Chapter Text
“You want me to what ?” Jamie pinched the back of his hand because that was what you were supposed to do if you thought you were dreaming. Jamie wasn’t sure why you were supposed to do that, but couldn’t hurt to try because there was no way what Roy just slowly said to him could possibly be real.
“Nothing. Never mind.” Roy looked up from under his brows then glanced away again. “Forget about it.”
“No, no, I’m not going to forget about it. Look, I aint saying I aint into it. I could be into it. I just want to understand what…what you just said to me.”
“It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“But you did say it. So now we’re going to talk about it.”
Roy looked pained at that. Proper, physically pained. Like the sour look he got on his face when he had a misstep and he didn’t want Jamie to know his knee was screaming blue murder at him. “Or you could just do what I told you and fucking forget about it.”
“I will never forget about it for as long as I live, mate, so we might as well talk about it. You want me to force you–”
“Pretend to force me,” Roy cut in.
“Fine. Pretend to force you to have sex with me? Isn’t that, like, rape or something?”
“Or something. Since it’s pretend it wouldn’t actually be…you know. It’s called consensual non-consent.”
“Whoa. Where did you find that out?”
“In a book.”
“What the fuck kind of books are you reading?”
“It doesn’t…it doesn’t fucking matter what the fucking book is, okay? Just it’s a thing. That people do. I didn’t make it up.”
“Right, of course. So…I mean…Roy. Why do you want me to, you know?”
If Roy wanted to have sex with him, he didn’t have to start by uttering something completely insane at four thirty in the morning. He could have started with dinner. Or kissing. Or ordering Jamie into his bedroom. When it came to Roy, Jamie was pretty easy. He’d be a cheap date, that was for sure.
If anything, the pain on Roy’s face deepened. “Because it’s believable, innit?”
“Is it?” Jamie asked, bewildered.
“You could bench lift me, if you wanted.”
“So you admit I can take you in a fight?”
“ No , of course fucking not. But this isn’t about fighting. Maybe resisting…a little. And because…fuck. Because I. Trust you.”
Jamie felt his face split into a smile. “You do?”
“Yeah. Not to do something that will fuck my knee or anything.”
“Well, of course. I would never do anything to fuck your knee. Or anything.”
“Right. So. There you go.”
“Right,” Jamie said slowly, head spinning from the casual revelations that Roy thought Jamie was stronger than him and that he trusted Jamie. Trusted him. Apparently a lot. “Look, I’m flattered and honored and all that. I just…why this?”
“I don’t fucking know, alright? I guess I like the thought of…not being in control. For once.”
“Yeah, okay. I get that.”
“You ever do anything like this? I mean, with…a girlfriend or anything?”
Jamie chose to ignore the fact he was asking about Keeley. “No, I mean, I’ve been with a few girls who liked to play a little rough, but I could never get into it. They were so…much smaller than me, I guess. Like I could actually hurt them. That was a big turn off.”
Roy grunted.
“Have you ever tried this before?” Jamie asked after a beat.
“Fuck no.”
“Not on either side?”
“No. Was never into doing it to anybody and could never say….fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying anything about it now. Fuck .”
“I’m glad you did,” Jamie said quickly. “I mean, yeah, it’s quite a fucking surprise, but…I’m glad you trust me.”
“So?”
“So…yeah. Right. Okay. So.” Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, still trying to wrap his mind around everything Roy told him. Asked for. Admitted. Jesus Christ. This clearly wasn’t about having sex with Jamie, which was a shame, but Jamie thought he could still get on board this crazy train. He was pretty happy to take any excuse to have sex with Roy, plus the idea that there was something Roy wanted to experience and Jamie could make it happen for him gave Jamie an incredible high. “Okay, so, that thing you said about the woods? We’re going to have to work up to it, I think.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not jumping out at you from behind a fucking tree so you can drive your forehead into my skull. Not trying to die here, am I? And if this is all an elaborate plan to kill me–”
“It’s not.”
“Okay, well, if it’s not, then you won’t have any objections to starting slow, right?”
“Starting slow how?” Roy asked.
“Starting slow like maybe…some roleplaying.”
Roy’s eyebrows came together in an unhappy pinch. “Roleplaying?”
“Yeah, you probably read about it in your book. Like…I don’t know. Maybe I’m the coach and you’re the old man about to be benched.”
“Fucking hell, Jamie.”
“What? I’m just spit-balling here. Not like I woke up an hour ago and knew you were going to be throwing this at me.”
“Fine. You’re right. Does it have to be that, though?”
“Why can’t it be that? I’d look great sitting behind your desk.”
“You want to do it in the club? Behind my desk?”
