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#so that's one he got from crow training re: withstanding torture
shivunin · 1 year
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Ooook, for the 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀: Scar, for Arianwen and Zevran? :3
This was challenging (in a good way!) because of my pairings I think these two are the most confident about their bodies. Thank you so much for the prompt c:
[SCAR]: noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it. (From this list)
Zevran was covered in scars. 
It made sense, given his profession, and Wen had made her appreciation of them very clear to him. They added a texture to his skin that she enjoyed, and in the moments before or after lying together she often found herself tracing the bumps and grooves of them. If she asked, she had no doubt that he would tell her exactly where they’d come from. For the moment, at least, she preferred to wonder.
Some—like the branching arcs over his ribs—were clearly from fights with mages. Others, like the grooved hole in the back of one shoulder, were plainly from an arrow or bolt. For his part, Zev didn’t seem to mind her curious fingers, tracing over this spot or that, and if he ever grew impatient with the touch he usually just flipped her onto her back again. 
Except for one scar. 
There was one that he hid from her. 
It was half-hidden by a tattoo already, the skin bumpy and pebbled. It was not a straight scar; instead, it seemed almost to drip from his ribs in uneven lines. It was as if something very hot and liquid had been applied to the skin, burning as it dripped. She brushed it with her fingertip one evening and Zevran’s hand slid over it at once, dislodging her hand from his ribs. 
“I was wondering,” he said as he did this, “How much longer do you think it will be before we reach Orzammar? It seems to be taking a good deal of time.”
Arianwen propped herself up on her elbow, frowning at him for a moment. 
“Is it tender or are you embarrassed?” she asked bluntly, resting her other hand over his wrist without pulling or pushing. Zevran swallowed, and his eyes flicked to the tent flap. 
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said, adding only the faintest pressure to his hand, “I won’t touch you there if it hurts, or if you don’t want me to. But you don’t have to hide it from me.”
Another moment’s hesitation, and then he allowed her to move his hand aside. 
“It does not hurt,” he said, his voice unusually stilted. 
Wen kept her eyes on his and rose to her knees, the end of her braid trailing over his bare chest. Zevran did not stop her when she bent over his midsection, but she felt the faint intake of breath when she slowly, gently pressed her lips to rough skin. One breath, and then another; she did not press harder, and she didn’t pull away. At last, he raised his hand again and passed it along her hair. 
“Thank you,” he said quietly, and she drew away again, trailing kisses over other scars as she went. 
When at last she reached his mouth, she held herself an inch away and peered down at him. 
“You are lovely,” she told him, “All of you.”
Zevran raised his eyebrows at her. 
“Do you think I do not know that, even after all this time?” 
Arianwen shrugged and pressed a kiss to his pretty, soft mouth. 
“You tell me,” she said, and rolled away to dress. 
And that, at least for the evening, was that.
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