Work Text:
The planes of an orc’s back stretch like valleys. Scars make themselves at home upon thick cords of muscle, small divots appearing as he flinches away from me. My hands have never caused him harm, but old habits die hard. I try to commit it to memory, and as I heal, gentle warmth going down his spine, I find myself tracing whatever I can. A soft hum leaves his lips, eyes slipping shut. I continue, unraveling him carefully like a spool of thread until he falls back just a bit. He’s warm, and for a second, I feel warm, too.
A sailor is as formidable as a tsunami and strong to boot. Relaxation does not set over him. Even in sleep, his brows furrow, and his breathing is ragged. He withers away from my touch. I want so badly for it to go away. My hand makes its way up to his graying hair, combing through it gently. Fjord, even in such a state, is a marvel to look at. A patch of green skin on his shoulder makes itself visible as he tosses and turns, the fabric of his clothes shifting, revealing a little of his belly. He shivers, and his fingers twitch around mine as he tries desperately to pull free from something, or someone.
I am not what he needs, but I do need him. I have already been granted one miracle today; now, I can offer another. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “Just let yourself rest, Fjord. You’re safe. It’s alright.”
The words come slowly to mind, the syllables sounding strange when spoken aloud. Fjord doesn’t stir anymore, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hear them. His grip tightens on mine, and I know he’ll be having nightmares all night. But they will leave him alone when morning comes. I promise.