“You’re the one who wants it to be believable, mate,” Jamie reminded him.
“I don’t want to start in the club.”
“So you’re not opposed to that idea, you just don’t want to start with it. Got it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It is. It is exactly what you said. Okay, so what’s your idea?”
“I don’t know.”
“Roy. If we’re going to do this, you’ve got to be honest. You didn’t wake up yesterday with this idea in your head. You’ve been reading books . You’ve probably been wanking to it for the past twenty years.”
“Fuck you.”
Fuck you could mean just about anything coming out of Roy Kent’s mouth, and this particular iteration sounded a lot like you’re so right Jamie, why are you so brilliant and correct all the time.
“So you’ve been jacking off to it since you were a teenager probably. Probably didn’t start thinking about getting jumped in the woods. Where did you start? Come on, Roy. I’m trying to help you here.”
“Maybe at a club. Not the football club. Like, out for a few drinks,” Roy muttered, his jaw so tight his mouth barely formed words. “Maybe you see me at the bar.”
“I’m not going to slip you a mickey am I?”
“What? No! What the fuck, Jamie?”
Jamie held up his hands. “I’m just asking clarifying questions. I don’t know what you got rattling around in your brain up there. A club, huh? LIke Bones and Honey?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“They’ve got those sex rooms in the back, don’t they?”
“They’re not…they’re private rooms.”
“They’re sex rooms. I guarantee we will not be the first people using those rooms for sex. In fact, Nate told me that–”
Roy held up his hand. “Stop. Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.”
“So, should we start there? I’m the incredibly handsome and charming stranger luring you to the sex room and you’re…who are you? What’s your story?”
“I’m Roy Kent.”
“You’re really going to roleplay as yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ. Okay, well, lucky for you I’m fucking brilliant so I’ll try to find a way to make that interesting.”
Roy snorted. “You really take me for granted, don’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t think there are guys out there pretending they’re Roy Kent to get off, or to get somebody off.”
Jamie knew for a fact there were guys out there willing to roleplay as Roy Kent. “That’s disgusting.”
“You’re a prick.”
“I’ve been told. So…when do you want to do this?” Jamie was pleased he sounded so calm and casual about the situation and wasn’t trying to get into Roy’s pants right that second.
“Thursday night.”
“Why Thursday night?”
“Club’s slow on Thursday nights. Less demand for the sex rooms.”
“So you know all about the sex rooms. Fine. Thursday’s fine with me. So…what do you want to do?”
“You decide.”
“I can’t…I mean, okay, what do you not want to do?”
“Don’t leave visible marks.”
“Visible…fucking hell, Roy. Do you have a safeword?”
“Um…Arsenal?”
Jamie shuddered. “Yeah, that will make my willy soft immediately. Okay. Great. So, are we going to train this morning or have some tea and chat more about your darkest sexual fantasies?”
“Start running.”
“Aye aye, coach.”
#
Of course Roy, the prick, refused to talk about it after the initial conversation. Jamie researched every blog post, every Facebook group, every Twitter thread, every fucking thing he could find about consensual non-consent (CNC to its friends) that he could find, and he learned a lot, but none of it gave him an idea about what made Roy Kent tick. And Roy wasn’t offering anything to explain himself. Forcing Jamie to rely on convex clues.
He remembered every word of their conversation because he remembered every word Roy had ever uttered to him or near him or about him. He’d said he didn’t want to be in control, he liked that Jamie was strong (maybe even stronger than him), that he trusted Jamie, and that he was not going to be anybody but Roy Kent. Jamie turned those thoughts over and over in his mind, chewing on them, examining them, until a plan started to form.
Thursday arrived and Jamie relied on muscle memory to get through training. His body knew what to do even if his mind was a thousand miles away. He didn’t have a official membership at Bones & Honey, but he was Jamie fucking Tartt, and he wasn’t shy about dropping Roy’s name, and so he managed to secure a reservation for one of the private rooms. He went there directly after training to make sure it was stocked with necessary supplies and to verify it wouldn’t be bothered until their reservation time and they wouldn’t be bothered once they were there. Then it was off to his house to shower and get dressed and try to eat even though his stomach was a swarming mass of nerves and he didn’t think he could hold anything down.
One thing he came across in his research was the idea of scene partners . People who were into the same kinks but otherwise weren’t involved–not friends or lovers or anything like that. Sometimes they didn’t even have to be the preferred gender. That was what Roy wanted. A scene partner. Roy wanted to be overwhelmed, held down, controlled and Jamie happened to be the person who could do that and also happened to be a man–didn’t mean Roy would want to have sex with him in other circumstances or have sex with any other man at all. It was a lot for Jamie to take in, but he thought he understood. It wasn’t personal. Don’t let his personal feelings get involved.
