Extreme Ironing

Fandom: Boondock Saints
Rating: PG13
Notes: Just joined bds_drabble. Sucker for the challenges.
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Temperature. Connor can't feel it, can't breathe it, can't breathe at all. There's temperature in there somewhere. Though through the actual pain he only barely manages to register the pervading stench of his capillaries sealing and his blood sizzling, as he tries to think of vegetarianism and anything but frying flesh.

And he'd thought cleaning and binding and walking on the wound had been excruciating enough.

Pain. Pain. Heat and pain. Heat, pain, pain, heat. Just pain.

Connor can taste the burn in the roof of his mouth surrounding the tea towel. He can see it in the steam, can hear it in the hiss, smell it like it'll never leave him alone in peace with his sinuses intact ever again. The heat doesn't hurt, because he can't feel it, and the pain comes direct from the metal. There's a gentle body behind him, holding him violently, and Connor doubts he'd be sane without it.

The heat doesn't hurt, but every other sense is screaming.