H/C Bingo - Scars - Devin/Ellis
Sooo... gaze upon my shitty attempt at writing Ellis's POV. I RP the bastard, you'd think I'd have a good handle of his voice, hah...
Scars
Devin’s fingertips flit from one side of my stomach to the other, his eyes staring off into the distance as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. If it weren’t for the endless whispering of his fingers against my skin, I’d almost assume he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open.
There’s a pattern to their movements; one I can’t discern until I have to suppress a shiver. Devin never stops; doesn’t so much as react to my involuntary response to his touch. His hair is loose, and covers half of his exquisite face. If he were aiming to arouse me, he would have looked up and given me that little self-satisfied smirk.
But that pattern -- from just under my ribcage, to just a couple of inches above my hip, to the other side of my torso. He’s tracing my scars, one by one, spending more attention on some than on others. We’ve never spoken about them; nor have we ever mentioned the ones that litter his ownbody, but…
“Would you like to know how I got those?”
He blinks, and it’s the only sign he gives that he even heard me, as his fingers continue their dance across my skin. Without thinking, I brush his hair hair away from his eyes. Only then does he move, tilting his head back so that his eyes meet mine. His well-groomed brows knit together as he stops at one scar in particular.
It’s the same one that caused me to shiver in the first place.
My first deployment was uneventful. Standard, the camp was colloquially referred to as “Camp Cupcake.” New soldiers of my caliber are sent there first to help ease them in. Your first trip into the buffer zone and you were guaranteed to come back home in one piece.
My second deployment, however…
I clear my throat and look down at my own chest and stomach. “I was your age,” I start, watching as he finishes sketching one scar’s outline and moving to the next -- the largest one out of them all. His expression shifts somewhat, though I’m still not sure my words are penetrating. “I was on my second deployment, when I got them.”
Devin’s tracing finally stops. “All of ‘em?” His eyes are on mine, his expression carefully controlled as he waits for my response.
“Most of them,” I admit. “There are a couple I received on later deployments, but --” I rest my hand on top of his, planting it in place over the largest one. “This one right here is the entire reason Murdock is still alive. I dragged him and several others who were unconscious to safety, after our convoy had been struck. As I was retrieving him, I --”
It’s been so long since I’ve last recounted this story, I’ve nearly forgotten the flash and bang and how I was upright one moment and flat on my back the next, with a projectile buried in my gut. I shake my head a little and curl my fingers around Devin’s, squeezing them lightly.
“The Limani aimed for both of us and only struck me.” I settle on, opting not to give the gory details. “Despite my injury, I continued onward and got us both to safety before they took another shot. But this scar,” I move his hand to one on the other side of my abdomen. “And this scar,” I drag it to a third, closer to my shoulder, “were a result of the same incident -- they were from the original attack on our convoy.”
Devin’s golden gaze widens, and he lowers it back to my chest. “Saved Murdock, huh?” There’s a half attempt at a smirk hidden in his question. “Guess you didn’t hate him, yet.”
I have to laugh. “No, though he certainly could work my very last nerve, even then,” I say, and it’s hard to keep a rare fondness for the other man out of my voice. “He and I may never see eye to eye on anything, but he is still my brother in arms.”
Devin nods and scoots further up the bed, resting his head against my chest and closing his eyes. There’s several moments of silence, then -- “Almost died that time, huh?”
He snakes an arm around my waist, and I can feel the slightest tremble in his body. He knows the answer to that, and I know the true question he wishes to ask, underneath it. “That was the closest I’ve come to death, yes,” I answer him, drifting my fingertips along his spine. “I don’t see much combat now, when I deploy. But I still sometimes have to take dead men home.”
“Hope you won’t fucking have to, this time,” Devin says with a shudder. He lifts his head again and brushes his palm against my cheek. His lip is caught between his teeth as he regards me for a moment, then he leans in and kisses me.
I’m not sure if he means seeing combat, or taking dead men home. Either way, the chances of me not having to either are…quite low. But I don’t tell him that, not as he kisses me again, this time deepening it as he crawls on top of me. The kiss isn’t huried, but there is a question behind that, as well.
