"Fighting feels good," he said simply. It stopped his skin from itching, allowed him to let go and let someone else take control because they won the right to do so. It worked for him, or it used to, until Isaac became his lover. Everything fucking changed then.
He snorted. "Dyke. Because you need a finger to plug up your hole? Fuck, that's crude." Which meant he liked it, too. "Don't like any of the words. Don't need 'em. S'just what I am and who I want to fuck." Which was getting right back around to the start of the conversation and going in circles. He took a gulp and tried to reroute it.
"So who're you fucking? S'only fair," he pointed out, "that you tell me. Since you told me who I'm fucking."