3:10 to Yuma, Ben Wade/Dan Evans, marked
Wade's wears his vanity with a casual grace, walking half-naked through the house, his dark pants open and his holster slung low around his hips. He seems perversely proud of his scars, almost preening to display them: a line that drops diagonally to his hip, a curve like a grin around his left shoulder blade, tattoo to match around his right, and two round scars on his stomach. The filled-in holes on Dan's chest still hurt, but Wade shows no discomfort with his old wounds.
Nor with Dan's. In bed, he drags his fingertips over them, connecting them with invisible lines, like he's drawing. Here - Charlie's first shot. Then to here - The second. And then to the next. It doesn't make him nauseous anymore; he doesn't think about the look in Charlie Prince's eyes, the look in William's eyes, the brightness of the sun. The scars still ache, though, but not always.
Wade's hand slides lower, and Dan lifts his hips to help shove his pants down. The bumps of scar tissue smooth to the silk skin over his pelvis. Wade presses his mouth against Dan's back - more scars there - and breaths chuckles against the knobs of his spine.
Dan lets him laugh - Even that feels good. The knots in his muscles untangle a bit as Wade kisses and rubs. When Wade's hand finally covers his cock, he curls forward a bit and Wade's chest pushes against him. The slow strokes - Wade's heat - The scratch of stubble over his shoulders - Wade chuckles again and smears wetness and squeezes tighter than a noose until Dan buckles and takes the Lord's name in vain.
Afterward, his breath eventually slows down to normal and his heart crawls back into its place. The thick ache of the scars will be back, but the temporary respite gives him time to sleep.