The silence that followed was different. It wasn't the angry silence of before, nor the empty silence of after. It was a listening silence.
She took a fresh cotton ball, dabbed it with iodine, and began to paint the wound. The brownish liquid stained his skin, sealing the edges of the cut. He finally looked up at her. Her face was in shadow, but her eyes caught the last of the sunlight—two points of hazel fire. -SexArt- Rika Fane - First Aid Kit -14.06.2023-
He obeyed. Her arms came around him as she wrapped the gauze around his torso, her cheek brushing against his shoulder. She was circling him, enclosing his wound in white, clean fabric. With each pass, the tension in his back loosened a fraction. Her breasts pressed soft against his shoulder blade through the thin shirt. He closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm of her hands—loop, tuck, smooth. The silence that followed was different
The first touch of the cold wipe to his wound made him flinch. His muscles coiled beneath her fingers. She didn't pull away. She pressed just a little firmer, patient, methodical. She traced the line of the cut, from the lowest rib, following the curve of his torso. The antiseptic foamed white against his skin, then pink. She took a fresh cotton ball, dabbed it
She smiled, a sad, small curve of her lips. “Because it’s the only thing in this apartment that knows how to fix things without breaking them more.”
She set the iodine aside and reached for a roll of gauze. “Lean forward,” she said.