“You’re just–you’re just big,” Lam said through gasping breaths. It was hard to breathe with his face pressed down, but even that was good.
“Is itenough?”Conan accented the last word with the heavy fuck of his hips. He’d just started, but already his cock was brutalizing Lam. He was sore and swollen, and every fuck made his nerves jangle, his muscles tense.
“Y-yes,” Lam sighed, his words muffled in the sheets.
A moment later the hand in his hair was pulling him up, yanking hard to drag his face from the sheets, to arch his body more precariously.
“What was that?” Conan demanded.
Lam swore, and his legs trembled. He was close, so close.“Yes,”He moaned.
“You fucking love this,” Conan said with a hard edge. Then that hand was shoving Lam’s face back down, hips starting a punishing fuck.
Lam’s hands curled in the sheets and around the knife handle, trying to hold on. His thumb found the blade tab and flicked it out, and when Conan got the perfect angle, Lam drove the blade into the sheets, and into his mattress.
He did so with the same desire he had to drive it into Conan. But he couldn’t–wouldn’t. This was something better than a temporary thrill, and if he killed Conan he couldn’t have it anymore.
Conan snarled, bending over him, hips thrusting savagely now. He was a force, a beast, and from where Lam was, he couldn’t stop it.
It was that thought more than anything that tripped him over the edge. Lam keened as he started to come, dragging the knife to shred roughly through his sheets, moaning hot and half suffocated into the bedding.
And Conan didn’t stop. There was another growl, and the continued heavy, relentless drive of his hips, as Lam spilled all over the sheets. His head was filled with sparkling nothingness as the pulses of pleasure went through him. It was a high almost as good as driving his knife in.
It was only when Lam finished, when his body started to sag that Conan pulled out. He turned Lam back over just as easily, and Lam collapsed on his back in the sticky mess, breathing hard.
It took him a moment to blink his eyes open. When he was able to focus, Conan was again standing above him at the edge of the bed.
The first thing that caught Lam’s eye was the red bleeding through gauze on his shoulder. He’d definitely ruined at least a stitch or two.
Vicious desire reared back up. It was devastating how willing he was to be hurt for Lam’s pleasure.
Then he looked to Conan’s cock that was still hard, jutting straight out, cherry red and wet. They weren’t finished.
“How’re we doin’, sweetheart?” Conan asked with a slow drawl. He looked like the cat that had gotten the canary, and crushed it in his maw.
For once, it was a look Lam was appreciating on another man. He still had his knife in hand, but he felt no real need to drive it into Conan’s chest.
“You sure know what to do with that,” Lam said. His voice was raspy.
Conan’s smile only widened. “Ready for more?”
He’d never been more ready for anything.
“Yes.”
Conan reached for the knife. At least, Lam thought at first. Then his hand was curling around Lam’s own, tightening his hold on the pearl handle, pulling the blade out of the shredded sheets.
Conan got back on the bed, straddling Lam. He guided their joined hands and brought the tip of the blade to his own thigh.
Lam’s heartbeat skittered. The arousal he’d just satiated came rushing back so fast he was dizzy.
Their eyes met in a tense, heated moment.
“Do it,” Conan said.
Lam had to swallow a flood of saliva in his mouth. He’d never been a nervous person, but the twinges in his stomach might be nerves now. He’d put his knives into a lot of bodies, but never once gotten permission for it.
He moved the blade to the outside of Conan’s thigh. Lam had no intention of cutting deep, but he didn’t want to becareless. He set the tip to a safe area and then his eyes went back to Conan’s. He wanted to watch his face when he did it.
