Ghosts of Averoigne

Oh, don’t be like that, the little voice in her head admonished her.

Melody smirked at herself, feeling stupid.

He just saved your life!

She finished brushing him off, this time not worrying about being handsy. It took a little bit, but she got him clean. She also got extremely familiar with Eric’s ass, which she decided was very firm, and very nice.

“There. All done.”

He smiled again and sat down on a very thin, very uncomfortable-looking colonial bed. The room she’d been given was decorated nicely, with pretty finishes, but the bedding could sure use some work.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.

Eric pointed to a large porcelain pot, curved upwards and decorated with flowers, at the foot of the bed. “You’re looking at it.”

“Ugh! Really?”

He laughed. “That’s your chamberpot,” he said. “And your sink is right over there.”

He pointed again, and Melody saw a large ceramic basin of cool water next to a threadbare towel. She sniffed it, determined it was clean, then splashed some of the water on her face and hands. When she looked in the mirror again she was almost presentable.

“You want to clean up too?”

Eric rose, and she shifted to one side. He used the basin to wash his face, then his hands, just as she did. He even slicked back the front of his hair.

“Look at that,” he said when he was finished. “We’ve known each other less than an hour and we’re already showering together.”

He laughed as Melody smirked back at him. When he laughed again, she resisted the urge to stick her tongue out.

He really is cute you know…

Just then she noticed a bright red streak forking its way down the length of his forearm. She jumped forward in alarm.

“You cut yourself!”

Eric held up the back of his arm and looked at it in the mirror. “Ah, that’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“From the dogs?”

“The axe actually,” he said. “I got a little rambunctious with my swing and—”

“Let me see it.”

She took his arm without asking, and he stood still for her. The cut wasn’t long, but it was fairly deep. If they weren’t stuck at some 18th century mansion it would probably require going out for stitches.

“I could butterfly it,” she said. “If I had a needle, and some thread…”

Melody began looking around, but to no avail. The closest thing she found to useful was a faded old pillowcase in one of the drawers. She tore a long strip of cloth from the end of it with a much-too-loud rending sound.

“Ohhh! You’re gonna get in trouble,” he teased.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she quipped. “Now get over here.”

He did, and she began to bandage him. There was barely enough material to cover the wound.

“Hmm. You’re good at this.”

“I grew up with three brothers,” she explained. “They climbed a lot of trees.”