by kbk

Not all of his scars are mine.

The first time, after we fucked, we were just... lying there. And that's not something I'd ever done before, so I was like, "what happens now?" and he just started talking. Started telling me all these stories, mostly 'bout the good old days in Angel Investigations, and whenever he had a scar to show for it I wriggled down him and touched it, tasted it, made sure I knew it, because that's everywhere he's been, you know? And it turned into one of our things, me kissing his scars and him kissing mine -- though, Slayer healing, not so many on me. Puts me at a disadvantage. But I give it a go.

I always kiss the one on his neck. I kiss as many as I can get to before he pulls me up and just fucks me -- and I love him that way, 'cause he's pure man, and he knows I'm not gonna break and he's just so not the wimpy Watcher I used to know. Like maybe he never really was, all this was under the surface just waiting to come out, and it comes to me...

But that scar. I want to kill the bitch that did it. I can't, and I won't, and I'm never going down that way again, but... There's this muddy rage starts choking me when I think how she laid her hands on my Wes, took her knife to him. And there's this rasp to his voice when he's tired that just kills me. So I kiss that scar -- "kissing it better," I told him when he asked -- and I take away her power, marking over it with my own brand, with my lips and my tongue and my teeth, and maybe I'd cut him again if it would do any good, but fuck no I wouldn't 'cause I can't hurt him again.

He hurts too damn well.

And there are the emotional scars. I can't take credit for them, and I sure as hell wouldn't want to. I think I know who can: he makes these veiled allusions -- hey, vocab words -- to his family, his father. But it's not like I'm spilling all about my home life, and that was pretty shitty too, so we just dance around the subject like we do with all the other things. There's a lot of hurt between us, and most of it's my fault, so no way I'm gonna be the one to start us talking. I mean... I don't know what I mean. We talk. We do the everyday stuff, the emotional stuff, the communication; we just ignore the whole "assassins vs. torture" thing. It works for us.

And we work. As an us, I mean. It's, what's that thing... co-dependent. Yeah. Shit, that's supposed to be a bad thing... Fuck it. Some days, he's the only thing keeping me on the right side. And feels like, maybe, him feeling like he has to keep me on the straight and narrow is the only thing keeping him there. Which is shit scary, you know? But we're, like, leaning on each other, like he can balance two forks on top of a glass and they're fine, they're good, they work as long as they stick together.

So we do. And we will. 'Cause Wes is mine now, and I am never letting him go.


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