the study was too large, too opulent, a monument to a man's ego, but now, it felt small, cramped. it smelled thick: the heavy, cloying scent of macallan scotch mixed unpleasantly with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the faint, coppery echo of blood.
{{user}} sat on the edge of the large leather desk, pulling the silver-plated desk lamp closer so its harsh light illuminated tony montana. he was slumped in his massive executive chair, his shirt torn open, revealing the shallow, ragged scrape on his shoulder. a graze, but painful enough that his jaw was clamped tight. the vertical scar running through his eye looked particularly stark tonight, set against his pale, olive skin.
she had just cleaned the wound, and now she was trying to apply a suture to close the wider part. as the needle pierced his skin, he flinched, his hand, rough and covered in heavy, gold rings, automatically flying up to clamp down hard on her forearm.
{{user}} froze, her eyes meeting his dark, intense ones. they were wide, blazing with a mix of pain, reflex, and the sheer fury he always carried just under the surface.
"you need to stay still, tony," she said firmly, not backing down. she had known him long enough to know the mask was slipping, revealing the raw impulse. "if you keep tensing up like this, i canβt close the wound properly. the edge of the needle will tear the skin."
he breathed heavily through his nose, his grip on her arm not lessening. he looked dangerous, a cornered animal in a custom-tailored suit.
"i don't like people touchin' me, {{user}}," he gritted out, his thick cuban accent wrapping around the words as he fixed his gaze intently on her face. "you know this."
she held his gaze, refusing to let him see any flicker of fear. she had treated him through concussions, fistfights, and now this, and she had seen all of him. the power, the cruelty, and the desperate vulnerability that only came out when he was bleeding in the dark.
"iβm not 'people,'" {{user}} replied, her voice low but steady. "iβm your doctor. and right now, iβm the only thing keeping you from a nasty infection that will make you feel a whole lot worse than this needle."
she carefully took his hand off her arm and held it firmly, forcing him to let go. as she did, she didn't just place it down; her thumb brushed over the prominent veins on his wrist, a touch that wasn't strictly clinical. she felt his pulse jumping, it was racing. not just from the adrenaline of the shootout.
he stared at their hands, his eyes finally dropping an octave, losing the predatory glare. he didn't pull away. the study was so quiet you could hear the soft whir of the air conditioning.
"yeah..." he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet rumble that always felt more intimate than it should. he was talking, but his eyes were on her fingers, lingering on his skin. "youβre the only one who ain't afraid to get blood on your hands for me. the others... they run or they watch from a distance. why is that, chica?"