Chapter Text
The Geldstraat was dark, quiet. Light from the street lamps reflected smoothly off the damp, slick streets. Most of the lights were off, the Merchants inside either asleep, or else tucked deeper inside their homes.
Inside the Van Eck mansion, there were only soft sounds: fabric rustling, voices whispering and laughing under their breaths. Jesper Fahey lay in bed, kissing his boyfriend slowly. This was all still surreal to him: living in a mansion, not having to worry about where his next meal would come from or whether someone would shoot him in the street, and of course, being here with Wylan. Sometimes he couldn’t believe it was real, but here he was, awkwardly sliding Wylan’s shirt off of him. The merchling didn’t seem to mind, only sitting up a bit so he could get it off.
Jesper wasn’t really sure if he was supposed to ask if that was ok–this was the furthest they’d gone so far, trying to take things slow and let Wylan heal after the auction heist. But Wylan sat up fully and swung his leg over Jesper’s hips. Jesper leaned upwards, arms around Wylan to pull him close. He ran his hand down Wylan's back, intending it to be a sort of smooth transition to running his hands over Wylan's hips and thighs, but he stopped when he felt a change in Wylan's skin, a sort of groove across his ribs. Jesper knew it couldn't be from the beating he'd gotten during the auction--that had only left bruises and small fractures--no gashes or cuts, at least not on his back. He figured it was nothing, but as he shifted his hand, he felt another like it, and another.
Wylan seemed to notice, he had tensed a little, then tried to kiss Jesper again, but Jesper pulled back.
"Wylan, what--"
"Nothing. It's nothing." He put his hands on Jesper's chest, trying to end the conversation, but Jesper wouldn't hear it.
"Are those scars?"
Wylan bit his lip, looking away. "Yeah. But it's fine, they're healed."
"Come on then, let me see," he nudged, half a smile on his face. "I love a good scar story, and those feel like they've got to have one."
Now Wylan's face was pale, and he looked down.
"Sorry, sorry, you don't have to tell me. I guess I just figured since we were... you know, it wasn't too private a subject, "Jesper stuttered. "But you don't have to tell me, I--oh."
Wylan turned around, showing Jesper the dozen or so scars that covered his back, each one a thin line about four inches long.
"Are those--?"
"From a belt," Wylan whispered. "My dad tried everything to get me to learn to read. Some things were nicer than others."
Jesper put a hand on his back tentatively, then lightly traced one of the scars with his finger. "Your dad is never even going to see the light of day again. You don't ever have to worry about him, or be ashamed of yourself, as long as you live." He pressed a chaste kiss to the scar.
Wylan sucked in a breath, turning around to look at Jesper. His eyes were wide. “It’s–you don’t have to. I know they’re ugly.”
At this, Jesper laughed. “If you think those are ugly, you haven’t seen good scars.” He reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it off.
“Is this just your scheme to get both of us naked?” Wylan asked, smiling more now.
“Well, obviously. I wouldn’t want to keep you in anticipation,” he winked. “But here, look. See, I’ve got worse scars than you.”
Jesper looked down at his torso, fingers tracing the paths across the countless scars he’d received, some after joining the Dregs, some before.
“Look, this impressive one is from a knife fight–” he traced a thin line that went from his right pectoral to his side. “And here’s a gunshot wound–” he pointed out a puckered scar on his shoulder. “And another one.” This time just above his hip. “Here, this one is from when I tried to jump out of a tree as a kid because a friend convinced me I could learn how to fly.” The scar wrapped all around his side and to his back.
Wylan laughed at this one, and Jesper had to as well. Wylan traced it lightly, the thin scrapes from tree branches catching on the pad of his finger.
“You’re right, I think you have me beat,” Wylan conceded, a small smile on his face.
“I told you, I have the best scars.”
“No, no, you told me you had the ugliest scars. You said mine were nothing in comparison.”
“The ugliest? My scars are rugged and sexy!”
“Hmm, well I guess I agree with you on that.” Wylan leaned in close. “Do you have any others that I can’t see right now?” He whispered against Jesper’s ear.
“I guess you’ll have to see, merchling,” Jesper said, pushing him playfully down onto the mattress. “We’ll see how many you can find.”