On the sofa Patrick is all steady breaths and quiet attention. He nods at Gerard’s words, but his eyes are on Pete like it was he who said it, who asked to be folded down like dirty sheets.

Pete’s shaking, just a little, when he fists a hand in Gerard’s hair, tilting his head back until the tendons on his neck are burning.

Gerard gasps through the pain, through the sudden pressure of Pete’s hand around his exposed throat. “Please,” he says, and it’s Pete’s words he’s speaking. “Make me yours.”