âAt very least, hands that know what they are doing,â Pasha conceded, his lips turning up into a faint smile at the sound of the younger manâs laughter, however brief. Uncapping the bottle of vodka, he gently guided Danielâs wounded arm off of the counter and over the floor away from the both of them, his free hand holding lightly to his wrist both to keep his arm steady and to provide some support. âPerfect. Now, hold your arm just there,â he said and, without very much warning at all, upturned the bottle right over the gash so it could flush out the wound. As much as he liked to warn his patients of any pain they might experience ( it helped to build trust, he believed ) in cases such as these, he found that it was much easier for both parties if he did it both quickly and without warning. Like ripping off a band-aid without any adhesive remover, a brief flash of intense pain and then the worst is over.
     âThere,â Pasha hummed, returning the bottle to the counter as the pink runoff of vodka and blood dripped from his arm to the floor and turning his gaze back to the younger manâs face, trying to gauge his reaction. âIt should only be uphill from here.â
Daniel allowed the other male to move his arm away from the counter, holding it where it was when he was told to. Just because heâd been expecting the pain, it didnât mean that made it any better. When the liquid came into contact with the open wound, Danielâs entire body immediately tensed up; fists clenched, teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut as the fiery pain coursed through his arm.Â
Even after Pasha moved the bottle away and set it back down, the pain didnât subside much for a good couple of minutes. As the other spoke, Daniel forced himself to nod in response as he opened his eyes to look again. âGood. Great,â he responded, the pain still evident in his voice. Eventually though, as the sensation began to dull, Danielâs body began to relax once more.Â


















