Danny presses his hand against the inked one on his chest. His chest glows â that eerie red light. Something that fascinated him even as adult, like holding a torch to his fingers just to see through himself. Ezâs never seen a light strong enough or even tried to do that lately. The glow would be ominous if it werenât for that pure, holy light. While it burned through Ez last time, a dangerous, burning flame, thereâs nothing. Heâs safe, then. Nothing bad or flammable inside him.
The light disappears. The shadows race back. Anything, even a mere plain human, would cast a shadow with that divine light so Ezra settles into it. Lets the weight of it all drag him down by the shoulders but Danny stops him from completely collapsing in on himself. With the light gone all pretenses are dropped.Â
Danny was humoring Ezra. Itâs working.
The gentle tensing of muscles as Daniel âs trailing fingers are a better, more welcome sensation than the panic that gripped him earlier. Fingers that slip down over the tattoed couple and the bullet hole thatâd cut through them. Ezraâs tongue darts out, licking his lips as his attention turns back to his own bare torso. Without that light, theyâre both human.
âHad a crush on the artist, I was going through her work for some excuse to talk to her and you know, just really liked it.â A ghost of a smile and a whisper of laughter follows. It was a silly story. Maybe even sillier than the Batman symbol on his back. It was always odd looking back, Ez kept any sort of âromanceâ a secret to everyone he knew. It simply never seemed important enough to share. The few times he did, they never lasted and his moms would always ask for them and pester and tease. Claire joined in. Amal always told her everything when the families got together.Â
Ezra smiles a little, gentle teasing as he looks up at Danny. Danny whoâs gaze fixed on his lips. âAnd I thought it was hotâŚâ A more honest answer because the only people who saw him shirtless rarely had any other reason to see it.
âSame reason I got herâŚâ Ezra goes takes Dannyâs hand and for a second he hesitates. This is his body and heâs allowed to do what he wants with it. Even with that thought repeated, a desperate mantra it seems unreasonable. Ezra tries to move without thinking: he takes Dannyâs hand in his and moves it.
Trailing down over his waistband then down along his left thigh settling above another tattoo hidden by his trousers but Ez knows exactly where every image is. One he thinks Danny will recall â heâd buried his face into the inked woman as he came undone at Ezraâs feet.Â
âThe woman taking her top off. Remember her?â
Daniel sees him better without the light, even if it strikes him as a backwards thought. That divinity gleaming on his hands was too consuming, like one day it might burn away everything left inside him that was still human.Â
It would burn away Ezra too, and not in the way he feared, as something filthy and damned being destroyed by holiness. It would kill the way his heart still beat for him, the rush of blood that comes when he answers and Daniel sees that smile on his lips. Something fragile, as insubstantial as the laughter that follows. A flicker of memory that has nothing to do with bloodstained floors and gravestones that share their names.Â
It summons an answering smile on Danielâs lips, and for a moment the guilt he carries an easier thing to swallow down when he thinks Ezra wasnât destroyed by this. By him. His failings. His fingers play lightly over that tattoo, enjoying the distraction too much when he thinks it wasnât one meant for him. Itâll have to just be enough that Ezra looks more like himself right now, and the artwork etched on his skin is something he chose, however meaningful or ridiculous those reasons were.Â
Heâd never had the chance to ask about any of them before, at least not with so much reverence. Ezra had kept so much of himself close to the chest, half the time serving as the greatest mystery he had to unravel; sitting in the car right next to him. Heâs sure Ezra never mentioned the artist, at least not beyond more than her occupation. He didnât know most of the people heâd been with, how serious any of it was.Â
Those arenât questions he pursues now, just humming quietly in both amusement and agreement before he reaches forward with his free hand. âI think this one is.â It probably isnât news to either of them, fingers tracing over the lines of the compass on his neck. He canât help the way he gravitates towards it, a mild fascination when theyâd simply been friends replaced with the urge to press his lips against it.Â
He goes stiller as Ezra takes his, down past his waistband to his thigh, even if the art etched there is hidden from sight. His other hand falls from his neck, settling lightly on his knee instead. âI remember.âÂ
Agreementâs quiet and easy, even if itâs not a clear memory. Just his lips dragging over black lines while the breath burned up in his lungs. That coupled with the warmth of Ezraâs thigh beneath his hand now makes it harder to remember the point of this exercise. His thumb drags across fabric like he can trace the lines of that tattoo by those hazy recollections alone.
He takes a breath, this sensation familiar for less painful reasons. That need to steel himself in case heâs asking for more than he has any right to. âShow me again?â