Page 32 of Gunpowder

“Um.” There was no reason not to remove them, since it was impossible to get to his stitches otherwise. No reason other than him being alone with Wren in his apartment and his mind rapidly detouring somewhere besides getting his stitches removed. “Yeah.”

If he thought his own reaction to the request was awkward, it was nothing compared to the effort of getting his soaked cargo pants down. They weren’t tight fitting which helped but they were sodden and heavy. His stomach flipped when Wren knelt down and took the waistband in hand. Fuck my life, Blair thought, willing his body not to betray him as Wren worked them off his hips. All the teasing remarks and lingering glances had prepared him for Wren taking full advantage of the opportunity. Much to Blair’s surprise, Wren pulled his pants down to his knees with clinical indifference before picking up a wallet sized kit he had brought over from the desk.

“I can’t believe it’s healed so well, given how careless you’ve been,” Wren said, nudging him down to lay on his stomach.

The vulnerable position made him anxious, but he had put Adam’s life in Wren’s hands, so surely he could stand this much. He propped his chin on folded arms, feeling the cool touch of an antiseptic wipe on the back of his thigh.

“I didn’t mean for you to have to take your work home with you,” Blair said. There was an odd tugging sensation in his leg.

“It’s good practice.”

Blair turned his head to watch the rain. Maybe it was because Wren—despite all his notable personality flaws—had that trustworthy aura of a doctor, but Blair was quick to forget about the embarrassment of his position. Wren was different once he had medical tools in his hands. There was no teasing, just a calm, determined drive to complete his task. In what seemed like no time at all, he was telling Blair that he was done, and Blair could feel a gauze pad on the back of his thigh when he sat up.

“Sit up here to do the other ones, I feel bad having you kneeling on the floor in your own apartment,” Blair mumbled, turning sideways on the couch.

Wren’s lips turned up and Blair flushed all the way to his ears, imagining the innuendos probably going through Wren’s mind. He couldn’t have been more glad when Wren sat sideways on the couch to face him and started working on the stitches in the entry wound, because that sharp tongue would be silenced for at least a few minutes. In nothing but his boxers, there would be no hope of concealing his reaction if Wren kept talking like that.

Blair watched the black sutures slide free between Wren’s latex clad fingers. All kidding aside, he had healed better than he expected, no longer of a break than he gave his leg after he’d gotten out of the hospital. Counting the time he was admitted, it was going on a couple of weeks since he’d been shot. It didn’t hurt when Wren pulled the stitches out; only that weird tugging again where scabs had attempted to form, but no pain.

“Keep these clean,” Wren advised, snipping and removing the last one.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Blair’s eyes followed Wren’s hand when he dropped the sutures on a napkin on the coffee table. “Really, though. Thanks for this.”

Wren pulled each corner of the napkin in and went to dispose of it. From somewhere else in the apartment, the kitchen maybe, he said, “I wasn’t going to let my hard work go to waste.”

Blair paused where he had been pulling his pants back up. “You were in the operating room that night?” he asked when Wren returned.

Wren came to stand in front of him. His gloves had been discarded along with the sutures, his hands bare and glowing white when lightning flashed outside. “I stitched up the back of your leg.”

The rain was finally coming down in sheets but Blair wasn’t watching it anymore. He found himself unable to look away from Wren, who he had been tied to for even longer than he realized, who had left his mark on Blair’s body before Blair had seen him for the first time.

Wren touched his face and Blair was glad the storm rendered his gasp inaudible. It was a light touch above his eye, nothing sensual or remarkable, but it forced the air out of his lungs a little faster anyway. “What happened?” Wren asked, his raspy voice almost lost in the rain pounding against the glass.

“Got in a fight,” Blair said, trying to tear his eyes from Wren’s and failing.

Wren traced the length of Blair’s brow with his thumb. “Stupid.”

“Maybe.”

Wren lowered his hand from his face, slid it under Blair’s wet hair to rest against his neck. “Your heartbeat is erratic again.”

“Probably,” he breathed, and he took his next breath against Wren’s lips.

Kissing Wren was as terrifying and perfect as Blair imagined it would be.

He didn’t know if the hand on the back of his neck pulled him in first or if it was his reaching for Wren’s bare shoulder, or maybe they just met halfway, all he knew was reason slipping out from under him as he fell into Wren’s gravity.

Wren made a soft sound against his mouth that raced through his blood faster than adrenaline, hotter in his stomach than a shot of the strongest liquor.

“Wren,” Blair said, pulling back.

Wren leaned his forehead against Blair’s, clearly not ready to go far from his lips yet. “Yeah?”

“If you’re not with Doc, then be with me.”

Wren’s fingers curled restlessly against the side of his neck. “I’m in the middle of medical school and I have exams coming up. I don’t have much time for you.”

“I’m in the middle of a gang war, I know the feeling,” Blair said with a faint smile.

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