Chapter 3 Slaughter 28 #4
That was the question of the evening. Lam hadn’t killed him, had instead brought him back, sutured him up, and washed him. He was well outside of familiar territory now, and the idea excited him.
What did he want?
He cast a hand toward the bedside drawer. Without even asking, Conan went to it, pulling it open.
“The lubricant,” Lam instructed. He thought about what else was in the drawer, the variety of toys and weapons. Most of them weren’t for partner play, because he never brought anyone here. He mourned that oversight now.
Not that tonight needed to be more complicated.
“And a knife,” Lam said. He’d left the other in the bathroom.
There were a few knives in the drawer, but the idea of letting Conan choose was exciting. He would be the one taking the blade, so he might as well pick which he liked.
He heard the man shuffling around the drawer, and then the soft close of it. Footsteps came back around, stopping in front of Lam.
When he looked up, in one hand was a small bottle of lubricant, and in the other was Lam’s pearl-handled pocket knife. There was both a hunting knife and a butcher knife in the drawer, and Lam almost chuckled at his choice of the smallest.
The shoulder wound must hurt.
Lam took both and set them aside. Then his hands reached for the knot on the towel around Conan’s waist.
“I want…” Lam said thoughtfully as he tugged it loose, baring Conan into him again. “I want you to fuck me how you wanted to under the bridge. And I don’t want you to be gentle.”
Lam’s fingers landed on Conan's hip, then wandered in toward the trail of hair that led down to his cock.
“Is anything off the table?” Conan asked.
Lam smiled, wide and dark, looking up at him. “No life-threatening injuries. You?”
“Exsanguination,” Conan said immediately with a smile.
A laugh startled its way free. “That’s leaving me a lot of room,” Lam said.
“I hope enough to satisfy,” Conan replied, then he shoved at Lam’s shoulder, and Lam fell backwards on the bed.
Standing above him, Conan was an intimidating presence, even nude. The wrapped shoulder only added to the picture he made–strong, rough, but still confident in what he was bringing to Lam’s bed.
He bent and climbed onto the bed and on top of Lam.
“When you were in the shower, all I could think about was getting my fingers inside you, feeling my come there,” Conan said, “But it looked like you gave yourself a thorough washing.”
He was propped up above Lam on two knees and one arm, the bandaged hand feather-light touching Lam’s face, lifting some of his damp hair off his forehead.
“Maybe you should check,” Lam said brazenly. He went to widen his legs, but bumped his knee into Conan’s thigh.
“Maybe I will.”
Then Conan was back on just his knees, lifting one and then the other so that Lam could spread his thighs. He reached for the lubricant on the bed beside them.
Conan didn’t rush, like Lam expected him to. He was slow to click the bottle open, slow to drizzle some onto his fingers. Lam’s heart had been pounding since the bathroom, and it wasn’t slowing. He bit his lip watching the clear fluid drip down Conan’s big, thick fingers.
The man knew exactly what he was doing, and smirked when he caught Lam’s eye again. “I’m sure you can find a safe word somewhere around here if anything’s not to your liking,” Conan said, eyes shifting to the knife.
The acknowledgement made Lam burn.
“I’m sure I can,” Lam said. The anticipation was intoxicating.
Then finally Conan’s wet fingers were moving down between them. Lam wasn’t even sure he was breathing the way his body tensed in desire.
“How should I do this with my shoulder…?” Conan mused to himself. He’d put the lubricant on his hand with the shoulder injury, which Lam thought was interesting. But a moment later Conan grabbed Lam’s leg and lifted it with his good arm, bending him and throwing his leg over Conan’s shoulder.
And Lam understood.
He let out a sound of surprise to be moved so easily.
It was something Lam rarely experienced.
There’d been a few rough encounters in restrooms over the years, and a few more where he’d prearranged sex.
Sometimes he was manhandled there, but it wasn’t like this.
None of those men had known him. Lam had been wearing a mask, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
Someone softer, less ready with a knife in hand.
But Conan had seen the real him. He was wearing one of Lam’s wounds, had taken it and not stopped as he’d fucked into Lam.
He almost shivered just thinking about it again. It was intoxicating how he hadn’t stopped, had just let Lam cut him–
Cold fingers touched his rim, and Lam gasped. He was sore from earlier because Conan hadn’t been gentle, and he relished the thought of the pain another bout would bring him.
“Ready?” Conan asked, but it was clear he wasn’t going to stop now that they were here, now that he had Lam underneath him.
