Page 25 of Lamb to Slaughter
He’d seen Conan’s cock under the bridge, but it looked even better here, thick and heavy where it hung in the thatch of dark hair. The muscles in Conan’s thighs tensed as he turned to step into the shower, and Lam got a view of the hard muscle of his ass.
He wanted to sink his teeth into his skin. Feel the jolt of pain in Conan’s body when he let Lam.
As Conan stepped into the shower, Lam moved to take a seat on the toilet lid where he could see best. Conan stepped into the spray, head tilted back to wet his dark hair, and Lam bit his own lip. He looked sinful with the water tracing down the lines of his body, dripping off his stiff cock.
Conan helped himself to Lam’s expensive shampoo without asking, and Lam liked his boldness. Or maybe it was the way that when Lam got him into bed after this, he’d smell like Lam’s property. Like a stray he’d brought home and was curious if he could keep…
He was getting too ahead of himself.
Lam watched the way his muscles moved as he worked the shampoo through his hair, followed by conditioner. Conan helped himself to the washcloth hanging over the top of the shower and soaped himself up, scrubbing down every bit of him except for what Lam had wrapped in plastic.
He had an easy confidence on full display, and Lam didn’t hate it.
Steam kept filling the room, fogging up the glass. Lam found himself leaning forward, eyes drinking in every bit of it. Most people were boring to watch, but not Conan.
Lam pressed a hand to himself, he was straining against the fabric of his slacks. He’d had the occasional hookup that didn’t involve knives and murder, but he’d never brought anyone home. He was realizing now that might have been for more than just privacy.
Watching Conan move about his space was churning something deep in his belly. A hunger he’d tucked away a long, long time ago, convinced there’d never be an opportunity to sate it.
Then Conan was finished, rinsing himself down and turning off the water. He grabbed Lam’s own towel hanging over the shower, and slid the door open as he began to use it.
A rivulet of water slid down the center of Conan’s chest and then down around his cock. He could feel Conan looking back at him, and Lam didn’t try to hide his open appreciation. What they’d shared together since the bridge had laid bare both their intentions.
“Your turn,” Conan said as he stepped aside.
Lam had an initial hesitation, because stepping into the shower himself would leave Conan out here with his knife. Nearer to any part of his house that Conan might like to slip into.
And then he forced himself to set that aside. They’d made an agreement. Conan had already had the knife to his throat, and if he was going to kill Lam, it would’ve been the opportunity. Tonight, there was something else on offer.
Lam slipped off his wool coat, hanging it on the hook for his robe. That would need special cleaning, but the rest of his clothing could just go in the wash. He moved through undressing slowly, slipping buttons out of holes, aware of Conan’s eyes on him.
He dropped his clothes in a pile with Conan’s, and when he was done, turned to the shower and twisted the water back on.
“Would you put those in the basket for me?” Lam asked, gesturing idly in the direction of the clothing basket.
Out of his peripheral he saw Conan move, doing just that, as Lam stepped into the water.
He was obedient.
Lam started with his hair, scrubbing the shampoo in as he caught Conan’s eye through the foggy glass. Conan had tied the towel around his waist, but it was doing little to hide how interested he was.
Lam worked his fingers through his hair, washing off the sweat and dirt and blood. Then he grabbed the used washcloth Conan had left and re-soaped it up. He made a point of turning his back on Conan to wash down between his legs, slipping his own soapy fingers into his hole, cleaning the come out.
Conan made a sound, and Lam’s body flushed again with heat at being observed. It felt playful, but with teeth. He felt the prickling energy all over as he washed himself. It made him want to bite, to stick his nails or knives into Conan’s skin.
Soon.
By the time Lam finished, he was on the edge of his self restraint. Usually he prided himself on his control, but having Conan watch as he showered, imagining what might come next, it had him thrumming in his skin.
Fully rinsed, Lam turned off the water and went to reach for his towel on reflex, but it wasn’t there. It was around Conan’s waist.
“Let me,” Conan said. He strode to the linen closet and pulled a fresh towel out.
Lam slid the shower door open and stepped out onto the fluffy rug as Conan returned. Their eyes met like a static charge. Then Conan was lifting the towel, smoothing it softly against Lam’s cheek, wiping away the water.
“Is this part of the service you offer?” Lam asked.
“It can be,” Conan moved the towel down his neck and around to the nape, blotting the water dripping from his hair. He smoothed it down one arm and the next, drying Lam’s torso and then his cock.
