mfletcher:
“You telling me that? Wasting your breathe entirely,” Fletch stated, glancing up at her with an innocent, but at least truthful, grin. He shrugged a shoulder faintly, then added, “I mean, I suppose if you really need me to, you could find someone I’m actually scared of to tell me that, but those people are few and far between, so I’d just wish you good luck.” Would he listen to Xeno, or Reggie, or Pandora, or even Moody? Yes, of course he would. That didn’t mean he was scared of them, of course, but that he’d listen.
He put his face fully back in the bucket, shuddering a little as she began to slather his arm up with the salve. His stomach churned and he let out a tiny whine, but tried his best to stay still as much as he could, between what was coming up and what she was doing. After all, he knew it would make her job ten times harder if he was moving or jerking, and although it stung, he didn’t want her yelling at him for that.
Wrinkling his nose slightly as she prodded him to switch arms, he stiffly moved to do so. Looking up at her, Fletch took a shaky breath, glancing at the salve and making another face. “I look like a fucking pumpkin,” He muttered out faintly, more to himself than to her. He nodded though, sitting the bucket carefully aside a little, and reaching for the water to take careful sips.
“I could scare you into listening to me.” She said it far too casually to be a threat; more of a helpful offer. One she didn’t expect to be taken up on. No, she would speak to one of the others and make it their responsibility. Not a pleasant duty, perhaps, but there had to be something to offset the pleasurable side of their association, surely. Couldn’t be sustainable otherwise.
His complaint made her smile, even it she wasn’t meant to hear it. “Better a pumpkin than a bit of charcoal, surely.” Starting with the bandages again, she wrapped him first up to his elbow and then started a second wrap that went up to his shoulder. Tucking the end in under his arm, she rocked back to examine her work.
...well, at the very least it couldn’t hurt anything. “Torso next. Do you think you’re likely to vomit still, or can we set the bucket aside?” Him vomiting on her would erase any qualms she had about scaring the shit out of him. Then, his ceasing smoking would be the least of his concerns.














