David stared down at the numbers mocking him. Big, bold, red numbers all segmented and boxy just glaring at him. Taunting him. Treating him like the chocolate cakes and cheeseburgers he dreamed about. Mocking him. That number to the right of the decimal point especially steamed him. He had gained two-tenths of a pound. How? He hadn't been eating, he'd been running every day and popping diet pills…the water. It had to be the water he was drinking with the pills. Goddamn it. Now he had to stop drinking water. Or maybe it was toothpaste. Jack had bought that vanilla mint stuff that tasted like minty frosting…it had to be it. Fucking Jack. David paused. That was it. Fucking Jack. An hour of sex burned three hundred and sixty calories. He could burn off those two tenths. Then he'd be perfect. No, not perfect. Even without those two tenths, he was still a fucking pig. Ninety-four pounds? What was that shit? Sarah could've lost that weight easily. He grabbed the bottle of Trimspa and stuffed six into his mouth, not taking them with water so they burned the second he swallowed them. He took four deep breaths and stepped off of the scale. He needed to find Jack. Like he needed to find him. David knew that he lay reclined on the bed in their lousy, one-and-a-half roomed apartment.

"Jack," he mewled from the doorway. "C'mere."

Jack looked up, surprised. Usually, he had to start all sexual acts. But David needed to ditch those two-tenths pronto. He got up and walked towards David, eyes questioning. He grabbed Jack roughly and pressed him against the wall, his mind swimming.

"Now," he commanded.

Jack smiled and kissed him. It wasn't a tender kiss. It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was a let's-fuck-now-ask-questions-later kiss. A carnivorous kiss. Jack was almost inhaling his face. David felt his body weaken from more than the force of the kiss and felt his lips be forced back by Jack's tongue. They went to the bed and literally tore each other's clothes. David looked at the remains of his blue top as Jack sucked on his neck like a vampire. Oh well, he'd lose weight and not be able to wear that shirt. He smiled at the thought. He turned back to Jack who made the motion for him to flop onto his stomach. David shook his head. He didn't want that. He wanted plenty of fooling around—it probably burned even more calories doing that—before the main event.

"Jack," he said coyly, in a voice not at all his own. "Let's wait for a bit."

Jack frowned. "Davey—"

David cut him off by lunging at him and sticking his tongue down his throat. He made sure to move his body a lot, positioning it in so many different shapes.

"Like the shoot," David explained, coming up from air. "Bound at the waist."

Jack just looked confused. David even had no idea what he meant but started to screw with him anyway, gripping his penis and kissing down his throat. Jack pushed his hand away.

"David," he looked even more confused. "What's going on? You take Viagra or somethin'?"

"I thought you'd want this," he lied.

"Yeah. Sex. Not this handjob shit," Jack said. "It just makes your hand hurt and our sheets all gross."

David put his hands behind his neck and brought Jack's head down to his, wanting to get things back on track. He wanted to burn those calories damn it.

"David," Jack tried once more. "This isn't you. What's going on?"

"Sex now, questions later," David replied.

He didn't expect Jack to be this hard to turn. After that statement, though, Jack got down to business. And he kept going down with business for three hours. David's body ached and his heart raced faster than it ever had. The two of them lay panting, their breath almost solid in the heavy air.

"What's…with…you…tonight?" Jack managed between pants.

David shrugged. He wasn't really listening. He was checking under the covers to examine his body. So goddamn bloated.

"Davey?"

David turned and smiled at Jack but his mind wasn't on him. He was calculating the calories. Let's see…an hour of sex burned three hundred and sixty calories. We just did it for three hours…three sixty times three is…one thousand eighty. That was almost what the average person ate in a day. David smiled again. Good-bye two-tenths.

"David?" Jack pushed a clammy hand onto his forehead. "You don't look so hot."

"Really?" his satisfaction quickly turned to panic.

Jack saw how disgusting he was. He was going to leave him because of it.

"Yeah. You look sick. Really skinny too," he observed.

"I'm fine," he replied. "I feel great."

"You don't look great."

"I feel it," David assured him. "And tomorrow I'll be even better."