Fic: Scar
Media: Fic
Title: Scar
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel
Warnings: Discussion of a gay-bashing
Spoilers: "Prom Queen," "The First Time"
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Based on this picture by drunkkitten. Blaine's reluctant to be shirtless around Kurt. Kurt's determined to find out why.
Their shirts come off slowly, tentatively.
Each reveal of skin is thrilling and so, so new; they take the time to savor the moment, to drink each other in.
Kurt’s layers come off completely first, which seems odd and out of order, given their earlier conversations, but neither of them cares enough to complain. Blaine’s too busy skating his fingers tips over Kurt’s ribs, feeling, mapping Kurt’s chest with his hands. For his part, Kurt’s trying not to giggle, his breath hitching with each catch of Blaine’s fingertips over his ribs.
“Your turn,” he mumbles into a sloppy kiss, tugging Blaine’s tank top out of his waistband, fumbling with the fabric. Blaine stiffens underneath his hands, freezing up, and Kurt pulls back, suddenly unsure.
“Blaine? Are you sure this is-“
“I’m fine,” Blaine mumbles, trying to distract Kurt with another kiss, skirting his hands up Kurt’s back, then lower, dipping underneath Kurt’s waistband. Kurt pushes gently on Blaine’s chest, pulls back further.
“Blaine, you’re hiding something.”
A thousand thoughts run through Kurt’s mind at once, reasons why Blaine won’t take his shirt off, is afraid to (and thinking back, Blaine changes separately during gym, is careful to always keep his undershirt on, has never been topless, even in the summertime).
“I’m not hiding,” Blaine murmurs, turning his face away from Kurt, towards the window, not meeting his eyes. Kurt is having none of it, takes Blaine’s chin gently in hand, tips Blaine’s face towards his own. Blaine’s eyes are closed, he’s still refusing to meet Kurt’s gaze.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Kurt whispers, dropping a gentle kiss over each of Blaine’s eyelids, the bridge of his nose. He stays close, breathing the same air as Blaine, stroking comfortingly over Blaine’s just-visible collarbone with a thumb.
“I’m not afraid,” Blaine says, his voice strong than it’s been. He’s drawing strength from Kurt, from Kurt’s hands and lips and voice. From the fact that Kurt is here and real and his.
“Then why are you so hesitant?” Kurt asks quietly, keeping his hands firmly above the waist, making no move to take Blaine’s shirt off again. He himself feels exposed, the slight chill of the room making him shiver once, slightly. “If you don’t want to do this, Blaine, we can wait. We don’t have to do this now.”
“It’s not that,” Blaine says, voice still growing stronger, and he surges up to meet Kurt’s lips for another kiss, reassuring Kurt that he does want this, that he needs and feels and wants just the same.
“Then what-“
“I just-I’m ashamed. Of-of my body,” Blaine starts, and he knows by the sharp intake of breath Kurt draws that he’s phrased it awkwardly.
“Not like that,” Blaine’s quick to reassure, grabbing at Kurt’s upper arm. “I just-I have-there’s these scars on my chest, there’s this one really bad one, I don’t-I don’t like people to see them.”
“From Sadie Hawkins?” Kurt asks quietly, and everything suddenly falls into place with Blaine’s hesitant nod.
“From Sadie Hawkins.”
There’s silence between them for a moment, not uncomfortable, just there, before Kurt breaks it.
“You don’t have to be ashamed, Blaine.”
“It’s really ugly,” Blaine says quietly, turning his face away again. Kurt catches him mid-movement, cups Blaine’s cheek to turn his face back. He kisses Blaine sweetly, gently, his hand lingering on Blaine’s cheek.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Kurt-“
“You’re beautiful,” Kurt repeats, peppering kisses across the bridge of Blaine’s nose, his cheeks, his jaw. Blaine’s breathing evens out, and Kurt feels him nod, tentatively.
“I want you to see them,” he breathes into Kurt’s ear, his own hands fluttering to the hem of his shirt, meeting Kurt’s. Together they pull the tank slowly up Blaine’s chest, over his head, down his arms.
Blaine keeps his eyes shut while Kurt sits back on his heels, survey’s his boyfriend’s naked chest, the puckered, pink-white scar crossing Blaine’s abdomen, curling up over his ribs. Several smaller, less visible scars dot Blaine’s chest, the scattered pattern indicating gravel or glass-Kurt doesn’t particularly want to know.
“You won’t hurt me,” Blaine says quietly when he opens his eyes, sees the way Kurt’s staring at him, hands shaking. “It’s not painful anymore.”
“What’s this from?” he asks quietly, his fingers hovering over the scar, tracing it back and forth, afraid to touch, to hurt Blaine. Blaine places his own fingers over Kurt’s, eases their joined hands down together, against his skin.
