Work Text:
A mutt.
That’s what I am.
It doesn’t matter my name.
My scars seem to dig deeper every time I look at them.
“Heathcliff, Heathcliff .”
I remember her saying that would be my name.
It felt better than my old one, that I barely held onto.
I necessarily strip in front of the mirror.
My chest is still too big.
My thighs are just slightly bigger than what I want.
The abomination between my legs.
I turn away from the mirror to regain my thoughts, turning on the water, hoping for warmth.
━━━━━━
Heathcliff musters out a flustered response to Ishmael’s.. Interesting suggestion.
“Lass, ya jokin’ ain’t cha?“
Ishmael lets out a heavy sigh, crossing her legs. He could practically tell what her face meant- she was dead serious.
“Heathcliff. Answer the damned question.”
“..I’ll pass.”
Ishmael nodded and returned to her seat, satisfied with the answer.
Running a hand through his hair, he discreetly adjusts the binder that seemed to be just too small.
The bus seemed oddly quiet, outside of Don’s excited ramblings to Sinclair. Something came up in Heathcliff’s mind for a moment.
“Oi! Sinclair.”
Sinclair jumped softly, almost visibly starting to sweat. He locks eyes with Heathcliff for a moment, before turning his head away.
“Lad, I wanna talk to ya ‘bout something.”
Hewthcliff stands, having to regain balance for a moment, before gesturing to Sinclair to follow him into the hallway. The shorter, and much slimmer boy follows, albeit scared as a rabbit.
“Ya.. know where I can find.. Binders?”
Sinclair, clearly started by the sudden question, tried to say something about how they wouldn’t be able to stop anywhere to buy one, and-
Heathcliff sighed, shooing him away. Long.. morning.
━━━━━━
Late at night, Heathcliff knocks on Ishmael’s door. He knows she's probably awake but then the door swings open. His face flushes, trying to avert his gaze.
“Ish, I..“
Her head nods, gesturing inside her room. He follows, ashamedly following her inside.
“So what made you change your mind, Heathcliff.” She practically spits his name out.
“I need-”
She slaps him. Heathcliff stepped back, clutching his cheek.
“Ask somebody else then. You said no already, so why change it now.”
She roughly grabs his shoulders, shaking him slightly. He pulls away, tearing up like a child. He shakes his head, merely leaving the room.
Meursualt happened to be standing outside, shirtless.
“Fuck!” Heathcliff yelps, slamming into Meursault.
“Oi, I didn’ mean that or..”
“Non. It is fine.”
Heathcliff flushed making his way past Meursault, before he’s stopped by the French man.
“I heard you discussing something with Ishmael. I presume it’s about the earlier suggestion. If you wish, I could help.”
Heathcliff nods, taking Meursault’s hand, trying to avoid staring at the man's very prominent pectorals. Meursault leads Heathcliff into Heathcliff’s own room, before nodding and promptly the two of them begin to undress.
━━━━━━
I can’t seem to tear my eyes off his face as he hits the deepest part of me.
Somehow, his gaze felt reassuring to me.
But the best part,
He didn’t coddle me.
He didn’t feminize me, or focus on that.
He focussed on me.
I may no longer be a mutt, and the scars seem to slightly undig, and something..
Much..
Bigger fills me with a warm sensation, as we both gasp out.