Page 13 of First Snow

“No, you certainly can’t deal with it yourself,” Faeling admonishes him, unaware of Arttu’s inner turmoil.

Arttu glares but refrains from objecting again.

“Now sit.”

Arttu sinks down heavily on the chaise lounge. He feels the throbbing of his head more acutely now, and only partly succeeds in suppressing a groan.

“Do you have a headache?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“No.”

Faeling pulls out a first aid kit, and fetches a bowl of water and clean towels. He sits down close enough to Arttu to make their thighs touch. Doesn’t he have a sense of personal space? He cups Arttu’s chin again and starts to gingerly wipe the blood from his face.

Arttu sighs. The proximity makes him want to pull away, but he restrains himself. Instead he tries to distract himself by watching Faeling’s handsome face. From this close, Arttu can make out the mismatched color of his eyes, one a dark green, the other almost amber. Looking at pictures of him, Arttu thought Faeling was wearing contacts, but now he’s pretty sure he isn’t. Clearly, Mother Nature was kind to him. Maybe that’s what has Arttu so confused. The human brain struggles to process that beauty can be evil too. After all, Faeling is handsome enough to be the lead of a fantasy series—Game of Thronesor some shit like that.

Faeling dabs carefully at Arttu’s nose, then brushes his fingers over it. Arttu yelps.

“Nothing broken,” Faeling comments. “Do you feel dizzy or disoriented?”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

Faeling’s lips twist. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Arttu has to swallow down a sarcastic retort.

“Fine. I’m not dizzy. I’ve got a headache, but I won’t vomit on your fancy carpet.”

Faeling watches him with a stormy expression that has Arttu’s stomach in knots.

“You shouldn’t be playing if you can’t be honest with a Dom.”

“I didn’t know we were playing,” Arttu snaps.

“We aren’t. I wouldn’t put up with a sassy sub like you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then.” Arttu stands abruptly and is immediately hit with a wave of nausea. It’s not a concussion; he knows whatthatfeels like. But he’s still in pain and more than a little drunk. Unfortunately, Faeling seems to sense that something’s wrong.

“You’re sensitive,” he says as if the fact surprises him. “Sit back down, will you?”

Arttu is tempted to leave, but he also knows he won’t be able to look at himself in the mirror if he fucks up this opportunity to catch a serial killer just because he’s drunk and agitated. So, he sits down again.

“Good boy,” Faeling purrs, and that shouldn’t make a pleasant chill run down Arttu’s spine, especially coming from Faeling, but it does.

“Where are you staying?” Faeling asks, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask a stranger.

“Huh?”

“You aren’t from here. Where are you staying?”

“None of your business.”

Faeling snorts. “Fine. You stay the night, or I’ll have Annikki drive you to a hospital and make sure you stay the night there. Your choice.”

Arttu frowns. “Are you hitting on me?” Oh, damn, that’s the only answer he can come up with? He’s too drunk for this shit.