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Summary
The stranger didn’t answer, just looked at him amused, and got to work. He was very skilled with his hands, Grief noted. This normally would hurt twice as much. The pain was still there, of course, and so as to not seem like a chicken by reacting, Grief focused on the movement of the hands on his chest. They had many little scars all over, not unlike freckles, and were hard to the touch, roughed up from use. They were pretty, he thought. The stranger was pretty.
At that, he realized how absolutely fucked he was. He was bleeding and waxing poetically on the couch of a strange, pretty dude who was currently busy stitching him up.
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Grief experiences some gay panic after meeting Andrey Stamatin and who can blame him?Series
- Part 1 of An anthology of scenes