My Random Skyrim Stories

A Simple Dragon Fight (Vilkas) 5

Kirstrid finally woke fully to the pricking, pulling pain of Vilkas stitching the wound in her side.

"Ysmir's balls, why?" She hissed in pain.

"Kirstrid," Vilkas gasped. His fingers brushed gently across her face, "I've got you, try to lie still, we're out of potions so I have to stitch this up so you don't bleed out on me."

"Ok," she grumbled and tried not to move... she held her eyes shut tight, trying not to pay attention to the stab of the needle and the pull of the sinew sutures as Vilkas stitched. Her attention wandered instead to the feel of Vilkas's hands on her skin... for all their traveling and time spent together as of late, it had never occurred to her how they'd hardly ever touched... they were frequently in close proximity, occasionally even sleeping back-to-back to help conserve body heat when out camping on cold nights, but Vilkas was always a gentleman— he kept his hands to himself.

Kirstrid realized in almost disappointment that he actually seemed to be intentionally touching her as little as possible... yes, her dreaming memories from earlier had definitely invented a few things... Vilkas definitely didn't look at her the way she'd suddenly thought she remembered. And she shouldn't be disappointed about that, it was a good thing... right? He was her best friend, she didn't want him to look at her like the drunk men looked at the tavern wenches.

She cracked her eyes blearily open to look up at him... his face was mostly shadowed, he'd intentionally positioned himself so that flickering fire behind him cast light on her injured side where he was working, his shadow falling across her lower half and up the far wall of the cave. But as her eyes adjusted to the flickering light, she could make out that his brow was furrowed in concentration, maybe also worry... his hands on her tender skin were calloused and rough, but surprisingly gentle as he worked.

Finally with another tug that made Kirstrid flinch, he tied off the stitches and his eyes traveled to her face.

"That ought to do," he said in a low voice. "You'll have quite the scar to explain to any lovers you take to bed," he added with a soft smirk, "but as long as you're alive I call that a victory."

Kirstrid huffed, partly in amusement, but mostly in indignation. "And when have you ever known me to take random lovers to bed?" She demanded, "you've been with me practically nonstop for the last year!"

His smirk broadened, "it's been two years at least," he replied bluntly.

"Oh, been counting have you?" She quipped.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded looking at her in fond amusement.

"Didn't realize it was such drudgery that you had to count the days," Kirstrid grumbled.

Vilkas chuckled at that, "hardly," he shook his head. "Two years worth of glorious, well-fought battles, I'm more surprised we never faltered this badly before now."

Kirstrid sighed, feeling rather ashamed by that. "Sorry, I uh... I messed that one up a bit," she admitted with a grumble.

"A bit," Vilkas agreed with a smug chuckle.

Kirstrid sighed and rolled her eyes. This was the smug asshole she knew so well. "Thanks for..."

She'd been about to thank him for patching her up, but suddenly realized what state of undress she was in... she was lying on a bedroll, with Vilkas kneeling beside her, wearing nothing but her bra... and... thank the gods she still had pants on, but she was essentially topless.

She started to sit up, but the movement pulled at her fresh stitches and she winced, leaning back on the bedroll again, folding her arms across her chest instead.

"Apologies," Vilkas grimaced sympathetically, "I wish we had more potions, but you drank all of mine, and all you've got left is a few bottles of mead and that stamina potion."

"I don't think stamina is going to help right now," she grumbled, "a shirt might be nice though..."

"No, I figured I might need the stamina at this rate," Vilkas shook his head. "I was going to use what was left of your tunic to bind that wound a little better," he added pointedly.

"I see," Kirstrid sighed. At least she could always trust Vilkas to be practical. "Give me one of those meads then," she added grumpily.

Vilkas nodded and dutifully went back to her pack.

"I could give you my shirt if it'll make you more comfortable," he offered as he turned back to her with a bottle of mead.

Kirstrid looked up at him in slight surprise as she accepted the bottle.

"Once we get you bandaged so you don't bleed on it that is," he added dryly.

"You mean the one you're currently wearing that's already covered in blood?" She quipped back.

"No," Vilkas shook his head, "unlike someone else I could name," he smirked, "I actually packed more than one spare, so there's still a clean shirt in my bag."

Kirstrid sighed and uncorked her drink. "That does sound better than the one I got splattered with bandit blood this morning."

Vilkas nodded stoically. "We'll have to keep the fire going and stay close if I'm stuck without a shirt for the night though," he said in an even tone, looking up at Kirstrid with a raised eyebrow that really should not have made her heart jump the way it did.

"I'm certainly not in a position to complain about that," she shrugged, and took a long drink of her mead. If he noticed her blushing she needed something to blame it on.