“They, uh-they had a knife with them. I think they were planning to cut us both up, to, um-to put the word on our chests. That’s what they were talking about when I was drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. They kept saying it, calling us that, telling us they were going to mark us forever.”
Kurt doesn’t ask Blaine to elaborate, doesn’t need him to. He knows too well what Blaine means. He brings his free hand to rest on Blaine’s wrist, squeezes for comfort, to tell Blaine it’s okay to continue, to stop, to take a break.
Blaine takes a deep breath, keeps going.
“They never got around to it. They found us before then, but when the chaperones finally came out of the gym, they, uh-they had the knife to my chest. They got scared, it slipped. Nicked through my ribs, pulled down.”
“It’s so long though,” Kurt breathes, tracing the scar again, their joined hands starting up near Blaine’s ribs, ending near his belly button. Blaine tightens his abdomen underneath their hands, breathing shallowly.
“There was a lot of damage,” he offers, and his voice breaks, his fingers shaking as they trace over the scar again, follow its path. “There was muscle damage between my ribs, some internal bleeding. They said when they got me to surgery they had to open it further to get to some of the bleeds, to fix everything. With the added damage from the beating-“
Blaine trails off, shrugs.
“They say I’m lucky to still be here.”
Kurt sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on Blaine’s wrist tightening. They’ve talked about that night, mentioned it, discussed it, but he’s never fully appreciated what it’s meant for Blaine, what nearly happened.
“I’m glad you are,” Kurt says before he can stop himself, and Blaine smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He laces their fingers together, brings Kurt’s knuckles up to his lips.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he whispers against the skin, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, turning Kurt’s hand over to kiss his palm. “I love you,” he breathes into the silence, not expecting a response.
He’s afraid he’s killed the mood, ruined their night, but Kurt has different ideas.
“I love you, too,” he whispers, sliding down Blaine’s body, kissing a path down Blaine’s chest.
He stops at the tops of the scar, his lips lingering over Blaine’s ribs.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing along the path of the scar, easing the worry and the residual pain from Blaine’s muscles, trying to replace the bad memories with good ones.
Later, when they’re curled into each other in the afterglow, sticky and naked and sated, Kurt finds his hand settled over Blaine’s abdomen, covering the scar, protecting it.
Protecting Blaine.
Title: Scar
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel
Warnings: Discussion of a gay-bashing
Spoilers: "Prom Queen," "The First Time"
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Based on this picture by drunkkitten. Blaine's reluctant to be shirtless around Kurt. Kurt's determined to find out why.
Their shirts come off slowly, tentatively.
Each reveal of skin is thrilling and so, so new; they take the time to savor the moment, to drink each other in.
Kurt’s layers come off completely first, which seems odd and out of order, given their earlier conversations, but neither of them cares enough to complain. Blaine’s too busy skating his fingers tips over Kurt’s ribs, feeling, mapping Kurt’s chest with his hands. For his part, Kurt’s trying not to giggle, his breath hitching with each catch of Blaine’s fingertips over his ribs.
“Your turn,” he mumbles into a sloppy kiss, tugging Blaine’s tank top out of his waistband, fumbling with the fabric. Blaine stiffens underneath his hands, freezing up, and Kurt pulls back, suddenly unsure.
“Blaine? Are you sure this is-“
“I’m fine,” Blaine mumbles, trying to distract Kurt with another kiss, skirting his hands up Kurt’s back, then lower, dipping underneath Kurt’s waistband. Kurt pushes gently on Blaine’s chest, pulls back further.
“Blaine, you’re hiding something.”
A thousand thoughts run through Kurt’s mind at once, reasons why Blaine won’t take his shirt off, is afraid to (and thinking back, Blaine changes separately during gym, is careful to always keep his undershirt on, has never been topless, even in the summertime).
“I’m not hiding,” Blaine murmurs, turning his face away from Kurt, towards the window, not meeting his eyes. Kurt is having none of it, takes Blaine’s chin gently in hand, tips Blaine’s face towards his own. Blaine’s eyes are closed, he’s still refusing to meet Kurt’s gaze.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Kurt whispers, dropping a gentle kiss over each of Blaine’s eyelids, the bridge of his nose. He stays close, breathing the same air as Blaine, stroking comfortingly over Blaine’s just-visible collarbone with a thumb.
“I’m not afraid,” Blaine says, his voice strong than it’s been. He’s drawing strength from Kurt, from Kurt’s hands and lips and voice. From the fact that Kurt is here and real and his.
