A/N: You know, I just had to do it. Gojyo's turn!

***

I hate that he lays lifeless beneath me, waiting for my hands.

I hate that he warms slowly against me, whimpering as he breathes.

I hate that he bucks wildly away from me, torn and wanton.

I hate that he burns so brightly about me, pressure like pleasure.

I hate that he writhes hotly before me, a private show that I don't deserve.

Some nights he is empty, cold and unresponsive, welcoming and filled with something akin to hurt disdain.

Some nights he is buzzing, giddy and mewling, muzzy and filled to brimming with sake so that we just don't have to talk.

Some nights he is so alive, frightened and overwhelmed, lusting and filled with desire that he taught himself not to feel.

Some nights he is awake, alert and calculating, open and thoughtful as I am pinned disconcerted by his brilliant eyes.

Some nights he is sweet, needy and demanding, acting and filled with truth so painful I can taste it on him.

I can fall asleep to the warmth of his chest, my ear pressed against his heart, listening to his calm breathing.

I can fall asleep tangled in his legs, freezing away on my own side of the bed, so I can watch him while I drift off.

I can fall asleep breathing his air, unable to tear my face from his, pressed against him as he shakes in exhaustion.

I can fall asleep before he even relaxes, my head filled with the smell, the sound, the tase of him so I am smothered.

I can fall asleep some other time, because we are unable to relax enough in the wake of unwilling, silent confessions.

There is no trust here. Only tentative blackmail.