[ Just after dawn, Erik makes his way into the shower, allows himself a yawn and turns on the spray. It stings and he gives a tired, lazy hiss as he feels out on his back exactly how deep his wounds are-- the cuts aren't so bad, he supposes, just bleeding quite a bit. As he maps out his wounds, he arrives at a section and pulls away; it's quite possible one of the organisms he was fighting had venomous properties. It seems to have left a mark of some sort, a burn or a rash. Either way, the contact makes him wince.
He should probably head over to the med tent and see if anyone's available right now, but what he really wants to do is curl up in bed and let his body handle things. He makes himself a promise that if no one in the rover is awake by the time he finishes his shower, he'll drag his ass to medical.
[He figures he finally managed to win an argument with her, that's the only reason she's letting him do this, he figures. You're nearly out of energy, conserve what you have seemed like a solid argument to him, and the fact that she's too exhausted to fight him for long about it only made it realize how right he was.
Or maybe she finally trusts him. Hard to say, really.
Not that he's in any better shape. They both managed to survive by the skin of their teeth, and barely, at that. The Lancelot was totaled, but thankfully the medkids survived in tact, and they scrounged up a few more supplies that should keep them alive for the few hours it'll take for rescue to arrive.
Still, he was just as bloody and bruised as she was, but while she had started treating him, he forced her to stop. Not out of some macho toughness, but once he saw the pieces of shrapnel sticking out of her back, how could he sit there and just let her tend to him? No matter how flexible she was, or healing she could do, she was going to need a hand with that anyway. She had stopped all of his major bleeding, the rest were cuts and bruises that had clotted over. Those could be dealt with later; it was her turn now.]
Lift up your shirt.
[In any other context, saying that to her would probably result in being punched in the face. But in the and now, its necessary. He had pulled out the larger pieces of sharpnel, and needed to clean the wounds. It's kind of hard to do that with clothes in the way.]
[ it isn't the first time they've fought back to back, and it almost certainly won't be the last, but this is a rare occasion in that somehow they've managed to be separated from the rest of their team, several hundred kilometers from the rover point. this wouldn't normally be an issue for him, except that kakashi had used his sharingan enough during the fight to leave him almost completely drained, and it's nearly nightfall. they're never making it back to camp tonight, and he says as much to amber.
they hunker down on the shore of a small lake for the night, and kakashi uses a little of his remaining chakra to summon a couple of dogs to keep an eye out. nose out. whatever. the point is, they'll sense danger coming as fast as anything else: it's what their trained for.
he hasn't exactly let his guard down — he rarely does when they're planetside — but he does allow himself to deal with a less vital concern. he's practically soaked in blood, most of which likely isn't his. this wouldn't normally bother him either, but it's humid here, and the sweat and blood is becoming tacky on his skin and he might as well deal with that.
pulling his shirt up and over his head, he takes a good look at it and realizes that it's a good thing their uniform is dark. it obscures other dark colors, like the muddy red of dried blood. ]
[ Guns are preferable in most cases, only not when ammunition is severely limited and supply drops are nowhere to be seen. Besides, knives are simple and effective, less prone to jamming from humidity or any other petty disasters. Only knives aren't so clean. They leave splatters across her face and stains her hair dark red and brown from the fight, leaves her hands sticky from blood and her nose crinkling from the offensive scent of it.
She doesn't find it gruesome. Only mildly irritating.
But that's nothing to complain about. There's a hush to the night, a held breath, even if she trusts him and the dogs he summoned to secure their perimeter. So she plays at acting calm, stepping into the shallow bank of the lake and bending over to flick some water his way. As if this is just summer camp, only with monsters and much more murder. ]
It's true of all of Team Seven, whenever they're given the chance to work together again. But since Sakura and Sasuke have started knowing each other as more than just teammates, mapping each others' bodies and chakra time and again, he feels like it's even more true of the two of them.
Their missions don't often go like this. They're both subtle, and quick, and smart with a word to distract and misdirect. But sometimes, something gets fucked up. Sasuke's not sure what happened, only that once it did, they spent a solid hour more or less back-to-back in a charging rain of spears and fists and chakra. They'd been in enough trouble that Sasuke had to use his Susano'o sparingly to avoid running through all his chakra at a run; Sakura had been doing enough physical punching with and without her own chakra behind it that the knuckles of both gloves were torn. It had been a fray to wear them both weary.
But, with all the traps and locks set into place in the abandoned old cottage they'd streaked off to as a safehouse, Sakura had pulled the intel scroll - its case now wet with flashes of blood - from her belt and set it on the table with her ruined gloves before turning to examine Sasuke for damage. Mission success.
And despite the fact that both of them were splattered head to toe in bright flashes of red between the mud and sweat, none of it seemed to be theirs. Sakura's chakra found no more damage to either of them than exhaustion.
They'd found themselves still locked in a tight hug minutes later, each one grateful the other was alive. Each one grateful they'd had the other with them, to ensure that they made it out of that alive.
