mostly for writing stuff

Example: right now. Sam in his kitchen, at his fridge, in just his boxers. Like that was okay. Just because Sam was dating his (billet) son doesn't mean he can just do that. No one wants to see that.

(Toff doesn't humor the "except maybe Michael" thought that pops up.)

"I like Dick," Misa said in an interview.

Next thing Misa knew, Sam was on top of him, kissing him passionately as his hips rolled down.

If Misa had any common sense, he would've stopped, would've gone back to his room. But there was none; every braincell he had went out the door when Sam touched him. And Toff wasn't going to be home soon, anyway.

The pleasure was overwhelming. The friction of his hips, the feeling of his hands, Sam's lips devouring his own. Everything felt like too much, yet too little at the same time. Like Sam could give him everything and it wouldn't be enough. Like nothing would ever be enough.

He was so lost in it, so lost in Sam, so lost in the sheer bliss of it all, he didn't hear the door open.

He did, however, hear the scream of terror escape Toff's mouth. "What the actual fuck?!"

Sam stumbled off Misa's lap, barely catching himself on the couch as Toff stormed over. "Humping on my couch like fucking horny teenagers!"

From beside him, Sam snickered.