Chapter 2 Two 14 #3
Conan had been getting the vibe that this was either a hobby or a profession for Lam, and it was nice to have confirmation. He almost asked how many other men Lam had treated to this experience. Conan was the most interesting in a while, but was that of a pool of five, or five hundred?
And what had Lam meant by ‘before we’re finished’? Conan’s body was starting to have certain ideas from the way Lam was straddling him, looking down at him with a dark hunger, but Conan didn’t want to get ahead of himself.
“I’ve never had any complaints,” Conan said. “But I’m guessing you’ll be expecting me to perform without my hands?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Lam purred, with the soft roll of his hips.
Okay, Conan was definitely on the right track.
“Think you can manage?” Lam asked.
Conan licked his lips. “I’ll be good to you, scouts honor.”
Lam hummed dubiously. “Men stalking me home in the dark don’t generally have much honor to swear by.”
“I wasn’t–” Lam pinned him with a sharp look. Something in it made Conan pause. Lam didn’t seem like the type to try bullshit on. “Alright, the truth then?”
Lam’s brow went up. “If you can manage it.”
“The scarf was a bartering chip,” Conan confessed, “but my intentions in following you had more to do with your bed and shower than anything… else.”
He knew what Lam assumed he’d followed him for. Because most men skulking around in the dark weren’t doing so with much honor at all.
Lam’s lips did a curious pursing, and Conan wanted to bite them.
“My bed and shower?” Lam asked.
If he wanted this to keep going in a direction that could get him into said bed and shower, it seemed honestly was the path.
“Supposed to have the first snow tonight,” Conan said, “and sleeping in your car without heat sucks.”
That got Lam’s attention. “You’re homeless.”
“I’m in between things right now,” Conan said gruffly. He didn’t care for pity. Didn’t want it. The way he lived was fine for him, most of the time.
Lam nodded, but didn’t soften, and Conan appreciated that. “Should’ve asked me in the bar,” Lam said.
“Was going to, but I came out of the bathroom and you were gone.”
Lam nodded. “Spent too much time trying to talk to Junior,” Lam’s distaste was clear. “He looked… fun.”
Conan made a face. “Spent the whole time telling me about some office feud he was in with a sixty year old coworker over vaping.”
Lam wrinkled his nose, it was adorable. “Ew.”
Conan snorted, “You’re telling me.”
The knife came back to his skin, sliding along his jawline like a caress. “So what you’re saying is that your evening has improved?” Lam asked.
“Considerably,” Conan said, and it was the truth.
Lam’s lips quirked. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with then. Don’t move.”
The knife lifted off of Conan, but Lam’s eyes were bright and watchful. Obediently, Conan didn’t move. A hand reached down for the tired leather of his belt, making quick work of undoing it and then the button on his jeans.
“I’m all yours,” Conan said, lifting his hips helpfully when Lam unzipped him and started to tug the jeans down. He worked quickly, practiced, and in short order Conan’s jeans and boxers were off enough to free his cock.
He hissed as the cold air brushed over his burning skin. He was more than half hard now.
“Don’t underestimate me,” Lam said, knife in one hand as a warning as he pushed up onto his knees to reach for his own pants. They were loose slacks, dark and expensive looking.
“If I do, feel free to correct me,” Conan said with a look to the blade.
The edges of Lam’s mouth curled. “It’s sharper than it looks.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Conan said. He’d barely felt it the two times the blade had broken his skin. “You look like a man who takes care of his things.”
Lam undid the fastens on his slacks one-handed. “I am.”
His gaze slid down to take in Conan’s cock that was lying now against his belly. He was proportionate to the rest of him, but he hoped it was impressive enough for this man. He hoped that at least for tonight he might wriggle his way into being one of Lam’s things.
It wasn’t usually the role Conan played, but in this single instance he was willing to make an exception. He’d never met anyone like Lam, and he was aching to see where this might go.
When Lam had gotten his pants down enough, he shuffled up for positioning. His cock sprang free, and it was pretty like the rest of him, slender with a slight left curve. He was cut and manicured, the hair at the base trimmed.
Conan swallowed around his own hunger. He’d let Lam have his way this time, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there’d be a next time. An opportunity to have Lam in a warm bed where he got to push the man down and make him take it.
Lam lowered himself, hand reaching back for Conan’s cock to bring it to his hole.
Fuck, he wasn’t wasting any time. The tip touched and he was wet. Already ready.
