A low laugh vibrated in Byron's chest right before he let out a soft groan of pleasure and pain at the cut of the blade into his shin. He would need new pants- again. Bright blue eyes gazed over Conor's body as he repositioned himself around his hips. Byron's breath shallow, he waited in amused anticipation of the next strike.
There were usually little more than groans and moans of the pain mixed with his personal pleasure of such when a knife cut into him, but the placement of Conor's strike brought a gasp with it and Byron's eyes widened with a flare of anger. Cool steel brushed past his heart, nicking the edge and barely missing as Conor twisted it in.
Byron growled, "I told you not the heart." As he grabbed the back of Conor's head, sinking his nails into the nape, and pulled him down toward his body as he used his other hand to pull the knife out of his chest.