One last rough, messy kiss, and Johnny's pulling away, leaning up on his elbow to scrabble through the bedside table. The brand of lube he comes up with is nothing he's ever heard of, but when he pops open the cap and pours a bit onto his fingers, it feels good, lasting.

"Got it. Hands an' knees, now." There's no way Michael's coming away from this without finger-shaped bruises, but Johnny's sure he won't mind.