The Honeytrap.
The name of the bar came back to Conan suddenly. It was too neat to be a coincidence. He looked up at Lam who was focused, playing with Conan’s cock against his hole.
“How many men have you taken from Honeytrap?” Conan asked.
Lam’s eyes crinkled at the corners like he was pleased Conan had asked. “You’re only the second this year.”
“Just from Honeytrap, or in total?” Conan asked.
“In total,” Lam said, and he sounded bitter about it. “Unfortunately, too many missing men from one area raises alarm bells.”
Conan knew a little something about that. He’d had to take care of a couple guys over the years. It was usually best to move on after that, before anyone came sniffing around.
But when Conan took care of guys, it was more out of necessity than thrill. He’d never felt bad about it, never even thought much about it, but now he wondered if Lam would be disappointed to learn they’d both been responsible for a few bodies, but he’d never taken much pleasure in it.
Because he was guessing Lam did.
“Ah.” Conan said through a rough breath, trying not to get sidetracked by Lam’s thumb that was now teasing around his glands. “Did the other man get the joke?”
His thumb pressed right underneath the head where Conan was most sensitive, and he let out a sharp breath.
“You know,” Lam said thoughtfully, “I don’t think he did. He was dull, didn’t get a lot out of him.”
“You like to talk,” Conan said.
“I like to enjoy,” Lam corrected. “I enjoy when they stalk me thinking they can rape or murder me, and the second the tables turn, when I get a knife to their throat, they don’t know what to do.”
“It’s not every day you get a knife to your throat,” Conan said. He’d had more opportunities than most, but it was still rare.
“You reap what you sow,” Lam said. “If they didn’t want a violent encounter, they shouldn’t have come out for a violent encounter.”
Conan chuckled, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not excusing them. I think that’s some karmic fucking justice. But I sure as hell didn’t know what to do when you put the knife to my throat.”
Lam’s eyes looked him up and down slowly. “Looks like you’re doing okay now.”
Fuck, the way those words shivered down his spine.
Then, without warning, Lam began to drop his hips down. Conan’s cock slipped inside that tight, wet heat easily, and Conan groaned. It was so cold out, but inside Lam was burning.
“Oh,” Lam said as he slid down and down until he was fully seated on Conan’s lap. “Oh, that’s–ah. A lot.”
Conan groaned again, head thrown back. He realized his fists had curled only when the blade pushed meaningfully against his neck.
“Little hard not to move–when you–when you’re taking my cock like you were made for it,” Conan gritted out.
It was Lam’s turn to laugh. This one was different, higher and tinkling like bells. It sounded like a real laugh.
That hit Conan hard in the gut, and his cock twitched where it was buried inside Lam. He wanted to do it again, amuse him, please him.
Conan had flirted his way into a lot of beds, but most of the sex there had been perfunctory. They were all a blur of men under his hands, just enough to get him off, but nothing like this. His blood didn’t sing in his veins like it was now.
They’d barely started, but Conan was breathless, thrilled. This felt revelatory. Dangerous. He wanted to lean into the blade of the knife, let it cut him again just because it might please Lam.
He’d never been with anyone like this. Most of the men he slept with were shy and sweet in bed. A few had liked to fight and struggle, but none of them had had skill enough to actually harm him. None of them had ever slipped a knife out of their pocket and made demands of him.
But fuck was it doing it for him.
Even the idea that Lam might still slit Conan’s throat didn’t deter him. If anything, it tightened the coil of arousal in his belly. The threat of the unknown, the unpredictable nature of this man on top of him was making him burn.
Shit.
“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” Lam asked. He hadn’t moved, but when Conan opened his eyes again, he knew he’d been watching. Enjoying? He didn’t look bored.
“I’m good, baby,” Conan smiled and he knew it was sharp, hungry. It was difficult not to move his arms, not to reach and grab that slim waist and fuck Lam down on his cock.
But that wasn’t what was on the menu right now. And to be honest, Conan was intrigued by that. He wanted to know how it went when he wasn’t in the driver’s seat.
“You gonna ride me now?” He asked.
Lam hummed and then did just that, pushing up for the first time and then slowly dropping back down. The biting cold added something, as did the hard cobblestones against his back. Conan hissed as Lam took him all again, all the way to the hilt.
Lam started up a slow, grinding rhythm. “I’m going to enjoy you, and then decide what I should do with you after.”
That was ominous. Conan shivered as another ricochet of pleasure hit him.