myheadisaprison | {I might be lost, but I'm not a lost cause

This last long stretch of months in the wake of the fire that nearly claimed Mick seemed to go forever. He was lucky to be alive at all, and the damage, physical and otherwise, was deep and brutal and harsh. The recovery period seemed to stretch on forever, too, but eventually thing a resumed to something sort of shaped like normal.

Sort of.

Some of Mick's most basic habits changed after the fire, even the way he dressed. He went from not caring much at all about showing skin--sleeveless shirts were always a staple in his wardrobe--to a much more conservative, covered style of dress.

Leonard understood it without even needing to question it. He didn't like it--the way it looked, the way people looked at him if they saw the marred skin--and Leonard understands that sentiment entirely. He's never been one for wearing any sort of revealing clothing, and at least part of that is the scars from growing up with an abusive fuckhead as a father. So, he doesn't have to ask about the shift in dress, or the way Mick suddenly isn't as quick to try to initiate anything intimate anymore because he gets it.

He gets it and he hates it. Not because Mick feels the way he does, but that it changed a core piece of him so drastically. That Mick understands, in a wholly visceral way now, how Leonard has always felt about his own scars.

But he also knows there are ways to help with those feelings, too. And it's a thought that's been twisting in his mind all day.

The night is as normal as any other, quiet and just the two of them at home while Lisa is God-knows-where with Leonard-doesn't-want-to-know-who. Mick is watching something Leonard hasn't paid one minute of attention to on TV because he's been focused on a book he's reading.

But he's read this paragraph three times and he's tired of trying to find that focus again, so finally, he marks his place and sets it aside. It's then that he moves, almost seamlessly, from the chair he'd been in to a spot on the couch next to Mick. "What're you watching, anyway?"

The fire should have killed him.
But it didn't and the recovery was long and terrible. Mick soldiered through it, through the therapy and through the painful healing. He survived and Mick wasn't going to give that up. He was going to fight.

It took even longer for him and Leonard to get back to something resembling normal but he wasn't going to give up on that either.

At first he didn't change what he wore, but after the first expressions of horror or shock by someone on a crew or just at a bar at the scars that twisted down his arms and across his torso, Mick started covering them up. He started hiding them.
The scars reminded him of just how far he and Snart had spun away from one another.

How badly he'd messed up.

So he wears long sleeves. Gloves.
Keeps them hidden.

A hum at Leonard's question. He's only barely been watching himself and flicks it off, leaving the remote on the table. "Nothing interesting. Thought you were reading?"

He make a vague motion to the now turned off television. "Thought you were watching tv." There's the smallest of amused smirks at the comment, a light tease and nothing more. "I guess I just need to focus on something else for awhile." Like you.

Leonard knows where he wants to go, but the how to get there of all of this has never exactly been his strong suit. He isn't sure how Mick manages it, but after he got used to picking up a little more on cues--cues Leonard wasn't even aware he had--that he'd be more receptive, he just seems to always do or say something that leads right into it. Somehow, Leonard just feels awkward about figuring out how to lead from this conversation into...the very opposite of talking at all. It probably shouldn't be this complicated but he overthinks far too often for his own good.

The amused smirk and the light tease are familiar, but there's something a little.. different. Mick is good at reading his partner but tonight there's something he can't quite pick up on. So he tips his head at his partner. Wondering what cue he might have missed while he was flicking between the baseball game and a movie he'd seen a dozen times.

"Yeah? Like what?"

He shrugs again, not sure at all how to answer that question, as simple of one as it actually is. "I don't know," his eyes are on his own fingers trailing across Mick's arm, slow and careful, like maybe this is the wrong way to do this somehow. Slowly, his gaze slides back up toward Mick. "we can probably think of something."

Leonard isn't sure why all of those awful romcom movies Lisa makes him watch make this sort of thing look as easy as breathing. It isn't. Or maybe he's just not good at it. Either way, it's a little stilted and awkward.

Edited (Typos ugh ) 2018-02-18 22:01 (UTC)

Something continues to ping in the back of Mick's head, like something is off, something is different and he has yet to figure out what it is. Not bad, just.. different. His eyes flick down to the slow pass of Leonard's fingers along his arm.

Wait.
Is he..?
He is.
Right?

Mick dares to rest a hand on his waist. "Lenny?" Just to confirm.This is what he wants right? Mick isn't completely off base here, is he?

His gaze falls again, this time to the hand on his hip, then it's a quicker sweep back up to Mick's face again, a smile flickering across his face. It's not surprising at all, really, that Mick gets it so quickly; he knows Leonard well, and he's particularly responsive to touch anyway. Maybe more hyper-aware of it after the fire, even.

Leonard is inherently relieved about the way Mick just understands, which lets him stop trying to work out how to start this and instead, leaves him free to just react.

He nods at the question hidden in his name on Mick's lips and simply leans up to kiss him. Nothing overly heated, simple, careful, but definitely where that "find something else' energy is focused.

This is.. unexpected.
Not unwelcome, to be sure, but unexpected. His hand shifts a little at that small smile, the one that always sends his stomach into freefall as he leans in to kiss him. It had been ages since they'd touched, ages since anyone touched him with anything other than clinical detachment and he sinks into that kiss with a quiet, pleased sound.

