Conner watched Rand with wide eyes, not daring to lie when they were only inches apart, not daring to speak with Rand leaning against him, touching him. God, please, he prayed, as Rand's hand toyed with the neck of Conner's T-shirt before easing down his chest to finger the apron strings knotted at his waist. The last thing he needed was another bout of nausea to hit him now. Conner's stomach tightened beneath Rand's touch, and he swallowed back the sick feeling that lingered in his throat. Please don't let me mess this up.

Rand picked at the apron strings as if trying to untie them. His gaze never left Conner's face. "It's a bite," he whispered. Conner started in surprise, and Rand added, "A werewolf bite."

For a moment, Conner couldn't breathe. Then he laughed and stepped away, putting some much needed space between them. "You're shitting me," he said. Rand's faint smile faltered. Conner spun around, sure that Brett and Price were somewhere nearby ... "This is a joke, right?" he asked, scanning the empty parking lot, but they were alone, and he couldn't hear any muffled giggles or scuffling sneakers out of sight. An arm came up around his waist and Conner pushed it away, angry at Rand for pulling this stunt, angrier at himself for falling for it. The closeness, the touching ... the fact that his bandage really did hide a nasty bite pissed him off even more. Turning on Rand, Conner warned, "This isn't funny."

"Am I laughing?" Rand wanted to know. Conner shook his head but when Rand moved towards him, he crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest and backed away. "Listen to me," Rand started.

Conner felt the railing bump against his back -- Rand had him in the corner. "I'm not some stupid kid," he growled. "Werewolves? Please."

Rand reached out and Conner thought he'd grab him, shake him, yell ... but instead he gripped the railing on either side of Conner's hips and hunched down so that they were eye to eye. "Listen. Werewolf bites don't heal. They start to get better and you might even think they go away, but every month when the moon is full, the bruises return and the bite reopens. It never completely heals. I know --"

"How?" Conner challenged.

Straightening, Rand unbuttoned the flannel shirt he wore. He stopped halfway down his chest and opened the shirt to reveal a white tank top underneath. Conner watched as he pulled the left armhole of the tank top over, exposing one dark nipple that stood up in the chilly air. Rand held the flannel shirt open and pointed to a spot just below his armpit, where a dark bruise blossomed around the torn edges of a bite. The wound looked so much like Conner's own that his hand strayed to the bandage on his neck. "How'd you get that?" he whispered.

Rand rebuttoned his shirt. "I was like twelve or so," he said. "Hanging out late with some friends down by the woods behind those apartments Brett used to live in. Over on Branders Bridge?" Conner nodded -- he knew where they were. Once Rand's shirt was settled into place, he put his hands on the railing again, trapping Conner within the span of his arms. "I don't really remember what actually happened," he said, his voice low and intimate. He took a step closer and his shoe bumped against Conner's. He nudged the foot aside to open a space between Conner's legs and came closer, standing between Conner's feet. The heavy weight of his groin pressed against Conner's crotch. Rand moved his hips once, grinding into Conner, whose dick stiffened between them. Rand's wolf-like grin leered in front of Conner's face. "What about you?" he wanted to know.

"I ... I don't remember either," Conner stuttered.