Chapter 3 Slaughter 28 #2
“Is this foreplay?” Conan said, eyes dark as he stepped past Lam and into the house.
Lam shut the door behind them and locked it.
He wasn’t quite sure himself.
***
“Sit,” Lam said when they got to the bathroom, gesturing at the toilet. He’d considered leading Conan to the second bathroom, but his first aid supplies were in his personal bathroom, so here they were.
The man did and Lam stepped closer, letting go of his knife to begin to untie the scarf. It was wet with blood, so he definitely needed stitches.
“Take off your jacket and shirt,” Lam said, taking the scarf and dumping it in the bathroom trash.
Slowly, Conan stripped the jacket and then the shirt, being gentle around the wound where the fabric stuck. Lam didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t looking. This was his first chance to study Conan in a well-lit area.
Conan was just as handsome as he’d been under the bridge, broad and thick, with salt-and-pepper hair and stubble and–when the shirt finally came free–an attractive spattering of chest hair.
He was fit in the way that men who worked with their bodies for a living were, and there was a tan line where his shirt usually sat. He’d spent time working out in the sun.
There was a lot of living on his body. Scars new and old decorated his arms, chest, and up to his neck. At least one was a bullet wound. Older, by the look of it.
Lam’s eyes gravitated toward the fresh wound in his shoulder, the mess of blood.
He’d slashed mostly the front and around to the side, about four inches long.
Saliva gathered in his mouth and he swallowed it down.
It was still bleeding sluggishly, but the older blood was dark and crusting around the edges where it had been flattened and soaked into the clothing.
“Like what you see?” Conan asked as he dropped his ruined clothing on top of the scarf.
“How’s the pain?” Lam said instead of answering. From his coat pocket he pulled out his knife and set it down on the counter on his left side, furthest away from Conan. He was beginning to believe he might not need it for defense, but he also wasn’t in the habit of being stupid.
“A bit more than a bee sting,” Conan said.
Lam knelt and retrieved the first aid kit from under his bathroom sink, hiding a smile.
He set the kit on the counter and rifled through it, finding the antiseptic and his suture kit.
Lam eyed the lidocaine, but didn’t pluck it out.
His eyes flickered up and met Conan’s, who was watching him closely.
“So you don’t need pain management?” Lam asked. He didn’t mean the words to come out as smooth as they did, but hunger was swelling up inside him now. Blood always did it to him.
Conan’s eyes went from the kit to Lam. “No,” he said slowly.
The edges of Lam’s mouth curled. “Good boy.”
The words slipped out, unintentional. But he didn’t miss the way Conan’s gaze sharpened.
Lam dragged his eyes away before he got further distracted, bending down under the sink to get one of the washcloths.
Most of his house fabrics were dark because bloodstains were a pain to get out.
He ran the cloth under the tap and then walked back over to Conan.
The man widened his legs and Lam stepped closer, between them.
“Following directions is one of your things,” Conan observed.
Lam looked down at him, at the bloody shoulder. “I haven’t given any directions.”
“Haven’t you?”
Lam felt a shiver down his spine, and his hand tightened on the cloth.
“Let me…” Lam said, bringing the cloth closer to the wound.
“I’m all yours,” Conan said, and angled the arm closer.
Lam licked his lips. He felt bewitched, except Conan wasn’t doing anything. He was just sitting there obediently, waiting for Lam to take care of him.
So maybe he had given him directions.
Lam started on the outside of the wound, working the dried blood free. Conan did his best not to react, but as Lam got to the cut itself, his muscles tensed. Lam saw the muscle in his jaw jump and heard him make a low grunt.
His own heart thudded harder in response. Arousal poured through his veins.
It was a bit of a messy cut, he’d acted on instinct to the perceived threat, hand moving before he could stop himself. It thankfully looked fairly shallow though. He hadn’t put a lot of force into it and had pulled back when he’d realized Conan wasn’t going for the kill.
He was glad it wasn’t worse. Conan would still be able to use the arm tonight if he was careful. It would hurt, but...
When Lam had mopped most of the blood off with the cloth, he set it aside and reached for the antiseptic and gauze.
“This is going to hurt,” he said, eyes on Conan’s face as he tilted the bottle to douse the area.
“Fuck,” Conan grit loudly through his teeth when the burn hit. His hands that had been resting neatly on his lap curled into fists.
Prickling pleasure went down Lam’s spine, settling between his legs. His free hand laid gently around the cut, and then stretched it open further to douse it with more antiseptic.
