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They’re barely two weeks into their relationship—if you can call it that—when it happens. In a patient room, at that, but Martha can’t think of that when Remy is turning over her hand to kiss her palm. She goes on to kiss her wrist, perfectly fine, but Martha can’t help tensing when Remy starts to push at her sleeve. She tries to relax, but it’s too late.
Remy lifts her head, her eyes searching Martha’s expression. “Something wrong?” she asks.
Martha nods, a little too rapidly. “Of course.”
“We don’t have to do any—”
“I want to!” She sighs. “Please.”
Remy hums, plucking at Martha’s button-up. “Want me to take this off?”
Martha looks at her, her eyes wide and just a little damp. “Yeah,” she breathes out.
So Remy does, only a moment’s hesitation before she’s unbuttoning it and tugging the rest from where it’s tucked into Martha’s skirt. As she pushes her right sleeve off, she pauses. Martha winces preemptively, anticipating the comment about to come but then…. It never does. Remy raises Martha’s arm, keeping steady eye contact as she leans to kiss the first scar. Then another, then another, then another until Martha’s head is fuzzy and entirely blank.
Remy slides her hand up from Martha’s arm to cup the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss.
“You don’t mind?” Martha can’t help but ask when she pulls back.
Remy kisses her again, letting it drag on a bit longer this time. “You’re gorgeous,” is all she says before pulling Martha in again and starting to run her other hand up her thigh.
Martha sighs contentedly, threading her fingers into Remy’s hair.
Maybe she can have this. Maybe this is what love is supposed to be.