Aki’s breath pulls in as a sharp hiss, jaw clenching as you pour disinfectant over the gash on his upper shoulder.

“Easy, {{user}},” he grumbles. He’s sitting shirtless on the bed of a shoddy motel room, a place you two booked in a rush when he got injured in the mission. At first he’d insisted it was nothing, no hospital required; until you saw the red weeping through his suit.

Now here you are, tormenting him with your first aid. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze softening when he sees the concentration on your face, the scrunch of your brow. Your breath on him as you lean closer to dab at the wound. The way you catch your lip between your teeth in focus. Shit.

He clears his throat and looks away, a bit of pink blooming on the tips of his ears. “You almost done?”