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Prompt 3. Impaled
Jumping off of that old roof was a bad idea, Pete thinks, feeling his face scrunch up right before he yelps.
Vegas is next to him in a heartbeat and he looks at him worriedly.
“What’s wrong? What hurts?”
“I… I jumped on a… look.” Pete says, pointing at his foot.
Vegas looks and feels the world spin away from under his feet.
Somehow, Pete managed to jump on a piece of wood that has a construction bolt - a rusty one - sticking out. It went clean through Pete’s flip-flop and foot.
“Does it hurt badly?” Vegas asks. “Why did you get on that roof anyway? You’re not a goat.”
“I used to climb up there all the time as a child. I wanted to show you. It used to be fun.”
“You don’t have to show off for me, Pete. I’m grateful you took me to your home village and showed me around. Your ayi will be worried sick.”
“Well, I’m walking to the dispensary first. The nurses can patch me up. Then we go home - in time for dinner.”
Vegas sighs. He has his work cut out for him, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Sit down. Preferably not on any further sharp objects.” He instructs, watching Pete sit onto the flattened, dry grass. “This is going to hurt a bit.” Vegas says, wrapping a gentle hand around Pete’s ankle and pulling the piece of wood with the bolt in it away from Pete’s foot.
He did it as quickly as he could, but it still hurts. Pete still cries and Vegas throws the wood to the side before kneeling next to Pete to hug and comfort him.
“Can you walk to the car?”
“I think so. Just… just take my hand.” Pete says and gets up, gingerly setting his injured foot down, stepping on the front part, with the heel off the ground. He can’t help the grimace caused by the pain that shoots up his spine instantly.
“That’s not going to work.” Vegas says, bending a bit and picking Pete up in a fireman’s hold.
Pete yelps when he sees himself flung over Vegas’ shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“You can’t carry me all the way into the village!”
“Watch me.” Vegas says.
It’s not a piece of cake. Pete is almost as heavy as he is, but Vegas does lift on the regular and more than getting to show off, he loves that he gets to help his boyfriend.
Pete gets chided three times that day. Once by Vegas, when he hurts himself; a second time by the nurse, who is manhandling him and giving him the anti-tetanus shot in his butt, with a very heavy hand; a third and last time by his grandma, who scruffs him and tells him he is a grown man and he should know better.
Pete sulks in his chair on the back porch after dinner, watching enviously as Grandma and Macau teach Vegas the whip nae nae dance.
Later, before bed, Vegas helps him shower - this part is nice, and Vegas seems to be done with being upset with him. His hands feel solid and comforting sliding on his soapy skin, leaving no crease and fold untouched.The day’s pain and stress slide right out and off of Pete, coaxed by Vegas’ persistent hands.
And right before settling for sleep, Vegas redresses Pete’s foot, kissing the ankle once he is done.
“I’m sorry I got mad at you,” he says in the dark. “I was just so scared it was that much worse.”
“I’m not made of sugar, Vegas.” Pete protests. He’s tougher than he looks, and many have paid dearly for overlooking that.
“Really? I could have sworn you were.” Vegas counters, playfully biting on the part of Pete’s shoulder peeking out from the stretched collar of his huge sleep shirt.
“Oh please… no. Not on grandma’s fresh crisp sheets." Pete pleads, smiling, draping his injured leg across Vegas' thighs.