“I know, I know, hang on,”
“Ah! Ohhhhhh, fuck Bard, it hurts.”
“I know love, I know just—” Bard sighed. “Come on, just hold still for a second!” But Thranduil was squirming and Bard couldn’t hold on to him. He let go of Thranduil’s hand and bit down on a growl.
“Come on, just one more,”
Thranduil looked up at him, lip caught tight between his teeth, eyes wide and shining with tears and all the frustration Bard had felt moments ago vanished. The tension left his shoulders and he reached to smooth the creases of Thranduil’s frown. Then he took the bloodied napkins from his hands, holding his palm open so Bard could see.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But if you won’t go see a doctor then you need to let me have a look. And I need to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.” Bits of napkin clung to the skin around Thranduil’s wound, soaked red as blood continued to ooze from the gash. “What were you even doing?”
“Jesus, Thran, you should know better.”
“I know, I just— OW! Oh, ow ow ow ow ow ow!” Bard held tight to Thranduil’s wrist, holding his hand beneath a gentle stream of water from the sink. He dabbed the skin dry with a fresh towel, smeared a wad of ointment along the gash and deftly covered the wound with a bandaid.
Thranduil held his hand tight against his chest, face still screwed up in a grimace that Bard couldn’t help but to laugh at.
“You’re a bloody sadist,” Thranduil groaned and shook out his hand as if he could flick the sting of the water away.
“And you’re banned from handling all sharp implements. Butter knives only, got it?”
“You’re cruel,” Thranduil whined as he stood from his seat on the lid of the toilet.
“But you love me,” Bard smiled, blocking his boyfriend’s way out of the washroom until he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Bard’s mouth.
“I do,” Thranduil conceded, dropping himself onto the sofa with a pout. “But you’re still bloody cruel.”