His Lines
Faye loved his lines.
All his hills and valleys, rough and soft alike.
Scars didn't bother her, they made things real.
The funny thing was Faye could never tell they were there before. From a distance he looked smooth as ever. She joked that they didn't appear until after he found the answers he was looking for.
Once she finally made him hers- or something like that- she explored every last piece of his history present on his body with her hands, lips, tongue, and soul.
Scrapes left behind from childhood rumbles,
Markings from past addictions she didn't want or need to know about,
Scars embedded shallow and deep alike into his skin, engraved by people he least expected and by people he expected nothing less of,
Even down to the damn horse-shoe markings on his back. They were still, very faintly, there.
Faye soaked it up with all she had. It was her personal game and he liked to watch her play it.
There were some lines that she couldn't touch, even if she wanted to. She couldn't reach them, they were internal. It didn't keep her from lingering over the areas anyways.
...
His forehead, his eye, his heart…
It didn't matter, because when she ventured along his skin, it gave him a peace that only she could give. Because she lived in the real world and sometimes made him think he did too.
Just a bunch of lines, let's leave the rest behind and enjoy the night.