Ned was about to yell back that he was fine, but then the spark of an idea became a bonfire. He knew exactly how to mend his budding friendship with Cole.
When Ned had been a boy, his father had fallen into an icy ravine during a particularly harsh winter and would have perished if a Pawnee hunter hadn’t found him in time. Though they hadn’t spoken each other’s language, the Indian would visit their home every now and then. He would bring a rabbit carcass or show Father an abundant stretch of berry bushes nearby. It was almost as if he needed to make sure they were still alive whenever he happened to be around, and his final appearance, following the Gotham Boys’ tragic visit, had been lifesaving to Ned and his mother. The hunter had gone from their lives once he’d led them down the mountain.
Ned never truly understood the relationship between his father and the Indian, but when he asked about it, Father reminded Ned of a fox Ned had found half-frozen and nursed to health. It wasn’t the fox’s accomplishment that it had gotten hurt, but it had endeared itself to Ned by being in his care.
The Pawnee man had looked out for Ned’s father because saving another person meant taking responsibility for them, and that same reason had prompted Ned to release the fox far away from the traps set up around their house.
Blood buzzed in his veins as he grabbed the pocket knife and pulled out the blade. Without thinking much, he shoved the sharp tip at his leg and twisted until it bit through his skin. One time. Then another.
He could not believe what he was about to do, yet it was too ingenious of an opportunity to give up on.
“Come quick! Think it was a rattlesnake! Fucker bit me!”
Cole emerged from the bushes and tugged on Ned’s arm, taking him back into the glow of the fire. Despite the scuffle they’d had earlier, his face was serious as he helped Ned rest on the bedroll. “Are you sure?”
“It’s dark! I’m not guessing whether the bastard had a rattle or not!” Ned pushed down his suspenders so abruptly he was starting to believe his own lies. His head pulsed as if this really was a fight for his life, but Cole shook him by the arm, still calm.
“Where? We need to get the venom out.”
“I know! Can’t reach my own leg. I’m not one of them contortionists. Still have ribs and a straight spine, thank you very much!”
“Where did it get you?” Cole asked and pulled down Ned’s pants, freeing the tails of his shirt and revealing the lower half of Ned’s union suit. His brows were drawn in utter focus, and when Ned took a deep breath of the exotic hair oil, he knew this handsome fish had swallowed his hook.
“Here!” Ned found the right spot in the middle of his thigh, marked by blood staining the undergarment. He clawed at the fabric, but Cole’s knife was back in action. This time, to save Ned.
Cole ripped the long johns and looked at the two spots left behind by the pocket blade. Ned worried Cole might question the size of the fake bite mark but exhaled with unexpected relief when Cole's knife cut into flesh twice. The criss-crossed lines bled, but he didn’t get to see it much once Cole pushed on Ned’s knee to create more room between his legs and dove in.
His hand slid around Ned’s thigh, where it was thickest, and held it in place while he pulled apart the torn fabric and pressed his lips to bare skin.
Ned’s toes curled at the touch, and he blinked, breathing a tad faster as the warmth and softness of Cole’s lips pushed to the forefront of his mind. The black, silky hair hung down Cole’s face, hiding it from view as he took a deep breath through his nose before pulling away to spit out the non-existent venom.
Before Ned could have uttered a word, Cole’s head was back between his thighs, gently bobbing as tongue, cheeks, and teeth worked the injured flesh, making it numb.
Air stopped flowing to Ned’s lungs, yet his heart thudded as if it were the rattle of a vicious snake. His body flushed with heat, to the point that Ned wondered whether the critter hadn’t been venomous after all. Sweat cooled his nape, and even—the shame—his cock reacted to the touch. Had his mind been confused by the long hair? He was twenty-three after all, and had never bedded a woman. No wonder his prick didn’t know any better.
Cole spat again, but instead of rolling back, he remained low on his knees and looked up at Ned from behind the curtain of messy strands. A red smear stood out on his dusky skin, tempting Ned to… do what exactly? Should he wipe it off?