Fanfiction 100: #011. Red.
Fic Number: #011.
Prompt: Red.
Author: pvtwitt
Rating: General
Length: 195 words
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: N/A
Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest are (unfortunately) not mine. This is just for entertainment.
Over the years, he’d gotten used to the sight of blood, even his own. It didn’t rattle him much anymore. But Harold had a hard time with it. He was newer at this, still got queasy, so John tried to clean himself up a little before he met with the other man. Leaning over the sink in one of the empty library restrooms, he scrubbed at the marks around his wrists, wincing a little at the sting of pain.
“Rope or handcuffs this time?”
John jumped. He hadn’t heard Harold approach.
“Zip tie,” he answered.
Harold nodded, set a first aid kit on the edge of the sink, opened it and removed antiseptic cream and bandages.
John reached for a paper towel, but Harold stopped him and handed him a soft cloth instead.
“Blot, don’t rub,” he instructed.
John smirked. “Haven’t been told that before.”
Harold rolled his eyes, took John’s hands and began wrapping his wrists in gauze. A thin line of blood oozed from one of the deeper cuts, and John tensed, wondering how Harold would handle it.
The older man paused, adjusted his glasses, squared his shoulders and wiped the blood away.
Prompt: Red.
Author: pvtwitt
Rating: General
Length: 195 words
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: N/A
Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest are (unfortunately) not mine. This is just for entertainment.
Over the years, he’d gotten used to the sight of blood, even his own. It didn’t rattle him much anymore. But Harold had a hard time with it. He was newer at this, still got queasy, so John tried to clean himself up a little before he met with the other man. Leaning over the sink in one of the empty library restrooms, he scrubbed at the marks around his wrists, wincing a little at the sting of pain.
“Rope or handcuffs this time?”
John jumped. He hadn’t heard Harold approach.
“Zip tie,” he answered.
Harold nodded, set a first aid kit on the edge of the sink, opened it and removed antiseptic cream and bandages.
John reached for a paper towel, but Harold stopped him and handed him a soft cloth instead.
“Blot, don’t rub,” he instructed.
John smirked. “Haven’t been told that before.”
Harold rolled his eyes, took John’s hands and began wrapping his wrists in gauze. A thin line of blood oozed from one of the deeper cuts, and John tensed, wondering how Harold would handle it.
The older man paused, adjusted his glasses, squared his shoulders and wiped the blood away.