Elliot never had any trouble getting naked, or gettin' nekkid, in front of anyone. Truth be told, he could be something of a tease taking his clothes off for the right audience. Most of his partners fixated on his eyes, or his shoulders or his cock – his cock was a big crowd pleaser. But this guy was different, he noticed the scars, and for the first time in years, Elliot felt naked.
Dean moved in slowly, and Elliot shivered at his approach. Dean's fingers slid, with feather light touches from his shoulder to the apex of his collar bone. Dean's eyes connected with Elliot's as his thumb traced the scar there. "Knife?"
"Knife." Elliot confirmed, and then gasped as Dean leaned closer to trace the scar with his tongue.
Just as quickly, Dean pulled away and continued his survey. Dean's fingers trailed along Elliot's abdomen, even as Dean moved around to walk behind him. Those fingers pushed aside the hair trailing down Elliot's neck exposing an older scar. Elliot hissed as Dean murmured against his shoulder. "Gunshot?"
"Gunshot," Elliot tersely replied desperately trying to still the quiver evoked by the gentle and knowing caresses. Dean continued moving, always touching, constantly tracing even the smallest mark on Elliot's skin as he came back around Elliot's left side.
Face to face again, Dean left his hand on Elliot's hip. Dean met his gaze again even as his hand continued to move along Elliot's thigh. Elliot knew that Dean knew, this was the one that nearly ended his life; this jagged scar marked the beginning of the moment everything changed. Dean sank to his knees and began to explore the scar with his mouth, his tongue, those fucking lips. The last thought Elliot formed before Dean moved north in his exploration was that a man who knew so much must have scars of his own; and Elliot was going to discover every one.