Work Text:
It was a soundless evening as Meteor sat shirtless at the edge of the bed, the room lit only by the warm flicker of a candle and the pale moonlight spilling through the window. His body was a map of scars—old, new, shallow, deep. Some you remembered. Others he long stopped talking about.
You never pried him. You were sure there were some memories he'd rather leave forgotten amid his many tales. At the very least, you found yourself lucky to know a few of them.
You were sat behind him; thighs folded beneath you. Your hands were tentative but gentle, roaming the many scars that marred Meteor's body with the touch of your fingertips. A gentle glow emitted from your palms—a healing spell that was done to soothe the lingering aches and pains.
Each touch was slow. Careful. Reverent. Like a mother's caress.
A jagged line carved down from his left shoulder blade to the middle of his back. Older, long since healed, but the magic still flickered when your hand passed over it.
"...This one's from the Vault, isn't it?" you murmured, breaking the stillness of the night.
Meteor didn't answer. You didn't expect him to.
You leaned in. "You dove in front of that strike. Took it before I could even react." Still nothing. But you could see the tension in his shoulders. The way he shifted slightly under your hands, breath drawn through his nose like he wanted to say something—but wouldn't. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips. It was a broken, stifled sound.
You softly pressed your lips to the scar. Just once. A gentle kiss to a wound long past.
He stilled.
It was a thoughtless act, but one you couldn't resist. It wasn't just a scar he attained and held like yet another relic, but it was an act of service for you. Then you came to a revelation.
Countless scars. Each is a testament to his strength and will to sacrifice his own skin. It made you wish you took better care of Meteor. Treated him like a lover, his guardian, or even a god. You wanted to treat him with patience, with utmost care, and not the hasty reprimands to stop being reckless after a skirmish. That scar—
It should've been you. Not him.
"You always act like you're made of stone," you still chided—your voice harsher than you'd like. Tremulous fingers trailed down his back, carving out the muscles and the edges of his scars, and the mark that should've marred your skin instead. Your head fell against his shoulder.
"But even stone cracks."
You felt the tension in his form slowly diminish. Rather, Meteor's shoulders rose—this time with a sharp inhale.
"I know," he finally spoke. His voice was hoarse, like gravel underfoot. Even a few words as little as two brought you a bit of solace, knowing he was listening. Part of you wondered how long it'd take just to get a few more out.
You suddenly felt a shift in the bed. You raised your head, intent on looking over as your lips still ghosted against his skin. Meteor's head was already tilted towards you. You could barely see his eyes behind his dishevelled curtain of brown, but you knew he was looking at you.
Then the silence returned.
The quiet felt strangely comforting. Meteor was regarding you, though with a gaze you were not able to decipher. Then another shift in the bed. His scars held your attention no longer when his hand reached over to grasp your own. A gentle touch, one where you felt the calloused pads of his fingers graze against your skin. They rubbed and caressed.
It was warm.
His hand was rough with various blemishes and callouses from battle—something you would only see handling weapons like a hardened warrior. But now felt as though he was handling you like a porcelain doll. Something fragile. Something to be cared for.
It was the kind of grip that could break someone in half but now only held. There was restraint in every line of his body, the coiled tension of a man who never let himself need anything. But part of you felt like there was something else that lingered between the two of you.
Nothing inherently malicious. But something.
Then when Meteor finally turned, his body faced you. His pectorals came into view, the smooth curve of muscles of his midriff, and the thin layers of hair that decorated his skin. You tried to ignore the v-line that trailed down his hips and disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. Then you caught yourself staring.
Past the scars, the lines, and even for the briefest moment, you immediately felt heated. Bashful. You could see the candlelight that danced in his blue-grey eyes, and they were low, hungry and so very aware.
He didn’t speak again. He never really needed to.
You felt a gentle squeeze on your hand, and that caused you to take a sharp intake of breath.
As you readied to speak, you felt the weight shift between you both. Then you felt yourself falling, back pressed up against the mattress while you felt a pressure against your chest. When you finally glanced down, you felt rooted in the spot.
Meteor was resting on you. Head down, his cheek pressed up between the valley of your chest. You thought that maybe the sound of your thrumming heartbeat was a pleasant backdrop to his frenzied thoughts. Maybe a simple comfort was all he needed. Or maybe it was his way of knowing you were alive. Safe in his arms.
Even then, the lack of proximity shouldn't have stunned you as much as it did. You've taken care of Meteor many times. But each was a clinical act of care, never usually a simple act of indulgence.
You found yourself enjoying it all the same.
Your fingers slowly carded through his hair. They were tentative at first, but when there were no protestations offered nor sounds of disapproval, you felt yourself relax. His hair was soft—a touch dry, but nothing you wouldn't have expected from someone who'd throw themself into battle.
Silence resumed.
Meteor's form slowly fell lax over time. The tension in his body was now long gone, leaving behind a man who simply desired a moment of respite with his close companion. Someone he might've even considered a lover once. Maybe twice.
You'd be lying if you said you never thought the same.
The moonlight glimmered through like another presence. Silent and ethereal. A guardian, of sorts. Its light flickered against Meteor's sun-kissed skin, setting him almost aglow. You felt like you were witnessing something forbidden. An angel's touch, betwixt in the light of the nearby candle flame.
Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
You eventually found yourself similarly nodding off. Exhausted, but content. The brush of his stubble against your shirt was barely there, but it brought you back to the present whenever he shifted. Where you laid, nestled in a partial embrace with Meteor.
He looked beautiful like this. Out of harm's way and complacent. You wished he was like this all the time.
After careful consideration, you decided to move. You ensured his form wasn't disrupted by your shuffling and reclined him comfortably against a pillow. It was a brief struggle with a man of his stature, but you got through. At first, you considered lying beside him once more. Was it inappropriate? Not necessarily.
But as his confidant and healer, part of you hesitated. You knew you weren't a simple chirurgeon. You were his companion. A friend. But when you glanced at the way his dishevelled locks framed his face—a look of contentment you hadn't seen for a long, long while, you threw away those thoughts as soon as they came.
He needed you.
So, you laid beside him once more and let the stillness of the air take over. But not before whispering a few words you've been longing to utter.
"I love you."
Your voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of crickets. Everything was still, even the candlelight.
Then you shut your eyes, never noticing the gentle touch of a finger interlock with yours.