Conan didn’t linger, but the brush of the terrycloth was still enough to make him throb. Then Conan dropped to his knees, picking up one of Lam’s legs to dry it, then the other. He did it easily, like they’d been here a dozen times before.
Had he done this before with other men?
A shot of jealousy went through him, and Lam forcefully shoved it aside. His teeth clattered together, wanting.
“We should take this to the bedroom,” Lam said, taking the towel from Conan’s hands to rub it over his hair. It would make his hair a mess later, but he was anticipating them needing another shower later anyway.
Conan got back to his feet slowly. “Lead the way.”
They’d made a brief passage through Lam’s room on the way to the bathroom, but the lights had been off. Now he led them back to it, flicking the switch on as he went. This late, the lights were programmed to come on low and soft. He rubbed his hair with a towel once more before dropping it by the edge of the bed, in case he needed to use it later.
Conan came in behind him, and Lam felt his thoughtful observation of the room.
“I knew you were into books,” Conan said.
“They’re a good companion,” Lam said as he turned and sat himself on the bed, nude. He’d never been particularly shy about his body, and felt no need for it now. He leaned back on one hand, watching Conan take in the surroundings.
His bedroom was black and white, simple and easy to keep tidy. The wall across from the bed where most people would keep the TV was a long floor to ceiling bookcase stuffed to the brim. He was thinking about sizing up the next time he moved.
“But not so good as a lover,” Conan said as he turned away from the books back to Lam. His gaze roved over him, heavy.
“No,” Lam admitted.
Conan stepped closer to the bed. “What do you want?”
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.
Whatdidhe 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.
