Playing with Mike is like playing with a fucking rattlesnake. Poking it with a stick and jumping back when it lunges, until it moves just a little too quick and sinks its teeth in.

Of course, Mike fights back, and he plays to win. He knows the source of Tim's nightmares and uses it against him. His hand moves from Mike's cock to his wrist again, yanking it back behind his back, further and harder than the last time. Not hard enough to dislocate it, but hard enough to strain it further, put a little more pressure on it. He knows exactly how hard he needs to pull to snap it out of place, and the weight he puts on it is carefully controlled.

He doesn't plan on doing it, but he can. He knows how. And that's the reminder he gives as he tugs on it a little harder. He's capable of destroying Mike, and this is just a warning.

"Don't think I won't turn you into another number to jerk off to."

It's an empty threat, and a lie to boot, but he doesn't care. It sounds real enough with the rough edge to his voice and the fingers tight around Mike's wrist.

He yanks the other away from the wall, pushes him roughly towards the bedroom without letting him go.