Wesper- you drew stars around my scars

Drabble

Wylan Van Eck was used to insults. His father had them and the disapproving looks of those around him had spoke more in his young life than a smile or words ever could. He had thought himself worthy of such things. People say something long enough and you begin to believe it. Maybe it was why he was so quickly enthralled by the bastard of the barrel and his wayward tongue and shark eyes. Maybe it was being a deadly criminal felt more home like than a mercher's son had ever been. He heard once that people had wild souls. It was easy to see people liek Jesper having such a thing with the fact that he could barely sit still, but there was a roaring lion deep inside the brunette that exuded in the whites of his eyes without warning. For a horse could be beaten, but it could always run. It could break, but never wither. The sound of his lover's voice filled the room as it always did. The zemini was a very big talker and it was as endearing as annoying. It had been a day of haunting. The soft lines of his skin not the only scars that lingered against his pale skin. There were days he had to remember. Days he wondered if platitudes were just words. But the pages in books had never been just words. There was a pause as if the room held its breath as Jesper's voice did. He wondered vaguely if the other man had read his mind for worries or maybe it was the fact that the shirt he was wearing was not his. And maybe wearing was a mere suggestion of a word were his clothed state was concerned. Wylan's blush was not of embarrassment for there was nothing to be embarrassed of in their home. In their love. But he couldn't help acting like a schoolboy. What the demons had seemingly done instead was show the faint line made by a cane on his back. A pucker against the white skin. A line of macabre violence so small that it showed the hidden nature of the beating. The shame even the inflictor felt. This was a different heat. The demo man felt his insides shrink as the cave of his mouth lost its moisture. Kiss swollen lips came to a scowl instead of rhe smile of sleep courting him. Was this it? Was this when he left? When he knew the broken pieces of him were to shattered glass to be put back together. Yet, like he always did. He somehow made those pieces a stained glass window as his head bowed and his mouth opened. "It's nothing. I didn't even feel that one," rambling was his friend. It gave distance to the homeland of pain. It could make it a fact instead of a feeling to be struck by your father for something you couldn't control. He would have given his arm to read. To hear Jan say just once that he felt anything other than embarrassed contempt for him. There was no quip. No heat as he crossed the room. A reverent look in his eyes as if the fahey boy had seen an angel in his midst. Then there was the feeling of his shirt being shrugged off. Inspecting eyes and whispered compliments. This was not lust. This was whisper touches of love. Lingering of adoration and joy. Of wanting your fingerprints to leave dusting instead of scars. "Your beautiful," the sharp shooter whispered in his gaudy night tunic. How he had got that made was beyond Wylan's understanding though he some how pulled off like green. All protests and arguments died with the heat of his mouth. Open and lingering. "And these, these are just as beautiful. I love each scar because they make up who you are. Show that you lived. That you tried. I want to crawl in that head of yours an organize it to remember that we are partners. That I'd kill Jan Van eck if you let me." And even a mute person would know he believed his words. The demons lost a few talons. They may have been shoved in a dark closet to visit another day. Yet, the warmth of mouths connecting erased anything else that could bother the two men. Money didn't buy happiness, but a con certainly did. A boy. A boy who wore someone else's embarrassment like a flag. A boy who was joy personified. And wylan would linger in being held for as long as he could.