VARUS
He spies the brief faltering of the smile and chalks it up to the fact that people weren’t often as kind as they used to be. He doesn’t read into it, not as she slips her hand into his immediately after and he gives it a light squeeze as he tugs her to her feet, keeping her hand in his as she tugs him wherever she so chooses. And it doesn’t take long for them to get there, not as she’s patting the surface of a bed and he lets her hand go, lets her step back after offering her instruction.
“If you don’t mind scars and stitches, then I don’t mind.” He offers her with a playful smile, already moving to take off his jacket and shirt after, folding them neatly (as a soldier might do) and drapes them in a nicely folded pile off to the side. His body is quite smooth in comparison to Sunjata’s mangled body, but Varus has his own scars to tell a story. A few knicks from a knife, a few puncture wounds from a bite, and the stitching that surrounds the amputation of his arm.
He looks back to the bed for the massage, before he’s moving to climb up on it, to lay on his stomach with his arm folded comfortably under his chin. He takes in a long slow breath that he doesn’t need, head tilting to peer back at her. “Alright, do your worst.” He teases her with a wink.
“If you don’t mind scars and stitches, then I don’t mind.” He offers her with a playful smile, already moving to take off his jacket and shirt after, folding them neatly (as a soldier might do) and drapes them in a nicely folded pile off to the side. His body is quite smooth in comparison to Sunjata’s mangled body, but Varus has his own scars to tell a story. A few knicks from a knife, a few puncture wounds from a bite, and the stitching that surrounds the amputation of his arm.
He looks back to the bed for the massage, before he’s moving to climb up on it, to lay on his stomach with his arm folded comfortably under his chin. He takes in a long slow breath that he doesn’t need, head tilting to peer back at her. “Alright, do your worst.” He teases her with a wink.
stories without a few let downs are boring when told
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds
perfection and poems are a lie when it all unfolds
