*As useless as it makes the pained sprite feel, he can offer little help with that call, so focused on evening out his breaths, shoving back the whirlwind of sensations threatening to overwhelm him if he even breathes the wrong bloody way. Still, Shiox has experience in shoving aside these feelings—especially when hearing the distress in his lover’s voice, the thickening accent, the difficulty he has in making the stubborn bastard on the other end of the line actually listen.
The call ends, finally, and Varada’s hand is now working through his hair, his touch painful and so damned soothing, all at the same time.* Yeah. Better, sweetie. Fixed me all up. *he whispers, drawing back to cast his lover a shaky, but playful smile. He wipes away the slight trickle of blood leaking from his right nostril, giving a hard swallow. It may come back to bite him in the ass later—doesn’t it always?—but for now, Shiox can’t afford to not be okay.*