Exposed
Just a little hurt/comfort/fluff with Reader x Zayne
There is a long pause as Zayne looks at you carefully over the edges of his silver rimmed reading glasses. Then he slowly, methodically, sets down his coffee mug, and lowers the paper he was reading.
"Say that again?" It's part question, part command the way he intones it, his piercing eyes fully settling on you.
You've already screwed up all your courage, there's no going back now. Yet still you quirm a bit under his stare.
"I...I just wanted to know, would you see me naked if you did heart surgery on me?" You can feel the flush creeping onto your face now, a burning embarrassment that bleeds across your the apples of your cheeks.
You don't get the immediate and clinical answer you expect. Instead, he removes the glasses, folding them gently. You can't be certain, but you almost think a soft sigh escapes his lips as he stands from the breakfast table, coffee now abandoned, and steps around it to place himself at your side.
With your boyfriend towering over you, you can't help but look up at him. You are engulfed by his shadow, which eclipses the early morning light. It's a strangely comforting place to be.
Then the sun is blinding your eyes once again, as he crouches, one knee down, to bring his face level with yours, intimately close.
"My love, I have seen you naked countless times." His tone is measured, but soft, and he seems to be resisting the urge to reach out and trace the flush on your cheeks, something akin to mirth but much kinder dancing in his eyes. "Why are you asking this now?"
You finally break yourself away, choosing to focus on a button near the top of his shirt, rather than his penetrating gaze.
"Because..." You begin softly, but are interrupted by a hand on your chin, gently lifting your head, and eyes, back up to meet his, not giving you the choice to look away. "Because...then it wouldn't just be you. It would be everyone else in the operating room. It would be Greyson, and- and-..." you choke on the tears that are just starting to spill over your cheeks.
His thumb wipes them away, and before you can react, he is rising from the floor in front of you to lift you from the chair and take your place, while placing you in his lap in one smooth motion.
You bury your face in his chest without thinking about it, the comfort of his scent welcome and grounding. One hand cups the back of your head, a possessive and comforting motion, the other rubbing small circles on your back.
His voice rumbles in his chest when he speaks, and you feel his next words as you hear them. "I can tell you all about how we protect a patient's modesty, and I can tell you all about how no one is thinking about anything besides what is inside that perfect chest of yours, but this isn't about that, is it?" It's a true question this time, asked so kindly you all but melt into him.
He gives you time. Continuing his motions of gentle reassurance and soothing. Daring to lift your head from his chest and peer up at the man who holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world, you nod slightly. "How do you always know?"
"Mmm..." He hums and removes his hand from your head long enough to wipe away a few more stray tears, "Because, my love, I know you." You reach up and catch his wrist, a soft smile managing to find its way onto your face.
"That's not a real answer." You tease, and he smiles, ever so slightly, back down at you.
"And you haven't given me one, either." He lets your hand slide from his wrist up into his. But his other hand doesn't leave your back, pressing ever so gently into your lower spine.
"I just...I guess...I suppose..." You start three times without finding the right words, but he continues to watch you with a patience that seemingly knows no end. You fiddle with his fingers, slotting yours through his, marveling for the thousandth time at the size of his hands, and the precision of the acts they perform.
Eventually, you try again, "I was thinking about what it must be like for you, in surgery." You see his brows lower, the look on his face telling you that he is weighing every word you say as if they are insights more valuable than any researcher or physician could offer.
"I was thinking about what it must be like for you, in surgery." You repeat yourself, letting the words feel more comfortable in your mouth this time. "And it made me think...how it must feel...to see someone, so helpless, so...exposed. Laid out in front of you." Your eyes are searching his now, looking for any clue as to what lies behind his composure. "And how you...how...how intimate...that has to be..." You trail off for a moment, and lick your lips, struggling to find the right words. "And I wondered...if you've ever seen me that way?"
Zayne reaches down, his face blocking out the sun once more, and you blink in the sudden change of light. His hand begins to trace the contours of your face, as if he can commit them to memory simply through touch.
"I have." He answers simply, but with an intensity briefly takes your breath away. His hands never falter, they are tracing your body now, finding their way down your shoulders, as if still trying to memorize every inch of your skin.
"But more importantly - I have had the privilege of knowing that you in ways that matter even more." He pauses, drawing you closer to him, a certain and firm guiding of your chest to his, as he encircles you with his arms. "And most importantly, you have known me." His voice dips low, and he lowers his forehead to yours.
"I have bared my heart to you, and you alone, my Jasmine." You feel his breath with each word, and his heart beating against your own. "What can there be left to fear?"
