He wasn't really thinking about anything in more than a flash of feeling until he finished with Selwyn still fucking him, and even then Art was mostly thinking about the sound of the headboard and running his hands up and down the other man's body. It was somewhere in this window that he grasped it, oh — maybe it was as much about intimacy as it was about sex.

Or maybe it was just about sex; it wasn't particularly intimate, and Art certainly didn't feel warm and fuzzy about Selwyn, just attracted to him. He still wasn't sure what to make of his choices here when Selwyn finished and they were done. And at what point would Art cross the line from being a person who made mistakes to being a person who just hurt the people who cared about him? Had he already crossed it?

None of this consideration showed on his face; he stretched out his limbs when Selwyn flopped onto the bed next to him, like he was stretching after a lengthy practice to try and gauge where he'd be sore later. "Maybe I will," Art said with a grin, grabbing the towel to clean himself. If he ignored everything else — and he was trying and mostly succeeding at ignoring everything else — then at the very least, it had been good.

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