[Fic & Art] beneath my skin
Title: beneath my skin
Artist: essouffle
Author(s) : cs_whitewolf and khasael
Team: angst
Prompt: naked
Word count: 814
Rating: PG/13
Warnings: implied torture, body image issues.
“You’re beautiful,” Eames breathes, his words caressing at Arthur’s shoulder blades like whispering kisses.
Arthur turns away, ashamed. He knows he isn’t. He doesn’t see whatever Eames believes he sees when he looks at him.
“Arthur,” Eames calls, pressing kisses to the back of his neck. “Look up, Arthur.”
And he does. He looks and he hates, trying to move away but Eames’ hold is fast and reluctant to release him. What he sees makes his stomach curl up and his fingers itch to claw away the vision before him. He wants to smash the mirror Eames has erected for him, smash it into a thousand tiny shards and rip the flesh from his body with each and every single piece.
“Eames,” Arthur pleads, eyes downcast, “don’t make me look.”
His body trembles, suddenly cold. He feels sick, as if at any moment his stomach will lurch and he will be forced to his knees, choking up all the bile and coffee his body consists of.
“Look, Arthur,” Eames says again, voice harder, arms tighter. Something frighteningly like tears prickles at his eyes and Arthur wants to scratch them out, wants to rip through his own skin to escape this weakness, this self-loathing, this… this shame he has let Eames see in him.
“I can’t,” Arthur chokes, fingernails digging into his palms. Softer: “I won’t.”
“Do you want to know what I see?” Eames asks and Arthur shakes his head. He feels the wet kiss to his temple before Eames speaks, regardless.
“I see pallid skin pulled too tight over jutting bones. I see bruises blooming over every inch of you, I see scars- old and new and still to form. But more than that, Arthur, I see you. I see you and I tell you, you are perfect as you are. You are beautiful.”
Arthur looks up then. He doesn’t believe the words, but he hears the passion behind them and finds himself unable to resist the lure to look up at the mirror and see the intense look Eames wears.
He wants to believe. Desperately so. But the words are all lies, he knows, nothing more than pretty prose designed to soothe and smother and suppress the truth of himself, of what’s happened.
“No,” Arthur says, stronger. His sense of self is flawed and scarred but it is the truth, it is his truth to love and to hate and to hurt as he sees fit.
He straightens and Eames’ arms fall away without resistance.
“I am not beautiful,” Arthur says, eyes a glare as he assess his nakedness in the mirror. It’s a slanted truth that Eames believes, but he won’t do it himself. He won’t lie to himself. There is nothing beautiful about what’s happened to him. He cannot bear to look, because looking means remembering, means admitting, and he’s not ready for that. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
“You’re alive,” Eames says, quietly, and somehow it’s the lack of force that makes Arthur pause in his desperate need to escape from this place in front of the mirror. It’s such a simple statement, so blatant a fact that Arthur finds himself unable to argue against it. It doesn’t mean he can’t still be defensive.
“So what?” he asks with a hiss, his words just angry enough to hide his fear.
Eames blinks back at him, wide-eyed and shocked, as if Arthur’s actually struck him. “Weeks of thinking you weren’t, just knowing you disappeared from that hotel room, seeing that pool of blood and wondering if it was enough to have killed you. Trust me Arthur, no matter what you see in that mirror, it’s not as bad as anything I feared. You’re alive. And you’re beautiful.”
Arthur feels his knees go out from under him, a combination of emotion, fatigue, and something else he can’t even name, but Eames is there before he hits the floor, holding him up as if he weighs nothing. From the little Arthur has seen in that hated mirror, it’s probably not far from the truth.
He feels Eames’ hand run down his torso, can feel the touch against his ribs where he never could before, and then it settles on his hip. “Do you understand now?”
With a deep breath, Arthur raises his head and looks into the mirror in front of them. He doesn’t focus on his body; it’s still too soon for that. Instead, he looks straight into Eames’ eyes through the mirror’s reflection, sees the earnestness on his face, the way he’s dipped his head to whisper into Arthur’s ear, and the way he holds him up, as if he’ll never let him fall.
He feels his heart stutter, and the prickle return to his eyes. He wants to turn into Eames now instead of away and he shivers, knowing that Eames sees him, really sees him.
