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patch you up

Patch You Upshipping meme

Let's hope you're not squeamish. Even if you are, you're going to have to power through it, because your crush, significant other, lover, or fellow practitioner in romantic tension has been battered and bruised. The degree of severity, from a minor scrape to a life-threatening injury, can vary, as can the reason - they may even be hurt because of you. If that's the case, you have all the more reason to tend to their wounds with your own two hands.

No one can take care of them like you can.

Bust out the bandages, even if they don't want you to worry over them or can't believe that anyone would. Though it's not your intention, if you're genre savvy, you may know that your best Florence Nightingale may be the final push if you're not together-together.

That's assuming if you both don't pass out from botched first aide before any of that happens. Don't forget that a kiss to make it better is critical!

Comment with your character, preferences, and the role you'd like to play - the injured or the attending. Also, would you like a pre-established relationship? One just on the cusp of becoming realized? Etc?
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[A muscle in his cheek jumped at the jabbing, but he remained perfectly still otherwise. Toreth was doing him a favour, so he let the roughness slide and actually did his best not to enjoy the slide and tug of flesh being drawn together with the needle and thread. His breathing was even and despite the flares of pain, his eyes half closed.]

I'll do my best, but I make no guarantees. A little pain goes a long way.

You're a sick fucker, aren't you?

[ Despite the words, it was said without much malice. Toreth hummed thoughtfully, mostly at how still Rumlow was. He didn't do this often, but he was used to people squirming, or at least shaking, under his hands, both during torturing and fucking. To have someone remain still was a refreshing change. ]

You can jerk yourself off if you get a hard-on.

[ He was halfway through done with the larger wound, his fingers steadily becoming smeared with Rumlow's blood from the application of the stitches. ]

No, aside from my injuries, I'm in perfect health.

[On the mental scale, there may be a few things that didn't fit quite right, but he wasn't about to admit that. He had passed all of his psychological exams after all in order to join SHIELD in the capacity that he had. Still, that had to count for something right?

The prick, pull and tie of suture was a rhythmic motion, something he could count on. Toreth was good at this, had clearly done this before, so they were all veterans to this activity even if he tried not to enjoy it too much. He chuckled softly at the reply though.]

You're the worst fake-doctor ever, you know that? You're supposed to take care of all of my aches, pains, lumps and bumps, you know.

[ He rolled his eyes. Sarcasm from this asshole was going to be the fucking death of him. A few more sharp pricks and tugs on skin and he was knotting the thread tightly, reaching for the scissors to snip off the excess. One of many wounds down, and Christ, couldn't Rumlow be more fucking considerate about how injured he got? A ridiculous thing to think, but Toreth was thinking it all the same as he looked for the next one to start one. Some were too shallow to even bother with. Those would heal fine on their own, no assistance required. ]

You telling me you have doctor-patient fantasies? People usually go for the nurse ones at least. It's a little hotter.

[ He relaxes when she agrees to the drink, because that means they're going to be getting somewhere after all. He'd been expecting a struggle at every step of the way; bullying to get things done. He's used to that, at least. This is infinitely better, though.

He places the roll of bandages down on the vanity next to the kit, moving off to pour them both four fingers of whiskey. A few moments and he's back again, offering the glass to her on the side of her good hand. He takes a mouthful of his own drink before putting it down, the bandages back in his hand. ]

How often has this happened?

[ She seems awfully used to being injured. He gestures for her wrist. ]

[She lifts it wordlessly for him at first, flinching when she remembers that gravity exists. That's about the moment she reaches for her glass, swallowing down irritation and a bit of pride.]

Not often. I'm usually faster.

[It was just one broken bone anyway -- she's aggravated they were able to hold her down long enough to manage it, but what's done is done. She'll be off the job for a bit now. Its probably not a bad thing.]

[ He'll believe that, after seeing her in action robbing him and stealing one of those balls from right under his nose. Toreth grunts noncommittally, quiet as he -- surprisingly gently -- takes her wrist in his hand, thumb rubbing over her skin to check the injury and where it might be swelling. It'll be a lot easier if the bones are all in alignment and it's a clean break -- he isn't too confident in his ability to realign it without it being an incredibly painful process, and even then, he'd only be willing to go for a closed reduction. ]

Christ, I'll never understand you types. It's fucking nice being on the right side of the law, you know? Less of this. [ It's said fairly conversationally. ]

Different laws around here.

