Not always. Right now - in this moment, I’m fantastic.”
He smiles and it’s the most beautiful, delicate thing. His soft, radiant smiles lighting up my every morning, though this smile last only a moment before his face crumples.
“I was so angry with you and you...I didn’t know. You never said-” he breaks off on a sob. “You never told me how much you were hurting. And last night-...I never want to hurt you.”
He says the last sentence with so much determination that I pause. I want to say, I’ve hurt you. I’ve seen it. It’s unbearable how much pain I’ve caused you. What I say instead is, “It’s alright, John.” Because as much as hurt as we’ve caused each other, we still ended up here. In our bed, filled with the scent of us. With our nights always ending in each other arms. With cases and takeaways and domesticity that wouldn’t be the same without him. Without us. The moments, small moments that feel monumental and debatably inappropriate laughter at the big ones. And kisses and our bodies moving in tandem and giving and taking pleasure and-
“Sherlock, love.“ He’s giving me that look. The one that tells me now is not the time to become lost in my own thoughts.
“We’re here, John.”
“Yes. We are.”
Can’t that be enough? I cannot bring myself ask this out loud so I stare at him, hoping he’ll see the words written on my face.
He reaches out into the small distance between us and pulls me in. “I never want to hurt you,” he repeats, rustling my hair with his words as I decorate his collarbone with open-mouthed kisses.
“I know.” His fingers drift down the skin of my back and over my scars. The softness of his touch leaves me sighing against his neck. “You won't.”
He pulls back, placing gentle fingertips under my chin and guiding my mouth to his.
The brightness hasn’t faded and though we cannot kiss away our scars, the blinding light remains.