Conan’s whole body jolted, “Fucking, fuck that hurts.”
Lam held in his own groan, eyes roving Conan’s face to take in every detail of his pain. He looked fucking good suffering for Lam.
His cock was hard again.
“At least someone’s enjoying this,” Conan said when he opened his eyes and noticed. There was sweat on his hairline, fresh blood dribbling from the wound. Lam’s breath caught in his throat.
“You’re–you’re being very good,” Lam said approvingly. His voice sounded rougher even to his own ears. He let go of the wound and set the antiseptic on the counter. With gauze he mopped up the mess. “It’s not very deep though, so some stitches and you’ll be fine.”
“Lot of practice suturing?” Conan asked.
“I took a course, actually,” Lam said, pulling on a pair of sterile surgical gloves.
He retrieved the needle and forceps along with a packet of nylon. The needle and forceps got a sterilization and then Lam reached for another of the washcloths.
“Here, for your teeth.”
The man eyed him and then took it, shoving it into his mouth. Lam had only done suturing without pain management on himself once, and it’d been tough to handle. Best not to add to Conan’s injuries just yet.
Lam made quick work of threading the needle retaking his spot between Conan’s legs.
“I’m starting now,” he warned. Conan grunted behind the towel.
To Conan’s credit, he held still for the entire procedure. The pain was obvious in the way his body was tensing, the sweat on his brow. When Lam looked, his fists were tightly coiled, the knuckles white.
Lam kept going, making neat stitches down the length of the cut.
The most difficult part of it was Lam’s own distraction, the pulsing thrill every time Conan couldn’t help his sound of pain.
It was better even than using his knife.
Intimate to be here in his own bathroom, between this man’s legs as he sewed him up.
Intimate the way Conan had agreed to it, had forgone the lidocaine because he thought it would please Lam.
This was definitely foreplay.
When Lam was finished with the stitches, he tied it off, snipped the nylon, and started to put everything away. He sterilized his tools first, returned them to the kit, and then grabbed a new pack of gauze to wipe off the fresh blood.
“Almost done,” Lam said, giving the whole area another dousing of the antiseptic. Conan made a loud, punched out sound into the rag.
Then Lam covered the whole area in bandage strips and wrapped it in gauze. He’d need the support and coverage for whatever came next.
At that point Conan spit the cloth out of his mouth. He was pale and shaky, and Lam had to hold himself back from wrenching his head up and kissing him.
But the lust must have broadcast loudly across his face.
“Enjoy that, did you?” Conan asked.
Lam licked his lips. “You were perfect.”
Conan’s eyes dropped closed a moment and he sucked in a breath. Like just Lam’s words were a balm for what he’d gone through.
“So… what now?” Conan asked.
Lam took a deep breath himself, trying to pull himself out of the magnetic spiral. They were going to get all that, but first…
“You wanted a shower, didn’t you?”
That got Conan’s interest. “You shower’s got room for two?”
A tempting offer, but Lam couldn’t. “I don’t think we're there yet,” Lam said. He unfolded a sheet of plastic from the first aid kit, “I’m going to tape some plastic, so you can shower,” He said, gesturing to the wound.
“Pity,” Conan said, referring to the first part, but he was smiling now.
His recovery made Lam want to grab at his shoulder and squeeze the fresh sutures just to see him wince again.
Not as punishment, but to see if he would take it.
If he’d let Lam hurt him again, before making another quipping, flirtatious remark.
It was doing something to Lam.
He resisted further violence, taping the plastic around the shoulder neatly. If he gave in they might never get out of this bathroom, and Lam was looking forward to seeing what Conan could do in a bed.
“Shower ready.” Lam declared. He closed the kit and strode across the room to the shower.
It was a large, glass-doored space, big enough for two or three, but he and Conan were still on new ground. Lam didn’t think being in a slippery, weapon-less space would serve him. Being close to Conan was also now giving him a dizzying desire to hurt him more. To see if he’d let Lam.
Best to wait until the bedroom.
Lam opened the shower door and turned the water on, adjusting its warmth, eyeing his own shaving razor on the wall. Conan could use a shave, but did he trust the man with a razor? Maybe Lam could–
He was ripped from the thought by movement. It happened quickly, so quickly that Lam only had time to turn before he was slammed into the wall.
Conan had moved from the toilet to the counter, grabbed the knife, and in heartbeats had it at Lam’s throat.
Lam froze, eyes wide.
Fuck, he’d been so stupid. So reckless–