He isn't thinking about anything else now, just familiar lips on his and his hand sliding from Leonard's waist to his back to draw him in that much closer.

That pleased noise bubbling up from the back of Mick's throat is enough to make Leonard sink closer, fingers fisting in the material of his partner's shirt. It's an easy slide of lips as Mick pulls him closer still, and Leonard can't stop the smile that breaks the kiss. At least some things don't change. Not always.

He kisses him again, shifting up and over to straddle Mick's lap. Even more rare than Leonard initiating these things are the moments when he decides to dominate, but tonight it's necessary. He cups Mick's face in one hand and pulls him closer, tongue darting out to not be for, but demand entrance.

And normally a play for dominance, even in moments like this, results in a little roughhousing, although that was more when they were young and stupid. Not so much now but it does drag a broken groan out of Mick when Leonard drops into his lap and kisses him hungrily, tongue demanding access.

God he loves this.
Him.
Those rare moments when Leonard can feel comfortable enough to initiate.

He has no problem giving, letting his partner take the lead.

Only Mick has ever gotten this part of him and it will be that way forever because Leonard long since accepted that his sexuality was MicK Rory and no one else, and he's okay with that.

He can't deny he loves this.
Being here, like this, with the one person who matters more than anyone else.

He pushes closer, hips rolling against Mick's lap as he shifts, deepening the kiss that much more. Slender, nimble fingers run down his chest, and push gently at the hem of his shirt.

The moments didn't come often but damnit if he didn't treasure every last one of them, growling as Leonard rolls his hips down into him, teeth nipping at his lip when the need for air drives them to part, just a little.

For the barest of moments, Mick freezes when Leonard tugs at the hem of his shirt and his hand closes over his. "Lenny. They ain't.. there's so much and doc said I'll never heal. Not completely."

There's a slow glance up to him when Mick makes him stop. His heart skips and he wonders if this is how it always felt for Mick when he would make him stop. Like he'd done something wrong, pushed something too far, crossed a line he never would have expected to exist.

"So?' He reaches up with one hand and drags his thumb across Mick's cheek. "What's that mean? You're still you." I still love you.

And Mick hates feeling vulnerable. He's the one who's supposed to be strong for his partner, the one to have his back and bear him up when he needs him to.
He's not used to having the tables turned on him.

Mick closes his eyes against the startling upswell of emotion, turning his face into Leonard's hand for a moment before releasing his. He'll allow his shirt to be tugged off, even if he hasn't yet accepted his scars.

He leans up and kisses him, a soft, slow thing, lingering with the need to remind him that he's still the same person that Leonard fell so hard for years ago. He slides both hands up to cup his face in his hands, trying to convey what he feels through the touches his partner craves.

Eventually, his hands wander back down to the hem of his shirt, pushing the offending material out of the way. Once his shirt is discarded to the floor, Leonard takes in the sight of the marred skin. His arms saw the worst of it, but there's a map of scars down his chest and around his ribs, too. This is the closest and longest look he's had at the results of the control he lost all grip on; Mick hasn't really let him see before. He understands why, and he understands the re-gifted trust this places between them all over again.

Slender, nimble fingers trace the map of scars down his arm down toward his chest, careful to stay in the balance between gentle and pressure-- he'll won't hurt him, but Leonard refuses to treat Mick like he's breakable. He's anything but, and the lines tracing across his skin are just another piece to that story.

Mick's are different to Leonard's own scars, rough and raised against his skin in a sharp reminder of the very different ways they earned them.

After a moment, his gaze slides easily back to Mick's face. Nothing changes.

He kisses him again, fingertips of one hand on Mick's cheek, which eventually slide down and across his chest as Leonard moves to trail kisses across his jaw and down the side of Mick's neck. I love you. He makes sure to nip gently at his ear, always a little amused about how easily he can get reactions from that spot.

He inches down slowly, careful to take his time to follow the map against his ribs. Every part of you.

These are the moments Mick wishes he could live in forever, moments when Leonard doesn't hesitate with touch, when he pours everything into those kisses that leave him breathless and reeling and those touches that sear and spark along his nerves.

Moments where there is no hesitation and zero doubt.

He doesn't flinch away from how Leonard looks over every scar, how his hands pass from mangled, knotted skin back to smooth and unmarred skin and back again. A firm touch that keeps Mick grounded like nothing else in the world ever can.

And when their eyes meet, it's an unspoken conversation, regret and sorrow evident in Mick's. He never should have lost control like that. Never should have hurt Lenny like that, or put him at such risk to save his ass.

For all the times Leonard used to wonder how he wound up deserving Mick, it's safe to say Mick has wondered the same thing.

Then there's a nip at his ear and an answering shudder as his arms clutch at his partner. "Lenny.." Oh god he loves him so much. Needs him. Needs this to feel whole again.

When Mick's eyes, so full of regret, meet Leonard's own, he feels something twist in his chest and he wants to make all of that pain melt away. At least for tonight.

The nickname, which is rarely used these days, makes everything about this moment feel like a totally different time in their lives. And for now, he just allows himself to sink into that feeling, and lets it guide the easy way his fingers and mouth move across skin, both smooth and marked, to remind Mick that something as insignificant as this can't touch how he feels about him.

{I might be lost, but I'm not a lost cause

{Painting pain with pastels through cemetery eyes, into the night we ride, scars wide open

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