(hahahaha, how sad is it that I automatically looked for funny tags? lol!)

Shelly, I love this so much! You have no idea how nice it is to read something where Lars is back to being an abrasive bastard rather than Bland Boring Boyfriend of Blah... and you've got a really great handle on MIke - all the cussing in his head and the general "LIFE SUCKS, Y'ALL" attitude. (Not that I don't love sparkly Mike but I dig cussing, grumpy Mike more, I think *g*)

I wasn't hugely invested in the stupid Fight Club plot and I think they handled the aftermath in a boring manner, but oh, this is delicious... so much resignation and bitterness and the undercurrents between them are so ragged and angsty!

But what I love most is this:

"You promised." The jagged whisper that pulled Mike from sleep, now pushes him back in time, back to cold tiles against his cheek, the hard floor of the Steinkamp locker room giving no relief except where Lars' muscled hip juts into his own, and the round warmth of his arm presses against Mike's neck. Broken and bruised by each other's fists and teeth, blood dripping down his cheek, over Lars' brow, smeared along their knuckles--there in that damn locker room around which their whole world revolves--between the hazy shock of too much pain and not enough sleep, Mike whispered his promise.

I'm so glad you linked the current plot back to that scene - and there is some wicked cool visual/tactile stuff going on there. The memories of physical contact, the dripping blood... it's all totally gritty and jaded and awesome, and I love the conclusion he comes to about promises, and then Lars kind of redeeming it with a gesture of actual physical comfort.

(Lars so desperately desperately needs a lay that's not Stella btw. LOL.)

JUST RAMBLING NOW AND PROBABLY MAKING NO SENSE BUT EEEEEEEEE, YOU WROTE MIKE/LARS AND I LOVE IT!!!! *BOUNCES MADLY*