When We Get There

“You got injured pretty good!” I say as I wrap the bandage around Devin’s hand. “And you have no idea why those guys were in the house?”

“No.” He softly says, gently rubbing his stomach. “They were out before I could take them down. The one guy looked very familiar.”

“The one with slicked-back black hair,” I ask and tape the wrap together.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Because I saw him when we walked out of the living room. He reminded me of someone I knew. But I’ve never seen him in my life. It was a weird feeling.”

“Ouch!” He yells.

“Sorry!” I quickly say, sliding my hand away from his wrist and against his chest. “It doesn’t look like they injured you anywhere else.”

“They did.” He says, looking down and in between his legs. “My left inner thigh. I think they cut it.”

“Well…” I sigh and pause. “Slide your pants off. It’s not like your dick hasn’t been inside of me, several times. Let me see that thigh so I can put some antibiotic ointment on it and tend to the wound.”

He quickly unbutt