Everything to him was rhythmic. From talking, to touching, to breathing. His talented fingers seemed to pluck at the milk-white skin, just as they did his guitar, crushing his best friend's body closer to his own. Their mouths didn't seem to have any beat, but the blond could feel it. The intensity, the pressure. Oh, the pressure…

Naked limbs tangled together seemed to just exist. Nothing was visible. Everything had a sort of heartbeat. It was perfect, how they seemed to fit together, how they just were, how they could just be.

Desperate passion. The blond felt his brunette friend writhe and squirm. The rhythm guitarist suckled the blond's tongue with urgency. How he loved this power-trip. His calloused fingers caressed the brunette's chisled body. Like a god. His god.

Nothing seemed childlike about the rhythm guitarist now. Even in this euphoria, he could think about nothing other than the blond with him. He mumbled the other man's name, his lips forming the Scandinavian's name against the other man's lips. A smile. He could feel the blond smirking, but didn't care. He was just happy to be with the other man.