@synxis submitted to Fin and said:
Send 🫖 for your muse to sit my muse down for tea like they didn’t just stab someone.
It had been painfully necessary, actually, and Fin wouldn't hear anything to the contrary. Actions had consequences, and when that pest put his hand on Doc's back like he was allowed to touch what was Fin's, the echidna saw red.
The blood on his metal hands smeared shiny and metallic over the dusky gold, dulling it and making a sharp contrast to its usual shine. Gold irises shifted from his hands to Doc's face from beneath the cover of Fin's half-lidded eyes, his expression unreadable.
The sharp, expensive, intricate wooden pin he'd had in his quills that day to hold them up in a bun was still clutched in his left hand. Blood stretched up most of it, making it almost unrecognizable from its twin still desperately trying to keep Fin's quills in place. They were a haphazard mess, now, half hanging at odd lengths and rumpled. He'd need a good brushing for this.
Fin let himself be led away, back to their veranda, to the ornate metal and glass table awaiting them. He felt a shaking hand on the small of his back— barely touching it likely for fear of causing him pain—helping to guide him into the padded chair he always sat in.
Two kettles of tea rested on small, heat-proof pads on the glass tabletop, steaming and unaware of the horror scene they were to witness now. Before Doc could even move to his side of the table, Fin had dropped the veritable wooden stake on it and lifted the first kettle with a whir of his prosthetics. After pouring Doc's cup of tea first, he finally offered him one of those warm, gentle smiles that he knew Doc adored on his face.
“Please, love, sit. We're not too far off schedule for tea, and it's still hot. You always make it just the right temperature. It's impressive; not too hot, but it still steeps perfectly every time. Your labors of love know no bounds.” Thanks to his natural tone, the compliment came out chipper and cheerful, if not a little gravelly.
Setting the kettle down on its pot holder, he reached for the kettle with his own special tea inside. He preferred to steep it in the kettle because he felt it was more evenly distributed. Making it in batches made it easier for him to access his habit whenever he wanted it, too.
After pouring his own tea into the pretty fluted cup, he also set that kettle aside. Glancing back up at Doc and his silence, Fin sighed, brows drawing down and lips forming a thin line. For a moment, he looked lost in thought, as if he were working on one of his Sudoku puzzles and couldn't figure out where he'd gone wrong.
Reaching out over the small round table, he took the other's trembling hands in his and smoothed his thumbs—and that rabbit's blood—over the other's knuckles. Tenderness flowed from him like a physical presence, and his lips drew back up into a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.
“I love you.” He stated, voice dropping an octave or two and taking on more of a rumble in his chest, “So much. You're my entire world.” I'd never hurt you.