[he's sooo not sober enough to be dealing with this right now. the squeeze makes all of the muscles in his throat tighten and he finds himself swallowing on reflex and discovering that that's also a little more difficult to do than usual.

he closes his eyes and inhales deeply thorough his nose, doing his best to focus on Booker's words instead of the feeling of his hand around his neck, or the sharp prick of that claw against his skin, or the weight on his lap, or the warmth of the other man from how close they are right now...

no, this was a bad idea. he opens his eyes again to look at Booker in the dark.]




It's different.