A/N: Anon prompt "Scars"
"Ugh," Bart groans, voicing exactly what Jaime is thinking. The fetid smell of blood reaches Jaime's nostrils, and it's all he can do to refrain from gagging.
"Take off your shirt."
A strangled noise works it's way up Bart's throat. "W-what?"
"We need to assess the wound," Jaime explains patiently, biting back a retort as Khaji da snickers.
The younger teen fingers the hem of his shirt, and slowly drags the fabric over his head.
Jaime feels a thrill in in his stomach, but chalks it up to hysteria. Wordlessly, he pulls out gauze and anesthetic, not lifting his eyes from Bart's bare torso. He slowly dabs anesthetic along the gash in Bart's side, cleaning away smears of blood. Jaime's chest flutters, which can only be from the sight of blood, though he's never had that reaction to it before.
Bart inhales sharply, but Jaime doesn't take notice. He's too enraptured by the crosshatching of scars on the speedster's otherwise smooth body. The scars crisscross indefinitely and in no distinct pattern, like haphazard tally marks on his skin. Jaime traces a diagonal slash of puckered skin with a light finger.
He is not repelled by the irregular marks Bart works so hard to keep hidden, but curious. Each scar has a story, a lesson behind it. Jaime wonders if Bart feels embarrassed, or maybe afraid to have light shed on his hidden marks, proof of his enslaved life in the future?
"Jaime," Bart gasps, and Jaime's hand freezes on Bart's ribcage.
"S-sorry," Jaime swallows painfully, forcing his hands to stop, to stop roaming shamelessly despite how much he wants them to. Scarab is vibrating along his spine, and if the Hispanic didn't know any better, he almost thought it was from silent laughter.
"I was just checking for any other sca-scratches. Scratches." Jaime wrenches his hands from Bart's skin, though they're itching with the need for contact.
Bart ducks his head, his lips quirked into a shy grin.
"Maybe you should check some more."