[Michael is pretty sure his brain short circuited. He can still feel the slow, tantalizing drag of Max’s tongue on his skin and he shivers despite himself. He forces himself to drag his eyes away from Max’s mouth still wet from the lime juice and tequila.

Lately, Max makes him feel unmoored, thrown off his guard like the ground beneath him keeps shifting. It was a little unnerving.

Without a word he refills his glass and downs it straight, no chaser before refilling and throwing back a second one back to back. If Max was trying to throw him off his game, he was ready. Maybe.]

I think it’s safe to say you won that round.

[He clears his throat and relaxes back into the couch cushions.]

Okay, when was the last time you had a dirty dream? Do you remember what happened in it?