For the millionth time it seemed, Mitch took Toby’s bait and became his unwitting dance partner. Something feral awakened from hibernation when their tongues made contact, and before Mitch was even cognizant of his actions, he pivoted and straddled Toby’s lap. He broke free to gasp when hands groped under his shirt and pawed at his chest, but Toby immediately dragged him back down.

This is how it’s supposed to be, right? A snide voice in the back of his head needled as they slid down and became horizontal with the floor with an unceremonious thunk. Flavors of weed and wine elevated the hopelessness of the situation, and he knew that he was failing in a catastrophic way, each passing second cementing his fate. Toby’s mouth trailed down his jaw and neck, licking a long stripe up it before they collided once more. As they swapped spit, he tried to formulate a beneficial reason to engage in any of this. Maybe he could exorcize a few demons by abusing Toby’s mouth.

Toby took the lead, rolling to switch their positions so that he hovered above, and pressed his hips against Mitch’s. Utterly delirious, Mitch reached up and wrapped all of his limbs around Toby’s body, clinging like a vine while the heat consumed him, burning him out and leaving him a hollow full of nothing more than charred wood and ash. He wanted -needed- more friction. Nothing else mattered anymore. After spending the last year in a mostly dormant state with a nonexistent ego for company, he just needed affirmation that he was capable of being desired.

“Ohh, I missed that,” Toby groaned as he nipped at Mitch’s earlobe, but he barely heard it due to the unrecognizable keening noises that continued to escape his throat. “I’ll take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Everything came to a screeching halt when Mitch felt hands at his fly, the button already undone. No, that was insane. Nothing good ever resulted from any of this, and goddammit, he knew better. “Hold up, wait,” he broke away.

“Too much?” Toby asked, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. He looked incredible.

“Too much,” Mitch confirmed, and he scrambled to get out from under Toby. “I should-I should go. Wait, no, car’s at the bar. Shit.”

“Ok, so,” Toby sat back on his heels and smoothed back his hair as he sought out a solution; he moved with intent, as though he was approaching a cornered stray of some sort. “Look, it’s late, you’re high. Why don’t you just crash here-“

“Dude!” Mitch yelped.

“I don’t mean with me! I mean sleep on the couch. I’ll bring you to your car in the morning, and we can either pretend that this never happened, or laugh it off and consider tomorrow to be the beginning of the fresh start. If you’re up for it, there’s a great little cafe around the corner that makes incredible breakfast sandwiches.” That sounded agreeable, so Mitch dumbly nodded along.

“OK,” he whispered.

“Great. Great, good,” Toby let go of a breath, then clapped his hands together and stood up. “I’m going to bed. Help yourself to whatever you want in the linen closet, or the kitchen, or whatever else. Nothing’s changed.” Though he kept his tone neutral, resignation bled through his voice.

Mitch attempted to get comfortable on the couch -thankfully one of the few items that Toby owned from this century- but his mind raced with too much fury for him to rest. What the hell was the point of any of this? Why did he agree to it? He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have agreed to meeting up. At any moment he’d snap, crawl into Toby’s bed, and spiral into self-destruction yet again. Lose weeks of progress and for what, to get his dick wet? Because he couldn’t stay away from sharp things?

According to his calculations, it would take about 2-3 hours to walk back to his car; were it not for the pouring rain, he'd already be on foot. He glanced at the time, and tried to determine what level of late 11:00pm fell on.

Late enough to know that he was selfish and terrible, but not so late that it was an unforgivable transgression. He scrolled through his contacts, Arin’s name being the first to pop up; a viable option, and the atonement opportunity that they were so desperate for, but Mitch didn’t want to take advantage of them and their misplaced sense of guilt. Also, they lived over an hour away in the other direction.

The next name was Avi.

He cursed under his breath, then hit the phone icon. It picked up after 2 rings.

“Mitch?” Avi’s voice came through a little gruff, as though he’d been woken up; Mitch stayed quiet, stunned at this new low, even for him. “You there man?”

“Yeah I…” Mitch swallowed hard. “I…I fucked up. Real bad. Could-” His body tensed up. He was really going to do this. “Could you come get me?”

“Of course,” Avi responded without hesitation, and Mitch’s stomach roiled with nausea. He should hang up and deal with the shitty consequences of his shitty actions, but instead his body shook as he gave the address. “I don’t know where that is, but I’ll let you know when I’m there,” Avi quietly assured him.

The call disconnected, and Mitch drew his knees to his chest and hugged them. He waited until the tremors subsided before he sought out a pen and piece of paper, eventually finding both in the kitchen. His thoughts scattered to all four winds as he tried to figure out what to write, knowing full well that he was being an asshole to two people in one night.

I took off, I’m sorry. If you don’t hate me, call me later.

-M

For the entire duration that he waited for Avi, Mitch clutched the note in the dark. If Toby got up and saw it before he left, they would have to talk about it, and he wasn’t ready for that. When the call finally came, he attached the sweat stained piece of paper to the fridge with a magnet, smoothing out the frayed edges that he spent the whole time picking at.

Some stirring from Toby’s room jolted Mitch back to reality. He left the note alone, and bolted for front door.