I answer him as best I can without words.
Scars
Devin’s fingertips flit from one side of my stomach to the other, his eyes staring off into the distance as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. If it weren’t for the endless whispering of his fingers against my skin, I’d almost assume he’d fallen asleep with his eyes open.
There’s a pattern to their movements; one I can’t discern until I have to suppress a shiver. Devin never stops; doesn’t so much as react to my involuntary response to his touch. His hair is loose, and covers half of his exquisite face. If he were aiming to arouse me, he would have looked up and given me that little self-satisfied smirk.
But that pattern -- from just under my ribcage, to just a couple of inches above my hip, to the other side of my torso. He’s tracing my scars, one by one, spending more attention on some than on others. We’ve never spoken about them; nor have we ever mentioned the ones that litter his ownbody, but…
“Would you like to know how I got those?”
He blinks, and it’s the only sign he gives that he even heard me, as his fingers continue their dance across my skin. Without thinking, I brush his hair hair away from his eyes. Only then does he move, tilting his head back so that his eyes meet mine. His well-groomed brows knit together as he stops at one scar in particular.
It’s the same one that caused me to shiver in the first place.
My first deployment was uneventful. Standard, the camp was colloquially referred to as “Camp Cupcake.” New soldiers of my caliber are sent there first to help ease them in. Your first trip into the buffer zone and you were guaranteed to come back home in one piece.
My second deployment, however…
I clear my throat and look down at my own chest and stomach. “I was your age,” I start, watching as he finishes sketching one scar’s outline and moving to the next -- the largest one out of them all. His expression shifts somewhat, though I’m still not sure my words are penetrating. “I was on my second deployment, when I got them.”
Devin’s tracing finally stops. “All of ‘em?” His eyes are on mine, his expression carefully controlled as he waits for my response.
“Most of them,” I admit. “There are a couple I received on later deployments, but --” I rest my hand on top of his, planting it in place over the largest one. “This one right here is the entire reason Murdock is still alive. I dragged him and several others who were unconscious to safety, after our convoy had been struck. As I was retrieving him, I --”
It’s been so long since I’ve last recounted this story, I’ve nearly forgotten the flash and bang and how I was upright one moment and flat on my back the next, with a projectile buried in my gut. I shake my head a little and curl my fingers around Devin’s, squeezing them lightly.
“The Limani aimed for both of us and only struck me.” I settle on, opting not to give the gory details. “Despite my injury, I continued onward and got us both to safety before they took another shot. But this scar,” I move his hand to one on the other side of my abdomen. “And this scar,” I drag it to a third, closer to my shoulder, “were a result of the same incident -- they were from the original attack on our convoy.”
Devin’s golden gaze widens, and he lowers it back to my chest. “Saved Murdock, huh?” There’s a half attempt at a smirk hidden in his question. “Guess you didn’t hate him, yet.”
I have to laugh. “No, though he certainly could work my very last nerve, even then,” I say, and it’s hard to keep a rare fondness for the other man out of my voice. “He and I may never see eye to eye on anything, but he is still my brother in arms.”
Devin nods and scoots further up the bed, resting his head against my chest and closing his eyes. There’s several moments of silence, then -- “Almost died that time, huh?”
He snakes an arm around my waist, and I can feel the slightest tremble in his body. He knows the answer to that, and I know the true question he wishes to ask, underneath it. “That was the closest I’ve come to death, yes,” I answer him, drifting my fingertips along his spine. “I don’t see much combat now, when I deploy. But I still sometimes have to take dead men home.”
“Hope you won’t fucking have to, this time,” Devin says with a shudder. He lifts his head again and brushes his palm against my cheek. His lip is caught between his teeth as he regards me for a moment, then he leans in and kisses me.
I’m not sure if he means seeing combat, or taking dead men home. Either way, the chances of me not having to either are…quite low. But I don’t tell him that, not as he kisses me again, this time deepening it as he crawls on top of me. The kiss isn’t huried, but there is a question behind that, as well.
I answer him as best I can without words.