Now, nearly half an hour later, piles of white rags stained rust and red deepen on the floorboards by their knees, soaking off the gore they'd escaped in; basins of water stain ugly colors and smells. Both of them are seated, both shirtless, facing each other and daubing the mess off each others' skin, where it's easier to see with no mirrors hidden in the old shack. Sasuke swipes the damp rag carefully over the curves and dips of Sakura's face, being sure to clean the blood away from her lips instead of toward them. He's not a medic but that doesn't make him an idiot. Most of it is dried, anyway, caked to her cheek with a single streak threatening the corner of her mouth; he daubs gently, cleaning thoroughly without dragging the skin. He spends maybe a little too much time focused on it, careful, intent, dabbing off every fleck and drip. He's still breathing a little heavily, even now. Eyes on the bow of her mouth, the way she concentrates as she cleans him in turn. Once her mouth is cleaned completely of the streaks of other people's blood, he can't stop himself from leaning forward to kiss it.
Edited (what the hell are tenses) 2015-04-16 15:53 (UTC)
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just let me know if you need me to change anything!!
He should probably head over to the med tent and see if anyone's available right now, but what he really wants to do is curl up in bed and let his body handle things. He makes himself a promise that if no one in the rover is awake by the time he finishes his shower, he'll drag his ass to medical.
Hmm, and then the rash starts... smoking... ]
Collides in here, psl verse?
Or maybe she finally trusts him. Hard to say, really.
Not that he's in any better shape. They both managed to survive by the skin of their teeth, and barely, at that. The Lancelot was totaled, but thankfully the medkids survived in tact, and they scrounged up a few more supplies that should keep them alive for the few hours it'll take for rescue to arrive.
Still, he was just as bloody and bruised as she was, but while she had started treating him, he forced her to stop. Not out of some macho toughness, but once he saw the pieces of shrapnel sticking out of her back, how could he sit there and just let her tend to him? No matter how flexible she was, or healing she could do, she was going to need a hand with that anyway. She had stopped all of his major bleeding, the rest were cuts and bruises that had clotted over. Those could be dealt with later; it was her turn now.]
Lift up your shirt.
[In any other context, saying that to her would probably result in being punched in the face. But in the and now, its necessary. He had pulled out the larger pieces of sharpnel, and needed to clean the wounds. It's kind of hard to do that with clothes in the way.]
amber!
they hunker down on the shore of a small lake for the night, and kakashi uses a little of his remaining chakra to summon a couple of dogs to keep an eye out. nose out. whatever. the point is, they'll sense danger coming as fast as anything else: it's what their trained for.
he hasn't exactly let his guard down — he rarely does when they're planetside — but he does allow himself to deal with a less vital concern. he's practically soaked in blood, most of which likely isn't his. this wouldn't normally bother him either, but it's humid here, and the sweat and blood is becoming tacky on his skin and he might as well deal with that.
pulling his shirt up and over his head, he takes a good look at it and realizes that it's a good thing their uniform is dark. it obscures other dark colors, like the muddy red of dried blood. ]
no subject
She doesn't find it gruesome. Only mildly irritating.
But that's nothing to complain about. There's a hush to the night, a held breath, even if she trusts him and the dogs he summoned to secure their perimeter. So she plays at acting calm, stepping into the shallow bank of the lake and bending over to flick some water his way. As if this is just summer camp, only with monsters and much more murder. ]
A bath? At a time like this?
no subject
It's true of all of Team Seven, whenever they're given the chance to work together again. But since Sakura and Sasuke have started knowing each other as more than just teammates, mapping each others' bodies and chakra time and again, he feels like it's even more true of the two of them.
Their missions don't often go like this. They're both subtle, and quick, and smart with a word to distract and misdirect. But sometimes, something gets fucked up. Sasuke's not sure what happened, only that once it did, they spent a solid hour more or less back-to-back in a charging rain of spears and fists and chakra. They'd been in enough trouble that Sasuke had to use his Susano'o sparingly to avoid running through all his chakra at a run; Sakura had been doing enough physical punching with and without her own chakra behind it that the knuckles of both gloves were torn. It had been a fray to wear them both weary.
But, with all the traps and locks set into place in the abandoned old cottage they'd streaked off to as a safehouse, Sakura had pulled the intel scroll - its case now wet with flashes of blood - from her belt and set it on the table with her ruined gloves before turning to examine Sasuke for damage. Mission success.
And despite the fact that both of them were splattered head to toe in bright flashes of red between the mud and sweat, none of it seemed to be theirs. Sakura's chakra found no more damage to either of them than exhaustion.
They'd found themselves still locked in a tight hug minutes later, each one grateful the other was alive. Each one grateful they'd had the other with them, to ensure that they made it out of that alive.
Now, nearly half an hour later, piles of white rags stained rust and red deepen on the floorboards by their knees, soaking off the gore they'd escaped in; basins of water stain ugly colors and smells. Both of them are seated, both shirtless, facing each other and daubing the mess off each others' skin, where it's easier to see with no mirrors hidden in the old shack. Sasuke swipes the damp rag carefully over the curves and dips of Sakura's face, being sure to clean the blood away from her lips instead of toward them. He's not a medic but that doesn't make him an idiot. Most of it is dried, anyway, caked to her cheek with a single streak threatening the corner of her mouth; he daubs gently, cleaning thoroughly without dragging the skin. He spends maybe a little too much time focused on it, careful, intent, dabbing off every fleck and drip. He's still breathing a little heavily, even now. Eyes on the bow of her mouth, the way she concentrates as she cleans him in turn. Once her mouth is cleaned completely of the streaks of other people's blood, he can't stop himself from leaning forward to kiss it.