I chuck my pants and underwear while Alastair rummages through drawers to find soap and shampoo. As I enter the narrow shower stall—my butt and cock almost touching the walls—I swear he glanced at me over his shoulder.
Checking out the goods?I almost joke, but I’m afraid it’ll just make things awkward. I’m not really a funny guy, and only Perri finds me hilarious.
I turn the water on, and groan as the warm spray hits my head and shoulders. I close my eyes for a heartbeat, enjoying the luxury of a hot shower in the wastelands, then do mybest to wash quickly—it feels decadent to be wasting water on something as trivial as getting cleaned up.
When I step out of the narrow stall, steam billowing in the small space, Alastair waits for me with a towel. I stare, at a loss for words. He wasn’t joking when he said he was going to take care of me, and his commitment to the task is disarming.
“Thank you,” I mumble as I dry off and tie the towel around my waist. It barely covers me.
“Sit at the edge of the bed,” he says. “I’ll clean your wound and stitch it up before you’re covered in blood again.”
“I can do it.”
“On your shoulder? I don’t think so.”
I sigh and sit on the bed obediently. What the hell is happening right now?
Alastair pulls out a first-aid kit from another drawer, and to my astonishment, he nudges my legs open with his knees to stand between them. My face warms considerably as he uses antiseptic and gauze to clean my wound.
Too close, I think, holding my breath.
“It’ll hurt a little,” he says, his breath tickling my collarbone. “I need to flush it. The blade was probably filthy.”
I stare at the ceiling. “I don’t mind. I’ve survived worse.”
“I don’t doubt it. Tell me about Perri.”
He’s hoping to distract me from the upcoming pain. There’s no need really, but I appreciate the effort.
“You know him,” I say.
“Do I? We’ve only been spending time together in recent weeks. I’ve learned more about you two in the last four days than in all the years you’ve been living at the Traveling Market.”
He inserts a large syringe, which I think contains sterile saline water, into my stab wound and starts flushing. I’m happy I’m not already wearing clean clothes as the water and blood drip all over my chest, ruining the towel around my waist.
“What do you want to know, then?” I ask, still looking up. His face is dangerously close to mine, and I’d rather not meet his gaze.
“Do you always share lovers?”
I can’t help it; for a heartbeat, I lower my eyes to look at him. Luckily, he’s focused on cleaning my wound. I barely register the throb in my shoulder, his distraction is successful.
“Not always,” I say. “Our tastes differ greatly, but we often share him—Perri—even if we don’t touch each other. Perri wants to make sure his new lover understands we’re a package—and he likes the dual attention, really—and I want to make sure his new man treats him right.”
“And what happens if his new lover doesn’t treat him right? You throw him over a bridge?”
A smile pulls at my lips. “Among other things.”
“Have you killed for him?”
This time when I look down, he’s watching me. “Of course. Plenty of times. I’d burn the world to the ground for him.”
Alastair hums. “Must be nice to be the object of your devotion. I envy him.”
Wh—what?
I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut and stare diligently at the ceiling of the camper.
“I’ll start stitching now, so stay still.” His fingers are deft and gentle as he pushes the wound closed, then I feel the sharp pain of the needle and thread piercing my skin. “So how come you’ve never shared Perri with me?”
