The priest had been doing so well, before he had to speak.  His movement wasn't jerky, but it was so different compared to the way he'd just laid before, Arthur couldn't help but pause.  He watched his face, his hand not holding the needle meeting Malachi's where it rested on his leg.  His thumb pressed into the muscle and meat, massaging it in small circles.

"Malachi, look at me," he said, his voice not leaving room for argument.  "I'm nearly done.  Just stay still until then, and then I'll bandage you up and you'll be good as new.  But you have to have to behave, and watch me."

Arthur took Malachi's hand and massaged the palm of it as he returned it beside the other, against pillows and cushions and black curls.

"I'm nearly done," he said again, "and if it gets to be too much, tell me."

Quicker than before, but no less carefully, Arthur continued stitching.  This time, he glanced up every so often to make sure Malachi hadn't let his eyes wander.  He still managed to finish faster than he planned, tying the last suture with ease and retrieving a small glass jar, fresh gauze, and adhesive tape.

"This salve is going to keep your wound clean," he explained, scooping come onto his finger and rubbing it gently into the sewn up skin.  "It will also help it heal nicely, so I'm not going to apply it again after this, but I don't want you suffering more than necessary."

Next, Arthur spread bandages over the sticky skin and taped it down, explaining the process of that too in the same even, calm voice.  Only when he was done did he put his things back in the basket and put his hands on Malachi's thighs again.

"Well?  How are we feeling, beautiful?"