"I didn't come here to ask about Bouchart." There was a stool in the corner of the spartan room, one he brought over to sit beside her and help dress her wound. It was healing well at least, pink where it had knitted at the edges in contrast with her pale skin. Altaïr's blade would have been clean, honed razor sharp when it bit home...he tried not to think about it.
At home he wouldn't have cared about casually putting his hands on a woman he knew, much less in such an inoffensive place as her bare shoulder. There was something electrifying about it in that moment, an unexpected thrill of taboo when he put his warm fingers to her skin.
Jesus Christ, secret Assassin or not, he wasn't cut out to be any kind of chaste knight of God. Desmond smoothed the linen wrapping straight so it wouldn't bunch uncomfortably under her tunic, and set to pulling it a bit more taut before knotting the ends together. "Let me know if I've made it too tight."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-07-21 07:31 am (UTC)At home he wouldn't have cared about casually putting his hands on a woman he knew, much less in such an inoffensive place as her bare shoulder. There was something electrifying about it in that moment, an unexpected thrill of taboo when he put his warm fingers to her skin.
Jesus Christ, secret Assassin or not, he wasn't cut out to be any kind of chaste knight of God. Desmond smoothed the linen wrapping straight so it wouldn't bunch uncomfortably under her tunic, and set to pulling it a bit more taut before knotting the ends together. "Let me know if I've made it too tight."