[The swelling might suggest otherwise, but she doesn't actively recoil any until he finds the break -- maybe she forced it back in place herself? Its hard to tell.

The reply he gives her means she doesn't have much in return for him. She isn't a thief because she ever wanted to be, it was just the only option she ever had. 29 years of stealing to eat and survive doesn't train out easy.

But the way her lip curls in reply and the way he avoids his eyes in favor of watching him fiddle with her wrist indicates that she doesn't want to talk about it.]

[He was far too used to having this happen, and at least the company was pleasant given he normally did this himself. He would have too, but you know... hard to reach places made suturing very awkward, and he wasn't about to mess things up and risk bleeding all over the place. He shifted to give easy access to another injury, one he knew would require a little extra attention.]

Nah, I just like it when people hurt me to fix me. Though, I won't complain if you want to go and get into a nurse's outfit for this.

[ Toreth laughed -- a short, sharp bark of derision as his hands began their work on the proffered wound. Systematic. ]

Fuck off. Only way that's happening is if you fucking forced me, and after that the only way you'd enjoy it is if you came out on top. Odds are I'd be fucking you if you'd like to go down that road. [ He paused, bantering more than seriously considering it for the moment. ] Like to?

[He closed his eyes to just concentrate on the work that Toreth was doing, enjoying the feel of it. Few had that kind of skill who weren't medical professionals or soldiers.]

As if. I could still take you in a fight like this. [He wasn't planning on fighting Toreth, but he had his pride and it wasn't going anywhere. Though how worth it would it be to get the other guy in a dress?] As if. Keep sewing me together.

[ It doesn't take being an interrogator to pick up on her reluctance to talk about it. He decides not to press, trying to find something else to talk about that she might be more receptive to. Something to distract from the pain as his fingers gently press and locate the break. Clean. Clean as you can get a break, or at least his manipulations don't find anything more out of the ordinary.

One hand still holding her wrist, he shoves around the contents of the first aid kit, searching for a splint, or something as close to one as he would recognise. First aid is apparently lagging way behind here, because he doesn't find it straight away. ]

The hell were the laws like where you're from? They seem just about non-existent to me.

Fucking bollocks you could. [ There was a cool confidence in the way he said that, even though they had been relatively closely matched in their previous tussles (with Rumlow generally having the upper hand). The confidence wasn't just because the other man was injured -- Toreth was sure Rumlow could still put up more than a fair fucking fight -- but it was his own self-assurance as to their dynamic.

Toreth grit his teeth slightly when he jabbed the needle a little too far in, fingers slipping from the blood on them, the needle going in at the wrong angle. ]

Fucking Christ, sorry.

[The whiskey had disappeared faster than she thought it would, leaving her focused on not flinching while he tries to continue conversation. The sigh of pain comes out of her nostrils, forced but an easy sign that she really detests broken bone pain.]

You're right. They are.

[Laws, no. Rules? You learned those as you went.]

Bollocks? Really? Really? [If he wasn't concerned about opening the wounds that had stopped bleeding all over the place because he was still, he probably would have laughed or whipped around to make certain that this wise-guy was actually being serious in using that word. He was going to have to get the guy a top hat and a cane soon enough.

He also was confident he could cheat and cheap-shot his way to victory, but not without injury to himself. It'd be a wild ride no doubt.

He hissed at the sudden flare of pain, twisting aside from the needle and baring his teeth.] Are you drunk or sleeping? I'm injured enough without your contribution, thanks.

[ Toreth felt maybe... five percent of sympathy. His fault, but not like he'd admit it any more than the hissed apology he'd uttered. Carefully, in his best imitation of the scum of London as he could muster (it wasn't much of an imitation, because he had hung out with the sort often enough, had somewhat been the sort): ]

That's what you get for trying to having a fucking laugh, innit? [ He scoffed, then, ignoring Rumlow's flare of temper, his words returning to a less exaggerated British accent as he pulled his hands back, patiently waiting for the other man to be done with his snapping. ]

Fucking Americans. [ Pause. ] You know, where I come from, it's illegal to fuck other men in America.