Jamie was still chuffed Roy trusted him and chose him when he could have chosen literally anybody else, including people who were experienced, even professional, at this type of thing. He decided not to think about the fact that this was going to be his first time with Roy–and maybe his last time if it didn’t go well–and Roy was going to be pretending Jamie was somebody else and getting off to a fantasy that had nothing to do with Jamie at all. Instead he focused on what he could do to be an effective scene partner, to make this work, to make it good for Roy.
Reserved the room 8-10. Be there at 7 .
He never once ordered Roy to be anywhere or do anything, and he almost didn’t send that text, but fuck it, he had to start somewhere. Roy responded with a thumbs up emoji, so that was probably a good sign.
His plan was very simple, very straightforward. If Roy wanted to be The Roy Kent then Jamie could find it in himself to be an overzealous, over eager, over demanding fan. If Roy didn’t like it, he could use the safe word, and if Jamie didn’t like it, he supposed he could use the safe word, too, and if neither of them liked it, they could go home and never speak of it again. That prospect didn’t make Jamie nervous. The question that tugged at the back of his mind was what if Jamie liked it? What if Jamie liked it a lot or liked it more than Roy? What if Jamie’s obsession–and it was an obsession he could admit that to himself–just got bigger, somehow?
Well, that was a problem for Future Jamie to worry about. Present Jamie had a whole other set of problems requiring his attention.
By the time he got back to the club, his mouth was so fucking dry he was going to need to down an entire beer just to fucking talk. He wiped his palms down his jeans again and again, and was that flop sweat on the back of his neck? Felt like it. He felt like that pilot in the movie his mom thought was so funny and he never got the joke with the water pouring down his face in streams. He had to pause as he stepped out of his car and take some deep breaths, counting up to twenty and then back down.
There’s nothing to worry about. This is just a game, right? And you prepped for this game and you’re going to be fucking great.
Good pep talk, except it started in Ted’s voice, which was too much to deal with given the circumstances, and then morphed into Roy’s voice which actually didn’t help his nerves at all. Roy had never asked him for anything . Ever. And Jamie didn’t even really know what Roy was asking for now. Fuck. The asshole could have at least sent him a text if he didn’t want to fucking talk about it like a fucking adult.
“Okay, worst case scenario, you go home and take a bubble bath,” Jamie muttered to himself, checking his hair in his reflection. “Best case scenario, Roy Kent sucks your dick. Good night either way, lad.”
Right. Good night. Great night. The best fucking night.
He walked through the door before he lost his nerve, gave his name to the hostess, and then stopped short as the club’s foyer, almost losing his fucking nerve. Roy was already there. The fact that Roy had arrived on-the-dot on time made Jamie’s stomach flutter in a new way. Roy Kent just doing what he said? As directed? No fighting? That was amazing. And hot. And fucking amazing. Of course, he always looked fucking fit. Jamie had expected his standard leather coat over black t-shirt look, but he was wearing his suit jacket instead of the leather and fucking hell did that do nice things for his figure. Jamie could stare at him for about an hour straight to take in all the details, and he realized he could actually do that. They were working on Jamie’s timeframe, not Roy’s.
Jamie felt spinny at the thought, and instead of strolling across to the bar, he chose a seat in the corner and gestured for a drink. From his chair, he had the perfect view of Roy, but Roy was sitting with his back to him, so he couldn’t see Jamie there, couldn’t see the way Jamie was practically drooling over him. Other people could, but this was Bones & Honey. Nobody gave a shit who he was or what he was doing there or who he stared at.
When the waitress came by to collect his empty glass, he ordered himself another drink and instructed her to add a drink for Roy to his tab. The words came out perfectly normal, his voice regular and even, but he thought he heard a tremble from the way his pulse disrupted his throat, thought the words got stuck for a moment between the roof of his mouth and his gummy tongue.
“Thanks, luv,” Jamie said as she brought him his order, his attention locked on Roy as the bartender set beer in front of him.
Roy looked to the left and the right before rotating on his barstool, eyes finally landing on Jamie. One eyebrow barely quirked and he lifted his glass in silent cheers before turning back to face the bar. The moment passed and Jamie released his breath, strangely relieved even though he’d accomplished nothing and was barely a half-step closer to the ultimate goal here. (Whatever the ultimate goal was. Both of them get off? Roy get off? Blow jobs? Hand jobs? Roy was implicitly leaving it up to him and Jamie had a lot of thoughts but no actual direction).
He took a deep breath, stood, collected his drink and flicked the switch in his brain. The one that turned on the swagger and turned off his thoughts. Time to play.
#
The fantasy wasn’t always about Jamie.
