DISCLAIMER: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and its characters are the propert of James Cameron and Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Sarah has scars. Seventeen to be exact. Scars from bullets, knives, punctures, scratches and scrapes. Her skin a canvas painted in pain.
Sarah lets Cameron count her scars even though she knows them by rote. Sarah may have forgotten how many times Cameron's counted Sarah's scars but Cameron hasn't. Counted and memorized the feel, the texture, the contrast in skin tone, the locations. She still counts because counting Sarah's scars is an experience that's always the same and always different every time.
Sarah's different every time.
Sometimes she sweats, sometimes she shivers, sometimes she calls out Reese's name, sometimes she calls out Cameron's. Sometimes she says nothing at all. Sometimes -
She looks at Cameron like she's human.
Cameron traces her fingers over the scar on Sarah's stomach. Sarah grunts like she's angry but Cameron knows different now. It's no more than two inches in length, an appendectomy scar from an emergency operation performed during some guerilla war in South America. Jagged and rough, contrasting against the smooth plane of Sarah's stomach.
Cameron leans down, replaces her fingers with her lips. Sarah hisses and Cameron feels the twitching of stomach muscles under her lips, hears the rushed intake of Sarah's breath, smells the deep musk of Sarah's increasing arousal.
Sarah's fingers thread into Cameron's hair and Cameron's being pushed down between Sarah's legs. There are no scars here but Cameron's counted and memorized this too. Always the same, always different. Cameron holds back, probing the flesh softly with her tongue, almost teasingly, because - she's discovered - she likes it when Sarah wants it. When Sarah's grip tightens against Cameron's scalp, when her hips pump urgently towards Cameron's tongue, when she groans in frustration because Cameron's not where she needs it.
Where she wants it.
Cameron gives in. It's not long until Sarah's writhing, undulating beneath her, releasing the hold on Cameron's hair to grip the sheets, pained moans exhaled through gritted teeth. Her body tenses, bucks and trembles before collapsing spent on the bed.
Cameron kisses her way back up Sarah's body, pausing to count the scars. When she reaches Sarah's face she gazes down. Sarah's eyes are closed tight but the seal of her eyelids aren't enough to stop the tears. Cameron rolls onto her side, pulling Sarah against her. Sarah wraps her arm around Cameron's waist and Cameron can feel Sarah's tears on her neck.
Sarah falls asleep. Cameron counts the ceiling tiles. Sarah has seventeen scars on the outside of her body.
Cameron hasn't figured out how to count the ones on the inside.
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