notes: very short, follows "Stains."
He is clumsy, she notes with distaste. Not in the traditional way, but clumsy as his hands pass over her hip, fingers pressing down against broken and tender flesh, drawing a thread and needle past skin ruptured. Miranda's breath hitches, hips jerking on response as the needle clips an extra chunk of flesh.
"Nng, are you stitching me or goring me? Bloody."
She can feel his glare raking her body as the hands on her body grow stiff, the pulsating sensation on her side lessening from the pressure. Without hesitation, his fingers move back to work – this time the touch is ghost like, careful and deliberate, but she can still feel the tremble in each dig, each pull of string to knot, and the slip of skin from oozing crimson.
"We wouldn't be here if you didn't botch it the first time. Ahn-sodding hell!" Her head jerks up, pushing herself on her elbows to lean up, glaring down at him.
All she gains is an amusing glint to his eyes and straight lined mouth.
"We both know I'm better at carving into people rather than sewing them up."
"You could at least try a bit harder for me."
"I am."
Only 15 more to go.