This scene was actually the idea that started this whole series and I actually like the way it turned out. Enjoy. Takes place after Surrender Benson, possibly sometime between Surrender Benson and Imprisoned Lives
The bedroom is quiet and dark and Liv tries not to let that unsettle her. She listens to the ticking of the clock and the sway of the ceiling fan but they do nothing to calm her.
For the first two or three weeks following her attack she'd slept on the couch because being on the bed, being on any bed was enough to keep her awake all night. Brian had removed the headboard like she'd asked him to, even though it was wood and not cast iron he'd still done it, and hadn't asked any questions.
And now weeks later she's resting her head on his chest and feeling the warmth of his skin and the soft rise and fall that he makes as he breathes. She tries to match her breathing to his, but her heart is pounding and she feels too dizzy to do anything but hold on.
Sometimes, on nights like this, she wishes that he would snore, something to let her know that he was there. But he never does snore and he hardly moves once he's found a comfortable spot; and so she's gotten into the habit of curling into him, feeling the press of his skin against hers and she tries to hold onto that connection when the nightmares come.
Tonight she needs more though; so she's wrapped his arm around her and placed her head on his heart, closing her eyes and trying to find the rhythm of his body. Her cheek presses against the welt of his scars, she's kissed those scars a million times, memorized their pattern on his skin.
The first time she'd seen him with his shirt off after being shot she'd stared at him, at the angry red welts beneath heavy bandages. "Chicks dig scars," he'd joked at the time. She'd laughed and kissed him to show how much she could appreciate a few battle wounds.
Now she lets the pads of her fingertips press against his skin, and she wonders if it's only women who love to kiss scars.
"You're still awake?" he asks, his voice deep from sleep and filling the room's silence.
His arm is heavy on her waist and she presses her nose against his shoulder quickly before murmuring, "I didn't mean to wake you."
He laughs as his hand skids over her arm, lightly brushing over her as his other hand comes up to press her closer to his heart.
She lets her fingertips continue their dance over his bullet wounds. She can feel his heartbeat, steady and comforting beneath her touch.
"Do you mind them? Your scars?" she asks and her voice feels like a shout in the quiet room.
He pauses his stroking of her arm before answering, "No, not really," his breath washing over her in soft exhale.
He's silent so long that she wonders if he's fallen asleep, until he adds, "They're part of me now. Hurt like hell. Definitely something I wouldn't have chosen to go through." She can feel his thumb start to make little circles over her shirt. "But -" he trails off.
"But what?" she asks, looking at him through the darkness.
She sees him smile down at her, his eyes still heavy with sleep, "I like when you do that. When you run your hands over the scars like that. When you kiss them."
She laughs softly and presses her lips to his skin, just over the raised marks before resting her head against him once more.
She can hear the sounds of the city now- late night taxis and somewhere in the distance a metal grate being rolled up.
"I have scars too," she whispers, half hoping he's still awake, half hoping he'd fallen back to sleep. She can almost feel the burn of metal against her flesh. She can almost smell her skin burning.
"Yeah," he whispers so quietly she'd think she'd imagined his response, if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest as he spoke.
"You can kiss them," she whispers, her heart loud in her ears.
His whole body goes still before he pulls away just enough to see her eyes, his index finger hooking beneath her chin to raise her face to him.
His eyes look into hers, searching for something, and she figures he must have found what he was looking for because he presses his lips to hers.
"Brian," she whispers sitting up, but he does not move with her. She faces him, light from the windows falling across her face, raises one hand to her heart, pressing there briefly before slowly moving to the row of buttons along the front, undoing them one by one. But it's not until she shrugs the shirt from her shoulders that he reaches for her. His hand, so rough and calloused she could almost hear as it brushes against her skin. A wave of longing rushes through her and she wonders how long desire had laid there dormant, afraid to show its tail.
He finally sits up so they're facing one another, her thigh pressed against his and one hand resting on his waist. He reaches out for her, moving so slowly, and she can feel her heart pounding and her breath quickening and for once it isn't in fear or hate or anger, but in want. She wants him.
His fingers find her breast before his lips and she tilts her neck back to give him easier access, moaning as she feels his lips press against her scars.
Thank you again for all of your reviews, it means so much to me to hear from you guys; even when it's just a simple "Great job". I do hope you're all enjoying this.