“Yes. I understand.”
fin.
Artist: essouffle
Author(s) : cs_whitewolf and khasael
Team: angst
Prompt: naked
Word count: 814
Rating: PG/13
Warnings: implied torture, body image issues.
“You’re beautiful,” Eames breathes, his words caressing at Arthur’s shoulder blades like whispering kisses.
Arthur turns away, ashamed. He knows he isn’t. He doesn’t see whatever Eames believes he sees when he looks at him.
“Arthur,” Eames calls, pressing kisses to the back of his neck. “Look up, Arthur.”
And he does. He looks and he hates, trying to move away but Eames’ hold is fast and reluctant to release him. What he sees makes his stomach curl up and his fingers itch to claw away the vision before him. He wants to smash the mirror Eames has erected for him, smash it into a thousand tiny shards and rip the flesh from his body with each and every single piece.
“Eames,” Arthur pleads, eyes downcast, “don’t make me look.”
His body trembles, suddenly cold. He feels sick, as if at any moment his stomach will lurch and he will be forced to his knees, choking up all the bile and coffee his body consists of.
“Look, Arthur,” Eames says again, voice harder, arms tighter. Something frighteningly like tears prickles at his eyes and Arthur wants to scratch them out, wants to rip through his own skin to escape this weakness, this self-loathing, this… this shame he has let Eames see in him.
“I can’t,” Arthur chokes, fingernails digging into his palms. Softer: “I won’t.”
“Do you want to know what I see?” Eames asks and Arthur shakes his head. He feels the wet kiss to his temple before Eames speaks, regardless.
“I see pallid skin pulled too tight over jutting bones. I see bruises blooming over every inch of you, I see scars- old and new and still to form. But more than that, Arthur, I see you. I see you and I tell you, you are perfect as you are. You are beautiful.”
Arthur looks up then. He doesn’t believe the words, but he hears the passion behind them and finds himself unable to resist the lure to look up at the mirror and see the intense look Eames wears.
He wants to believe. Desperately so. But the words are all lies, he knows, nothing more than pretty prose designed to soothe and smother and suppress the truth of himself, of what’s happened.
“No,” Arthur says, stronger. His sense of self is flawed and scarred but it is the truth, it is his truth to love and to hate and to hurt as he sees fit.
He straightens and Eames’ arms fall away without resistance.
“I am not beautiful,” Arthur says, eyes a glare as he assess his nakedness in the mirror. It’s a slanted truth that Eames believes, but he won’t do it himself. He won’t lie to himself. There is nothing beautiful about what’s happened to him. He cannot bear to look, because looking means remembering, means admitting, and he’s not ready for that. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
“You’re alive,” Eames says, quietly, and somehow it’s the lack of force that makes Arthur pause in his desperate need to escape from this place in front of the mirror. It’s such a simple statement, so blatant a fact that Arthur finds himself unable to argue against it. It doesn’t mean he can’t still be defensive.
“So what?” he asks with a hiss, his words just angry enough to hide his fear.
Eames blinks back at him, wide-eyed and shocked, as if Arthur’s actually struck him. “Weeks of thinking you weren’t, just knowing you disappeared from that hotel room, seeing that pool of blood and wondering if it was enough to have killed you. Trust me Arthur, no matter what you see in that mirror, it’s not as bad as anything I feared. You’re alive. And you’re beautiful.”
Arthur feels his knees go out from under him, a combination of emotion, fatigue, and something else he can’t even name, but Eames is there before he hits the floor, holding him up as if he weighs nothing. From the little Arthur has seen in that hated mirror, it’s probably not far from the truth.
He feels Eames’ hand run down his torso, can feel the touch against his ribs where he never could before, and then it settles on his hip. “Do you understand now?”
With a deep breath, Arthur raises his head and looks into the mirror in front of them. He doesn’t focus on his body; it’s still too soon for that. Instead, he looks straight into Eames’ eyes through the mirror’s reflection, sees the earnestness on his face, the way he’s dipped his head to whisper into Arthur’s ear, and the way he holds him up, as if he’ll never let him fall.
He feels his heart stutter, and the prickle return to his eyes. He wants to turn into Eames now instead of away and he shivers, knowing that Eames sees him, really sees him.
“Yes. I understand.”
fin.