He said it like it was the highest form of praise.Interesting. Conan had never wanted to be anything so badly.
On the next drop, he made a gamble. He pushed up with just his hips, meeting Lam halfway, driving his cock that much deeper. It was a hiccup of sound, a gasp, and for a second the blade left Conan’s throat.
He was distracted for only a heartbeat, then Lam’s eyes refocused, pinning him down.
“Wouldn’t want you to have to do all of the work,” Conan said. Then he dropped his hips as Lam moved up again.
The rhythm moved from something slick and seductive to a clashing. To a molten teetering of knifepoint. Lam didn’t stick the knife in him, but Conan could taste it in the air. He almost wanted to push, to get him to lash out just to see what Lam would do.
But he didn’t want to bedisappointing.
Conan was breathing hard now, his jaw clenched to hold himself back. His body was singing with the need to come, his fists curled and uncurled where they laid against the stone.
“Fuck, you’re–you’re something else–” Conan grit.
Conan had kissed nearly all of the men he’d taken to bed, had wooed them to softness and then fucked them to exhaustion, but he’d never felt an ache like this. When Lam leaned forward, his hand slipping from Conan’s chest to the stone beside his head, the breath in his lungs caught. For a second he thought Lam might kiss him.
Wanted Lam to kiss him. Bite him. Destroy him.
But Lam just looked at him. His eyes roved his face like a fine toothed comb, looking for… what?
“I almost believe you,” Lam said. His voice was breathy now, softer.
What would he sound like when he came? Conan’s jaw ached from how tight it was.
“Believe me?” It was getting difficult to stay with the conversation.
“That you’re enjoying this.”
Conan panted, his throat dry. “May god strike me down if he finds me a liar.”
Lam’s lips parted, hot breath tickled over Conan’s face. “Am I God now?” He asked, his eyes crinkled with amusement. Conan felt his heart trip.
“The nearest thing I’ve–I’ve ever seen,” The words came out too quick, too rough. He was trying to keep it together as they moved relentlessly against each other. Lam was hot and tight around him, and every other thrust had soft little sounds falling out of his mouth. Conan wanted to eat them, wanted to swallow this man whole.
And wanted to be consumed in return.
“You're close,” Lam said. Conan gasped in acknowledgment. “Don’t come yet. I’m not finished with you.”
“Fuck,”Conan cursed. “Hard not to when you say shit like that.”
The knife slid up away from Conan’s throat and landed against the plane of his cheek. The desire in it was palpable.
“You can,” Conan said through pants, hips still moving, driving over and over into Lam as he fought against the burning, tumbling need to come. “If you want–”
Lam made a sound of deep predatorial desire. Conan’s muscles clenched trying to keep himself from coming.
“You want it…?” Lam asked. The question was filled to the brim with lust.
“Do it,” Conan demanded. He suddenly needed to see it, see what Lam would do. How much he would enjoy it.
“This is not a strike,” Lam mumbled, so low the words weren’t even for Conan. The knife dipped into the apple of his cheek and made a quick flick down to the edge of his jaw.
The blade was so sharp that he didn’t even feel it. He watched Lam’s blown out eyes as he made the cut, like it was something holy. He licked his lips and Conan didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so erotic in his whole life.
Pain bloomed and hot, wet blood welled from the cut. Lam moaned and tightened around Conan’s cock, movement gone frantic. He looked possessed.
It was excruciating not to move his hands to respond to all that naked lust. Conan wanted to reach for it, take it in hand. Show Lam what else he could do.
