"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He can't. He really can't sleep with Mike, no matter how fucking incredible the sex always is, high or not. He can't because that's a slippery slope, and one thing will lead to another, and Tim doesn't trust himself not to fall off the fucking wagon. Not yet. He's not as strong as he'd like to pretend he is. Hell, he couldn't even get clean without someone holding his hand.

Which means he probably should've waited to do this. He should've waited until he was a little stronger, a little less likely to backslide. It would be so easy to give in to the wanting ache. Just like it would be so easy to arch his hips and rock against Mike's hand

He doesn't. Instead, he stays very still.

He presses his palm against Mike's throat, putting pressure on his windpipe. He knows where Mike's sensitive at, remembers that much through the haze of drugs they often fooled around in. They're both sensitive at the throat, but in different ways. Tim wants teeth bruising his skin and Mike wants fingers cutting off oxygen. He knows how to make Mike get it up.

"I'm better than that now. Better than this. Than you." But even as he says it, he's pressing his hand harder against against Mike's neck.