The tip of one finger started to push in, and Lam answered with a moan. It fell out of his mouth and he arched, half bent like he was, wanting more. The finger pushed deeper and deeper inside him, and fuck was he thick. It was just one finger, and yet–
Lam hissed when Conan slid in as deep as he could, and started to pull back.
“You take me so easily,” Conan said as one finger came out and he pushed back in with two. There was a hot burn to it, the soreness and the overstimulation. Lam groaned, loving it.
“I like them big,” Lam said when he was able to suck in enough breath to put words together.
Conan chuckled. “I could guess that about you. You like to dish it, but you also like to take it, don’t you?”
He didn’t know exactly what Conan was referring to, but it didn’t matter because it was true.
“Yes,” he hissed when those fingers pushed back inside him, curling and hitting the bundle of nerves. It was tender too, had taken a beating earlier, and Lam couldn’t wait to have Conan back inside him. This time, it wouldn’t be all under his own steam.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Conan said as he started to move his fingers in and out in a gentle rhythm. “Being able to enjoy yourself. I can’t imagine you get much opportunity in your extracurriculars. Always having to be on guard.”
The next push of his fingers came with a steeper bend to his thigh, and Lam made a whining, needy sound.
He wasn’t particularly flexible, this was straining the muscles of his legs, but even that was working for him.
Lam was painfully hard, his cock dripping where it sat against his belly.
Still, he didn’t tell Conan to hurry up.
He was enjoying letting this unfold, not knowing how the evening was going to end.
“I like calling the shots,” Lam said between gasps of air.
“I know you do,” Conan said. His voice was smooth like honey, and Lam wanted to taste it. “Technically this is still you calling the shots, but it’s different too, isn’t it?”
Lam’s head bobbed in agreement, thrown back when those two fingers became three, became a sharper ache forcing him open. “Ah.”
“Yeah,” Conan said, fucking his fingers in and out, grazing Lam’s prostate on every third or so push. “You don’t have to worry about the outcome, about having to outplay me. You just tell me what you want, and I’m going to give it to you.”
The words were electric fire down his spine. Lam’s hands curled restlessly the sheets, until his hand bumped something cold and hard. It was the handle of his knife. He snatched it.
There was an amused rumble from Conan.
“As a reminder, if you get too overzealous too early, I might not be able to give you what you want. Sticking that into my other shoulder wouldn’t be in your best interest.”
It was the fact that he sounded amused and not worried that got to Lam. His cock twitched again.
“I promise I–ah–have no intention of interfering with your performance.”
Lam’s hand only closed around the pearl handle to give himself something to hold as those fingers started moving faster and faster inside him.
“Good to hear. I don’t want to disappoint…
” Then Conan was leaning down, using his free arm to hold him up as he brought his face closer.
Lam let go of his lip, swallowing hard. Every fuck of those fingers made a heavy roil of pleasure go through him.
He was already close, and they’d barely even started.
Conan’s forehead touched the bed beside Lam, and suddenly a whole swath of bare shoulder was right in front of him. An offering?
“How about instead of the blade, you use your teeth?” Conan said, voice right in Lam’s ear.
The fingers drove back up inside him and Lam gasped. He arched forward and buried his teeth into the muscle between neck and shoulder eagerly.
Conan grunted, fingers curling, torturing his prostate. It only made Lam want to dig his teeth in more.
The normal rules of intimacy shook off between them.
He’d bitten partners before, but they’d been nibbles at best. Nothing with hunger behind it.
Now, he was letting himself go, biting down once, then twice, sucking the skin in his mouth, listening to the way Conan’s breath caught at the pain of it.
The fingers inside him drove relentlessly, painful and punishing in return. Conan didn’t pull back. Didn’t try to stop Lam.
It was so fucking hot.
Lam’s teeth did finally let go, and Conan pushed up just enough for their eyes to meet. Lam looked at him, then his gaze drifted to the marks he’d made. They were red, and enough of a bite that he’d need to tend to it later. He felt his body clench on the knowledge.
So rarely did he get to leave a mark on a body that kept breathing.
He watched Conan’s eyes rove across his face, landing on his mouth. Undoubtedly his lips were red from how he’d been biting them.
“Can I kiss you?” Conan’s voice had gone rough, that honeyed tone replaced by something that had been dragged across the pavement.
Lam almost said yes. He wanted it, had already thought about it a few times tonight.