...The hotel room itself was the standard—two queen beds, TV on a dresser console, desk, small bathroom. A door to the left led to the adjoining room.
“It’s not a spa suite at the Galaxy, but it’ll do.” Vic set his suitcase next to the dresser.
“At least we got to see how the other half lives for a few days.” And had enjoyed the hell out of Damien’s slot machine windfall. He hooked the clothes bag in the closet. “You suppose the money will be safe in your suitcase?” They hadn’t had time to deposit it in Damien’s bank account.
“I hope so.” Vic shut the drapes. “We could look for a local branch of your bank and see if they’re still open to make a deposit.”
“Not tonight.” With the days to come, Damien might need the ready cash and decided to take his chances. “How long before we’re supposed to meet Reid for dinner?”
“Two hours. There’s a steak place down the street.”
Vic’s warmth radiated against Damien’s back. He leaned into the heat and strong arms embraced him. Damien draped his arms over Vic’s. It felt good just standing here like this, Vic’s breath steady and strong next to his ear.
“How’s your hand feeling?” Vic turned up Damien’s bandaged palm.
“More annoying than anything else, but I don’t think I’d want to be without the bandage.” The cuts, though bad, hadn’t required stitches.
Vic traced his fingers over the veins in Damien’s wrist. Tiny shivers sank into his bloodstream. Vic pressed his thumb over the pulse. The rise of his cock against Damien’s ass thrummed in time with his pulse beat. Damien turned his face to Vic’s, nudging until Vic shifted his lips nearer.
Vic caught Damien’s lower lip between his and rolled it beneath his tongue. Then he did the same with the top lip. But when Damien tried to seal their mouths in a kiss, Vic eased away.
“I’d feel better if we could take a look at it now,” he said. “Maybe change the dressing.”
Damien drew breath to protest, then conceded the request with a nod. They were behind closed doors, slipping into their roles as Dom/sub. The caregiving was a prelude to that.
“Go into the bathroom and wait for me,” Vic said. “I’ll get everything and be right there.”
His erection felt like a pike strapped across his groin. His trousers dug into his dick with every step, the material strained to the breaking point. Damien wanted to release it, to have it free and ready for Vic when he walked through the door. He left it fettered, however, content to give Vic all the control.
He put down the toilet seat and sat. In the bright florescent light, his left hand looked a little swollen from the injury. That was to be expected. Thankfully, no blood marred the white gauze. By the time he’d finally gotten to the hospital, the wounds had stopped bleeding only to begin again while the doctor and corpsman cleaned it up. They’d also given him every shot known to mankind to keep away infection.
He winced as he peeled away the tape, earning Vic’s soft laughter from the door.
“You’ll take a strapping that you’ll feel for days and love every minute of it, but you can’t pull off a bandage without sucking in your breath?”
“It’s pulling the hair and that’s real torture.”
Vic laughed, cupped the back of Damien’s neck, and kissed him, then squatted down. “Here, let me. One yank—”
Damien jerked away his hand.
Chuckling, Vic pulled him back and cradled his hand. “I promise I’ll be careful. It can’t be as bad as having your balls waxed.”
Damien snapped upright with surprise. “You’ve had your balls waxed?”
“No way.” He grinned. “Although the idea of having them nice and smooth for your mouth is intriguing. And vice versa.”
“We’ll see how you feel when I come at you with shaving cream and a razor.”
Vic shrugged and pressed Damien’s palm to his thigh. “I trust you...”