OOM: Treating Sinric's ankle

[cook_the_rude]

 Hannibal's office is dimmer today, the windows largely covered by dark grey blackout blinds to keep out the summer sun, while two lamps, one by the couch, the other stooped over the drawing table, provide islands in the soft gloom.

The prints on the wall, still mostly Istanbul, and harem scenes, have now been joined by a series from the 18th century depicting Farinelli in different operatic costumes that all have ridiculously huge and long plumes on the helmet or hats in common.

Hannibal puts down the exhausted Sinric on the couch and then fetches his medical bag from the closed bottom part of the book case.

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[thewidewideworld]

Hannibal's couch is rapidly become as familiar as his own bed in Milliways.

Exhausted and miserable, he pulls one of the cushions to him and hugs it to his chest. Slow tears still trickle down his cheek but he doesn't speak.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal gives him a handkerchief to cry into, then sits at the foot of the couch and takes the injured foot in his lap.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric doesn't protest but his ankle is badly swollen and very inflamed. He covers his mouth with the handkerchief to keep from crying out.

[cook_the_rude]

"This may hurt a little," the doctor says, unwrapping the temporary bandage, "but once I find what exactly is injured, I can give you painkillers before bandaging it properly."

He bends over Sinric's foot, and kisses the swollen ankle. "I'll take good care of you, Sinric."

[thewidewideworld]

He nods his assent, watching the doctor through heavy lashes. The pain doesn't bother him. If anything, it's right that he should be hurt after failing Athelstan so utterly.

But the soft kiss melts his pinched expression a little and he reaches down to rest a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Thank you. You are kinder than I deserve."

[cook_the_rude]

The doctor looks up at him, his maroon eyes direct and inscrutable at once; a deep look of which one can't be sure what it means.

"You deserve all my help," he says. "You are very worried about somebody who is more than a friend, and will probably not look forward having to talk with Ragnar about what happened."

[thewidewideworld]

He shakes his head. "I swore to Ragnar I would watch over Athelstan. And I have failed. If he strikes me down for it, it will be no less than I deserve."

[cook_the_rude]

"He should not hit you," the doctor says, gently moving the foot in his lap and probing the ankle bones and tendons with skilled fingers.

It will probably hurt hellishly.

"If he did that, he'd be no more than the brute history thinks Vikings to be; and I know that he is not."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric bites back a whimper at the manipulation of his ankle, trying not to cry out.

He doesn't believe in his heart that Ragnar would hit him but that doesn't change that he feels he would deserve it. "I swore to protect the one he loves most in all the world and I have failed. It would be his right."

[cook_the_rude]

"He has no right to do that," the doctor assures him. "And nothing is broken here; at least that. I'm going the give you some local anaesthetic before treating and bandaging it."

He takes something from his bag, a something with a glass vial connected to a long needle.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nods but says nothing, his eyes still wet with tears. He recognises the needle from last time and doesn't shy away, letting the doctor do what he needs to do.

[cook_the_rude]

The doctor slides the needle under Sinric's skin, then presses the plunger and allows the liquid to run into the swollen flesh around his ankle.

"It'll take a while to work," he says, leaning over to kiss the tears from Sinric's eyes.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric shifts to kiss his lips, somewhat fervently. He needs- something, someone to distract him from the pain in his heart, the fear that he has killed Athelstan with his neglect, the fear Ragnar will hate him which would be far, far worse than the Viking beating him. He kisses Hannibal even as he cries.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal takes Sinric's face between both his hands and kisses him, deeply and tenderly, as if trying to smother all Sinric's worries with his generous lips.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric's kisses are desperate and breathless and he whines softly, trying to pull Hannibal closer to him.

[cook_the_rude]

"You are safe with me," Hannibal murmurs into their increasingly intense kisses, letting Sinric come as close as he wants.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric presses bodily against him, wrapping his arms around the doctor. "Please?" He's not even sure what it is he's begging for, only that he needs something.

[cook_the_rude]

"A therapist doesn't usually do this," the doctor chuckles, but he complies for the moment: he pulls Sinric close and puts his hands on his buttocks, encouraging him to straddle his lap.

He doesn't stop kissing him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric straddles Hannibal's lap, giving a small and soft groan as he shifts his swollen ankle and bruised hand. A dark bruise is forming on his cheek from where he tumbled on the stairs but he doesn't notice it.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, resting his head on Hannibal's shoulder. "Forgive me, I have no right to ask this of you."

[cook_the_rude]

"But I'll be glad to give it to you, lovely Sinric," Hannibal says, leaning his cheek against Sinric's hair while stroking his back. "I'll just have to treat the ankle first, and then you can have anything you want from me -- comfort, kisses, or pleasure."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nods like an obedient child and leans into the embrace. "Yes, of course. Thank you for taking such good care of me."

[cook_the_rude]

"I care about you, Sinric," the doctor says. "So I'll take care of you. Sit on the couch again for a moment so I an do what I have to, and then we can do what we want to."

He follows this with another kiss.

[thewidewideworld]

He moves to the couch and stops to push his golden hair back from his face, his expression soft and warm. He sets his ankle at an easy angle to access. "I care for you too, sir. Your kindness and care of me moves my heart."

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal smiles into Sinric's eyes, and then bends over to take out some things from his medical bag.

He spreads a cloth in his lap, sets the injured foot on it, and then liberally slathers the ankle with the pleasant-smelling gel he had used on Sinric the other time. The scent might remind him of last time; on the other hand, it has been a long while.

[thewidewideworld]

Not long enough. It triggers the memory of being bent over this very couch, in both pain and trust in Hannibal's ministrations. Desire confused with pain.

But he closes his eyes and clears his mind, as Hannibal taught him to do, focusing not on the smell of the gel but on the scent of Hannibal's kiss, still lingering on his lips.