In case you missed it, I wrote some more for alethialiahere (http://dark-reaction.livejournal.com/264841.html?thread=3963273#t3963273). This scene follows sometime in the future... *
So this time a fight breaks out somewhere when Nate and Brad are accompanying Nate’s sister out. Nate’s sister just attracts trouble. And Brad and Nate totally kick everybody’s ass, but Brad gets slashed across the back pretty bad and Brad is like…not taking care of it, and Nate finally bullies him into letting him take a look.
*
Nate gestured at the table with one hand Brad sat down stoically. The table wasn’t very high, but he was tall enough that his feet still touch the floor. This room wasn’t much in the way of an infirmary, but all the herbs were kept there, and a steady fire was kept burning in the corner. It had been the logical place to go.
Nate hissed when he peeled the heavy blood-sodden fabric off of Brad’s skin. The slash was deep and still wept blood freely. “It needs cauterizing,” he says softly, running his fingertips over the unbroken skin just above it. Brad’s skin was unbelievably soft. He knew he shouldn’t be touching him like this. Brad had made it clear he doesn’t want it and Nate would sooner die than force someone. Brad shifted under his touch and his tunic fell down low enough that Nate could see the dimples just above his ass. He pulled his hands back and swallowed. “You will have a scar.”
Brad huffed out a breath. “It will not be the first.”
Nate winced. The wound had to be cleaned first and after he stuck a hot iron into the fire to heat, he crushed gallium with a mortar and pestle and mixed it with freshwater before dipping a castoff skein of fabric into it. The muscles in Brad’s broad back spasmed as he gently swabbed the cloth over the wound. When he thought it was clean, he used the wet rag to pull the handle of the iron out of the fire. It took barely a second to run it over the wound, but it felt like an age. The hiss of hot iron against wet bloodied skin was almost unbearable. Brad didn’t make a sound but the muscles in his neck tightened, thrown into sharp relief in the dim lighting.
By the time Nate tossed the iron aside Brad was breathing hard, head bowed on his neck. Nate stared at him for a long moment, the planes of muscle in his back, the knob at the top of his spine where his head was bowed. He wanted to say something but everything was stuck in his throat. He decided finally it would be best to leave him, give him a few moments to himself. Brad was owed that much. But as he walked by, Brad’s arm snapped up, catching him around the wrist.
More Gladiator!AU, Part 1/2
*
So this time a fight breaks out somewhere when Nate and Brad are accompanying Nate’s sister out. Nate’s sister just attracts trouble. And Brad and Nate totally kick everybody’s ass, but Brad gets slashed across the back pretty bad and Brad is like…not taking care of it, and Nate finally bullies him into letting him take a look.
*
Nate gestured at the table with one hand Brad sat down stoically. The table wasn’t very high, but he was tall enough that his feet still touch the floor. This room wasn’t much in the way of an infirmary, but all the herbs were kept there, and a steady fire was kept burning in the corner. It had been the logical place to go.
Nate hissed when he peeled the heavy blood-sodden fabric off of Brad’s skin. The slash was deep and still wept blood freely. “It needs cauterizing,” he says softly, running his fingertips over the unbroken skin just above it. Brad’s skin was unbelievably soft. He knew he shouldn’t be touching him like this. Brad had made it clear he doesn’t want it and Nate would sooner die than force someone. Brad shifted under his touch and his tunic fell down low enough that Nate could see the dimples just above his ass. He pulled his hands back and swallowed. “You will have a scar.”
Brad huffed out a breath. “It will not be the first.”
Nate winced. The wound had to be cleaned first and after he stuck a hot iron into the fire to heat, he crushed gallium with a mortar and pestle and mixed it with freshwater before dipping a castoff skein of fabric into it. The muscles in Brad’s broad back spasmed as he gently swabbed the cloth over the wound. When he thought it was clean, he used the wet rag to pull the handle of the iron out of the fire. It took barely a second to run it over the wound, but it felt like an age. The hiss of hot iron against wet bloodied skin was almost unbearable. Brad didn’t make a sound but the muscles in his neck tightened, thrown into sharp relief in the dim lighting.
By the time Nate tossed the iron aside Brad was breathing hard, head bowed on his neck. Nate stared at him for a long moment, the planes of muscle in his back, the knob at the top of his spine where his head was bowed. He wanted to say something but everything was stuck in his throat. He decided finally it would be best to leave him, give him a few moments to himself. Brad was owed that much. But as he walked by, Brad’s arm snapped up, catching him around the wrist.
“Wait,” he said, urgently.