“Then why are you so hesitant?” Kurt asks quietly, keeping his hands firmly above the waist, making no move to take Blaine’s shirt off again. He himself feels exposed, the slight chill of the room making him shiver once, slightly. “If you don’t want to do this, Blaine, we can wait. We don’t have to do this now.”
“It’s not that,” Blaine says, voice still growing stronger, and he surges up to meet Kurt’s lips for another kiss, reassuring Kurt that he does want this, that he needs and feels and wants just the same.
“Then what-“
“I just-I’m ashamed. Of-of my body,” Blaine starts, and he knows by the sharp intake of breath Kurt draws that he’s phrased it awkwardly.
“Not like that,” Blaine’s quick to reassure, grabbing at Kurt’s upper arm. “I just-I have-there’s these scars on my chest, there’s this one really bad one, I don’t-I don’t like people to see them.”
“From Sadie Hawkins?” Kurt asks quietly, and everything suddenly falls into place with Blaine’s hesitant nod.
“From Sadie Hawkins.”
There’s silence between them for a moment, not uncomfortable, just there, before Kurt breaks it.
“You don’t have to be ashamed, Blaine.”
“It’s really ugly,” Blaine says quietly, turning his face away again. Kurt catches him mid-movement, cups Blaine’s cheek to turn his face back. He kisses Blaine sweetly, gently, his hand lingering on Blaine’s cheek.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Kurt-“
“You’re beautiful,” Kurt repeats, peppering kisses across the bridge of Blaine’s nose, his cheeks, his jaw. Blaine’s breathing evens out, and Kurt feels him nod, tentatively.
“I want you to see them,” he breathes into Kurt’s ear, his own hands fluttering to the hem of his shirt, meeting Kurt’s. Together they pull the tank slowly up Blaine’s chest, over his head, down his arms.
Blaine keeps his eyes shut while Kurt sits back on his heels, survey’s his boyfriend’s naked chest, the puckered, pink-white scar crossing Blaine’s abdomen, curling up over his ribs. Several smaller, less visible scars dot Blaine’s chest, the scattered pattern indicating gravel or glass-Kurt doesn’t particularly want to know.
“You won’t hurt me,” Blaine says quietly when he opens his eyes, sees the way Kurt’s staring at him, hands shaking. “It’s not painful anymore.”
“What’s this from?” he asks quietly, his fingers hovering over the scar, tracing it back and forth, afraid to touch, to hurt Blaine. Blaine places his own fingers over Kurt’s, eases their joined hands down together, against his skin.
“They, uh-they had a knife with them. I think they were planning to cut us both up, to, um-to put the word on our chests. That’s what they were talking about when I was drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. They kept saying it, calling us that, telling us they were going to mark us forever.”
Kurt doesn’t ask Blaine to elaborate, doesn’t need him to. He knows too well what Blaine means. He brings his free hand to rest on Blaine’s wrist, squeezes for comfort, to tell Blaine it’s okay to continue, to stop, to take a break.
Blaine takes a deep breath, keeps going.
“They never got around to it. They found us before then, but when the chaperones finally came out of the gym, they, uh-they had the knife to my chest. They got scared, it slipped. Nicked through my ribs, pulled down.”
“It’s so long though,” Kurt breathes, tracing the scar again, their joined hands starting up near Blaine’s ribs, ending near his belly button. Blaine tightens his abdomen underneath their hands, breathing shallowly.
“There was a lot of damage,” he offers, and his voice breaks, his fingers shaking as they trace over the scar again, follow its path. “There was muscle damage between my ribs, some internal bleeding. They said when they got me to surgery they had to open it further to get to some of the bleeds, to fix everything. With the added damage from the beating-“
Blaine trails off, shrugs.
“They say I’m lucky to still be here.”
Kurt sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on Blaine’s wrist tightening. They’ve talked about that night, mentioned it, discussed it, but he’s never fully appreciated what it’s meant for Blaine, what nearly happened.
“I’m glad you are,” Kurt says before he can stop himself, and Blaine smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He laces their fingers together, brings Kurt’s knuckles up to his lips.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he whispers against the skin, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, turning Kurt’s hand over to kiss his palm. “I love you,” he breathes into the silence, not expecting a response.
He’s afraid he’s killed the mood, ruined their night, but Kurt has different ideas.
“I love you, too,” he whispers, sliding down Blaine’s body, kissing a path down Blaine’s chest.
He stops at the tops of the scar, his lips lingering over Blaine’s ribs.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing along the path of the scar, easing the worry and the residual pain from Blaine’s muscles, trying to replace the bad memories with good ones.
Later, when they’re curled into each other in the afterglow, sticky and naked and sated, Kurt finds his hand settled over Blaine’s abdomen, covering the scar, protecting it.
Protecting Blaine.