A one shot that I decided was a little too long for my drabbles (WAHOM). A little romance, a little angst. Enjoy!
He stretched out on his side beside her, his head held aloft in his hand and giving him a perfect view of her uncovered chest. His fingers continued to trace the area centered just below the line of her breasts. Yet, the passion that was evident earlier in the night was absent. There was no longer any hint of the small smile that had played across his face as he had stroked her skin, the smile that was reserved for her alone.
There was also nothing to suggest tension in his form. His face was smooth, relaxed. There were no lines around his mouth or furrow between his brows. His lips neither tilted down nor up. He seemed completely at ease, betraying no thoughts nor emotions.
It was the steely, cold look in his eyes that gave away the expression for what it was. A mask. She disdained when it was directed towards her. As though he thought she knew him so little. As though she hadn't just seen the fire in his soul as he'd loved her. As though she would truly believe this was the type of man he was, detached and distant.
It took her a moment to discern the cause of his sudden shift in mood. The night had been peaceful, lovely, beautiful. They had been released from their responsibilities and quickly- finally, thank the goddess, finally- found release within one another. And then, without warning, he'd shut down. He'd put on that gods forsaken mask and attempted to hide in plain sight.
And then, she remembered.
Steel through flesh.
Pain and blood and impending darkness.
A small white line present since rebirth.
"Khaled," she called softly, gently, pulling herself from the memories and attempting to do the same for him. "Khaled."
He didn't answer, didn't glance her way, didn't stop the slow stroking.
"Khaled," she called softly again, her hands framing his face and turning him towards hers. "Where have you gone?"
His eyes finally focused on her face and his mouth tightened, almost imperceptibly. A crack in the mask. His eyes roamed her face, from hairline to chin, then down her neck. His fingers moved to another faint mark in the center of her left shoulder. An actual scar, one from a battle in this lifetime.
"You've far too many scars."
She gave a small laugh, "I'm a warrior and magic can only do so much."
He grunted, tracing a few of the other reminders of battles past. She had plenty of them, though not as many as she thought she could with how much of her youth was spent fighting. She had begrudged them when she was younger, complaining that the goddess inside could completely heal the smaller scrapes and cuts but could only do so much for the more serious ones. She'd begrudged the explanations she would have to give any lovers. Begrudged the loss of perfect for modeling skin. Begrudged the reminders of what she had lost.
She had begrudged them. When she was young. As she grew older, lovers mattered less and less. The only man who mattered, she had thought, would never see them. With the magic of airbrush, she'd been able to still model and, by the end of her modeling career, had embraced the scars as a piece of herself and began refusing airbrushed shoots. She began to see them as reminders of what she had had, what she had gained. She was a warrior, leader of Neo-Queen Serenity's guard. She would take a few scars for that. She would take more than scars.
"Khaled," she called again and this time when he looked back in her eyes, his gaze stayed locked. Her hand trailed through his silvery hair, "You're not allowed to leave me when we're in my bed."
"My bed," he mumbled in response. Normally, she would have expected more of a response. The lack of one was even more evidence that he was somewhere else entirely. His finger returned to the place below her breasts, "How many are from me?"
"It's not from you," she answered, though she knew what he was truly asking.
"But, it is my repentance," he whispered.
He leaned forward, his nose skimming over the evidence of a sin thousands of years old. His lips brushed her skin and her fingers dug into his hair. He stayed there, not moving, for several minutes. She could argue against that, but it wasn't what he needed. Instead, she held him quietly, letting him grieve over what couldn't be changed.
She knew he didn't think they detracted from her any, her fear when she was younger and would think about men seeing them. No, it was pain and regret she saw in his eyes. She hadn't considered they could evoke those feelings in him. She knew she should have, but they'd spent the last few years coming to terms with the past. She had been so sure they were there that she'd forgotten about the small white lines, one on her chest and one on her back, that were a constant reminder of their shared past lives.
After several long minutes, she felt his lips move across her skin again. They brushed the small white line, then moved to her right shoulder and found the two small scars there. The bigger one on her upper arm. The thick one on her left ribs. The long one of her left shoulder.
When he shifted and begin to push at her, rolling her over onto her stomach, she finally murmured, "Khaled…"
"Shhh," he kissed the back end of the one on her left shoulder.
"Don't shh…"
"Shh," his nose nuzzled her ear. "Sometimes, Minako, you talk too much."
She could hear the smile returning to his voice, could feel it as he dragged his lips to the white line in the middle of her back. The heat was returning to his kissing, becoming less penance and more seduction. She closed her eyes, smiling as his fingers trailed down her side.
This, too, they could overcome.
A little idea spun from the idea of birthmarks being deaths in past lives and some injuries being too deep for even magic to hide.