[He pretended to glare and investigate the seriousness of Toreth's little stab-happy moment there. It was really no worse than he already bore, and aside from bleeding and probably bruising to hell and back, it required no more medical attention.]

You're just a little butthurt about coming here or something. [He remarked but shrugged his shoulders and went back to being relatively passive. He still needed to be stitched up after all and most of them weren't exactly in easy to reach spots.

It was his turn to bark a laugh though.] Yeah because making it illegal will stop the Americans from fucking each other. They just find ways. It's human nature. In the America I'm from, they're trying to legalize marriage for everyone.

[ Mm. That explains... well, a lot about Fiona. ]

So that's why you've got no sense of privacy, is it? [ Referring to her digging around his fucking room. He pauses, locating something that he's pretty sure is a splint, and then he starts speaking again as he brings it to her wrist, holding the two together as he reaches for the bandage with his other hand. ] And it explains why you were so touchy about the ball and being called a lady. This must be some sort of lap of luxury for you in comparison, though. No?

[ Seeing the line of muscles in Rumlow's back relaxing, he went back to his task, a little more precisely and carefully this time, mindful of the slippery blood on his fingertips.

The mention of marriage made Toreth's lips twist in an amused smile. ]

Really? Never understood the idea of marriage myself. [ He was apparently a little more candid at this hour, defenses slightly down from being rudely awoken. Less of a filter on him, more brutally honest. ] Spending the rest of your life with somebody sounds fucking awful.

I don't know if I'd call it a lack of respect for privacy.

[Girl's gotta eat. Bills to pay, mouths to feed. She's only a little offended by that assumption, not nearly enough to say anything else about it.

The splint doesn't really feel good -- she imagines it might be better once everything is steady, but she knows better than to bet on that.]

I don't exactly call sex slavery luxury, but everything else--I guess its close.

Edited 2015-06-27 08:30 (UTC)

Having a maid's not too bad.

[ It's a grudging concession, because of course they'd all rather be anywhere but here. Which is sort of scary for Toreth to admit, because hell, he likes sex, and he wouldn't have a problem with living the high life in return for fucking people if it weren't for the irritating power being exerted upon all of them.

Since Fiona's brought up the topic of sex slavery, he decides to ask as he begins wrapping the bandage firmly around her wrist, fixing the splint in place. ]

Are you doing a lot of that? Fucking for them. Fighting for them's one thing, but fucking? That's the golden ticket, isn't it? [ Really, he's just curious as to the who, and also what her standards are. ]

Meh.

[If it hasn't already been obvious, Fiona didn't like having things done for her. There was always the lingering thought in regards to how the makes were getting paid, but she doesn't opt to bring that up. Maybe they weren't getting paid at all.

She doubts it though.

By some miracle, she manages not to attempt to jerk her wrist from him when he opts to move to the topic she's wanted to avoid. Her teeth grind a little uncomfortably, and her eyes shift down to the bandages he's wrapping.]

Golden ticket, yeah.

[It wasn't really a secret that she was doing the bare minimum in that department. Maybe that was why the jobs were getting tougher.]

[ Of course, she offers a complete non-answer to his question. He smiles slightly, undeterred. If he's going to do something nice for someone, he's going to get his enjoyment out of it, whether it be by watching that person squirm or enjoying a favour owed.

He's taking his time with the bandages. Being careful with them, for one thing, wrapping them snugly, but maybe he's also drawing out the moment. ]

You didn't answer the question.

Not my style.

[Her sister was the flirt, not her.

There's no aggression in her voice -- she's unfortunately stuck at this point until he finishes wrapping her wrist whether she wants him to or not. There is a noticeable attempt to pull her fingers in and she flinches very lightly for it.]

Anyway, what does it matter to you what I do?

[ His grip is fairly firm, so even if she does try to yank away in earnest -- not advisable -- she wouldn't get very far. ]

Just curiosity. [ A pause, and then: ] I think we also came to the conclusion that you found me attractive. Despite the 'ugly personality'.

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thank you!!!! and sorry!! i'm really glad you replied!! c:

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