#I have a wonderful little three part arc abt East and his scars and his relationship w intimacy

[whumpacabra]

Skin Deep

Or AI-less Whumptober 4: Nonconsensual Body Modification

Scars, nonconsensual body modification [hearing aids, tattoo removal], past trauma, implied romantic relationship

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“Was this before or after?” Jackson ran his hand along the scars that ran up East’s forearm, wrapping around his bicep. They were different from the others - fainter, cleaner. Medically precise.

East wanted to talk about it. He had asked Jackson to ask him about his scars, to remind himself that they weren’t some innate part of him. (To be seen by the man he loved.) East gently pulled his arm from his husband’s hands, wrapping Jackson in a hug from behind where they sat on the couch.

“…happened there.” He didn’t need to be any more specific. “Same with my fingerprints. And my side.”

East absentmindedly pulled a hand under his shirt, feeling the faint ridges of the scar patched over the side of his ribcage.

For a few moments they sat in quiet, the football game on the television subtitled but muted.

(The hearing aids stuffed into his skull struggled with too many noises on bad days. Today wasn’t a bad day, but it wasn’t good either.)

“…do you want to tell me what happened?” Jackson didn’t look up at his husband, the television’s glow reflected on his glasses.

“Tattoos. Needed to remove identifying marks.”

They needed to remove anything that would let the Wolf remember he was more than a weapon, that he had a life before that hell, that he used to be a person. The kind of person who got tattoos, not that he could remember what they even looked like.

“You ever thought about getting new ones?” Jackson’s voice was soft in its curiosity, not demanding an answer. East kissed the top of Jackson’s head. His hair was starting to thin, the poor old bastard.

“Sometimes.” He sighed, breathing the smell of safety and home and goodness in his arms. “…I want it to be what it was. It was important, probably. But I don’t remember what it was, so I don’t want to…make a mistake.”

(He didn’t want to desecrate the memory he didn’t have of something so scared he had it etched in his skin.)

More minutes passed in quiet.

“I’m sorry they took that from you.” Jackson sounded on the verge of tears, and East couldn’t stand to see the man cry, so he huffed with feigned annoyance.

“They took more important things than some ink.” The statement was sobering, but he continued blithely. “I’m sure I’ll get drunk one day and have something stupid put over it. Maybe I’ll be lucky and I’ll remember what it was if I’m fucked up enough.”

Jackson was quiet. Quiet in the way he was when he wanted to tell East a firm no. When he wanted to look at East with eyes brimming with pity and anger and other emotions he knew his husband would flinch from.

East stayed quiet in turn, kissing his husband’s shoulder and burying his face against his neck. (Safe. Home. Good.) He wasn’t watching the game anyway.

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(Part of my Freelancers series)

[and here’s the tattoo removal]

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality