~o~
The bruise on his hip has faded to a mottled purple, the one on his jaw to a sickly green. His fingers trace over them absently when he's alone and he closes his eyes as he recalls the memories embedded in those gentle, teasing aches.
It's almost painful to watch the memories fade with the bruises, even though he knows they'll be replaced.
He doesn't know how, yet, but ultimately, it doesn't matter. The blunt force of fists and the sharpness of sex are equally welcome.
They both give him the same comfort, both mean the same thing.
You're mine.
~o~