When tears don’t cut it

An Olu/Jim drabble

Please mind the tags

Oluwande brushes his fingers over Jim’s skin, stopping at the first uneven spot.

“Where did you get that one from?” he asks quietly, his voice softer than the candlelight dipping everything in glow and shadows.

“A run-in with two guys that were double my size. I would’ve cut their throats, but it was a vicious attack. They didn’t make it out alive,” Jim says, quirking a lopsided smile at their lover.

Oluwande hums and resumes his journey over Jim’s skin. He knows their body well by now. Still, it holds secrets that Jim hasn’t shared with him yet. One, in particular, unsettles Oluwande. The scars make no sense. They are thin, parallel and look systematic. So much unlike the other scars scattered over Jim’s body.

The number astounded him. He’d never seen anyone getting the better of them, so that many managed to actually land a blow came as somewhat of a surprise. But Jim was younger and less experienced at some point in their life, before Nana had trained them to the point of being a dangerous killer.

The scars are old. He had mistaken them for stretch marks in the beginning, when everything was too exciting to take the proper time to study all the details of their body. But now, Oluwande soaks in their naked closeness like others might in a luxurious bath. Oluwande loves it, loves Jim, wants to learn everything they are ready to share.

He runs his fingers over the thin lines adorning Jim’s thighs. They look faint. Jim doesn’t seem to mind his caresses, so he continues, goosebumps blooming under his touch.

“Where are those from?” he asks. Jim tenses, and Oluwande can hear them swallow hard.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” they say curtly, but it sounds way too soft. Oluwande knows Jim by now. When they get quiet it’s especially important to listen.

“You don’t have to tell me, babe,” he says nonetheless and lets his fingers skim upwards again and spread over Jim’s stomach. He listens to their breathing, a little shallow as it barely raises their belly.

“Twas hard, you know? Life with Nana,” Jim says after a long while. Oluwande pushes himself back to wakefulness and hums. Sleep can wait.

“She trained me so hard. She expected so much. I often felt…” They trail off for a moment. Oluwande holds his breath, worried he might discourage them if he were too loud.

“I had no one to share my fears with. Nana meant well but showing weakness was something she detested. I prayed every night that she wouldn’t hear me crying.”

Oluwande’s heart cracks at the thought of little Jim crying themself to sleep. He cradles their adult form a little closer, cold comfort for the lonely kid, but he still hopes it helps to soften the pain.

“Sometimes, tears just didn’t cut it,” they say and chuckle without mirth. “So I cut myself at the only place that she couldn’t control. It was my little secret,” they whisper, voice raspy with emotions.

“Oh, Jim.”

They shake their head. “No, Olu. Don’t pity me. It’s a sign of my survival like every other scar on my body.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just wish you wouldn’t have needed that. That’s all.”

Jim smiles at him. “Haven’t cut me in a very long time, man. You really don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Oluwande says and brushes a thumb over Jim’s cheek. They lean into the touch, eyes closing, eyelashes casting shadows against their skin.

“Damn, you’re beautiful,” Oluwande breathes.

Jim laughs in surprise. It sounds warm and free, and the heaviness of the moment dissipates with it, leaving only tenderness and love behind.

You can read more of my ofmd fics on ao3.

I love them (and need more fancy disguise hijinks in season 2)

black-beacon:

Lucius, listening to Pete make up stories about being on Blackbeard’s crew and inflating his own ego: I can’t believe I’m gonna sleep with him.

Oluwande: I mean …you don’t have to.

Lucius: No, I’m gonna

–

Oluwande, watching Jim be a weird, feral, violent, secretive cat of a person: I can’t believe I’m gonna sleep with them.

Lucius: I mean, you don’t have to.

Oluwande: Yeah…no, I’m gonna.

–

Ed, watching Stede flounce around in his dressing gowns with his ship library and his marmalade: I can’t believe I’m gonna sleep with him.

Izzy: Really, Edward you do not have to.

Ed: No, I’m definitelygonna