Still dreaming about explodin’, are you?

Laughter rings uncomfortable, suffocates in the unexpected darkness. Limbs twist around each other, sliding, shifting contact and hot, wet breaths across his neck.

Bracing, bruising pressure on his hip and a harsh, erratic rhythm that he can’t quite get used to and can’t quite enjoy.

Fast Cars (SFX Version) - Z Factor
Ringo For President - The Young World Singers

Heated, filthy words rush past his cheek and he tries to turn his head to meet them, tries to steal some bitterness from that rough, vicious mouth but he can’t reach.

Can’t stifle the cry, as careless, imprecise teeth sink into shoulder, probably break skin, and one last, brutal thrust seems to rip him apart and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to breath again.

And then he can, as the hold on his hip loosens and the weight on his back disappears, almost immediately, and he’s alone, exhausted, and not exactly done.

Which, really, perfect, and he sighs, stares at the ceiling.

There’s another sigh, soft exasperation, murmurs of “You’d just have to go and be difficult, wouldn’t you?” and a kiss that’s all feigned tenderness and mocking tongue but he plays along, is used enough to patronizing to enjoy it.

Lighthouse Dream - Smackos

The quick, steady, and ultimately effective strokes of fingers rougher and longer than his own, not quite better, just different, help a bit.

He wakes up alone in the morning, a bit sore, and among bed sheets that seriously need to be washed, and none of that is exactly surprising.

Spends the day irritable, awkward, strangely angry and if Claude notices, he just ignores the sudden fits of temper.

Three Ships - Andrew Paine

That is, until he manages, in a fortuitous combination of frustration and lack of control, to hurl the man telekinetically against the pigeon coop, along with the utterly brilliant “You bitter, homeless jerk. ”

Merry Xmas - Sleepy Township

No, that comes later, when he’s wiping off the last smear of blood from his lip