book 5: wounds

He feels the gentle trace of her muzzles along his jawline. For a moment, he gives in. That tiny sigh that reveals he enjoys it. That he finds it soothing in the moment. But then he tenses again. No, no, she's not Modesty. He can't be giving in like this... His emotions are still a whirl as he watches her from the side of his gaze. There she wanders, gathering supplies, and he wonders if she has any experience at all. Maybe he should call for Sid... No, he didn't want the pups too much in this mess he created.

He created.

But she was there. That small figure coming closer. Rag in her mouth, booze in the air. Oh, if his wife hadn't just gouged out his chest, he would be behaving much differently... Fuck.

Gil closes his eyes. Feeling the heat, letting out a hissing noise as the first singe of boozy pressure presses against his wound. His tongue sticks out between his teeth as his lips curl up in a sneer of pain. Both ears flatten as he lifts up his head to chatter his teeth in her direction. A warning. Only a warning. She needed to be careful. He was familiar with pain, but he hated being tended to.

Her whimpering voice has him settling back a moment. He didn't want to scare her. Didn't want her to run off. "Don't apologize," Gil returns gruffly, releasing a rugged sigh. "Just give me a swig of that," he rumbles, taking the bottle of booze from her side and nearly inhaling it. The sputtering cough that follows is proof that he wasn't being careful in that moment. Anything to dull the pain while she sews him back up.