[Dave huffs, because god he really doesn't like getting into any sort of confrontation with friends, much less the guy he's fucking and likes more than the average person, okay? He's a little mad, yeah, but honestly if he'd had something of the same epiphany about a mix or rap, he'd pause to write it down or record a sample of it. He's less intense about it, definitely, he'd fucking start rapping or busting out some beats in the middle of anything, but he gets it and ugh. Fucking sucks.]

Don't make it just about me, asshole, fucking is kind of a "mutual wanting" thing.

[He flash-opens his pants, 0.01 seconds, button and zipper, it's a fucking record, and looks Wally in the eyes for a moment, forgetting he doesn't have his shades on as a world-shield. When he remembers, he turns his head away, frowning deeply. That was fucking weak. He doesn't even want to know what that looked like, it sounded fucking horrible and whiney, shit. There are probably ten thousand guys who could have been way more cool about this than he was.]

Whatever, at least kiss me or something.

[His fingers sink into the slit of his boxers, idly tracing his dick and scratching carefully at his translucent pubic hair. His time's going to be off, he knows it, because instead of getting harder he's getting less interested in jerking it and more likely to end up sulking with his dick in his hand. Great.]