It was now. Exclusively about Jamie, whether Roy liked it or not, but it started years and years before Jamie Tartt was a blip on the radar screen. Back when he was shorter than all the other boys at the Academy, when he was light and fast and had a lower center of gravity and could change direction quicker, but they all towered above him like giants. Then it hadn’t been a fantasy so much as a nightmare–what would we do if the big boys cornered him in the shower? What would he do if they caught him out after practice when he walked by himself to his host family? At some point, the anxiety had turned into something else. Something he thought about when he was alone in the dark, fantasies that became more detailed and elaborate and common.
Roy would try to wank to other things. The nudie mags that got passed around the locker rooms. The girls who started to show an interest in him after he got his final growth spurt and suddenly he was the one who towered over people. The things the girls wanted him to do to them. He didn’t need to fall back on his fantasy life when he was with one of those girls, but when he was by himself he’d try and try and try to bust a nut and rub himself fucking raw until he’d finally give in to the oldest fantasy in his catalogue–fighting and being restrained, being held down, mouth forced open, body forced open. He carefully kept faces out of these fantasies. It didn’t matter who it was and he didn’t want to think about anybody he’d have to actually see the next day.
And then one day Jamie’s face snuck into the well-worn scenario and nutted hard and fast. It wasn’t a fluke.
Dr. Sharon recommended some books about kink and encouraged him to explore that aspect of his sex life when he alluded very vaguely to some dreams he might have had once. They didn’t help. Or maybe they did. They gave Roy a foundation, a vocabulary, an understanding that there wasn’t anything wrong with him. This sort of fantasy was apparently common enough. He never intended to do more than read about it, but the dry, clinical books gave way to true confession articles and then stories he found on an online forum, introducing scenarios and situations Roy himself had never thought about and now he couldn’t stop thinking about them. Couldn’t stop inserting Jamie into those stories.
He never should have opened his mouth. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t sleep deprived. He certainly hadn’t planned it. He had no fucking excuse. He didn’t even mean for it to be a request . It was just a fucking confession, and maybe he thought if he said it outloud, Jamie would be so disgusted with him that he’d leave once and for all, block his number, instruct his agent to find him another club because he wanted to get the fuck away from the freakshow in Richmond.
Instead, Jamie had taken it as a challenge or some shit.
And now here they were, sitting at the bar in Bones and Honey, and Jamie was buying him another drink and smiling and laughing and being so fucking charming that Roy was genuinely confused. Had Jamie misunderstood the assignment? This didn’t feel anything like what Roy had envisioned, this felt like a seduction. And it was working . He was ready to slide off the stool and follow Jamie anywhere he wanted to go. Literally anywhere. He knew Jamie could be sexy, alluring even, but Jamie was teasing him and flattering him and making him fucking blush and what the fuck was going on?
“Should we go somewhere a bit more private?”
Roy found himself nodding and standing, happy to follow Jamie wherever he wanted to go. Jamie led him out of the club area and down the dimly lit corridor to one of the private rooms. He held the door open for Roy and he barely had the chance to make note of the furniture, the low light, the bottles of beer chilling in a bucket of ice before Jamie’s large hand slammed him against the closed door hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
“What–”
Jamie’s mouth was hot and hard on his, a kiss that was full of teeth. He tasted copper on his tongue, and he tried to turn his head away, but Jamie’s other hand caught him on the back of his neck, holding him in place. He twisted and pulled, but Jamie was too strong and he couldn’t break away from his grip. He stepped forward and Jamie slammed him back again, his thigh pressing against Roy’s crotch, grinding against him with painful pressure. Anger was followed by sudden panic, and he put two hands against Jamie’s chest, shoving him as hard as he could and finally made enough room to move away. He put a hand down to the doorknob, and was shocked to discover it was locked.
Jamie clutched his arm hard enough to leave five finger-shaped bruises and spun him around, shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling to the sofa. Pain flared in his back and then Jamie was on top of him, the full weight of his body settling Roy’s midsection, hands pressing to Roy’s shoulders, pinning him against the thin cushions, mouth crashing against his again.
Roy’s eyes closed, red-hot pleasure spiking from his throat to his groin. He tried to buck Jamie off him just to prove he couldn’t do it, that he was caught and no matter how much he struggled, Jamie wasn’t going to let him up again. What was Jamie going to do to him? Roy could have told him, could have given him a list of things to do, a list of boundaries, could have planned out this whole scenario. But being caught and unable to anticipate, to decide, was exactly what he wanted. He put his hands up, pushing against Jamie’s chest and his face, scratching at the side of his neck until Jamie caught him by the wrists, squeezing until Roy stilled, holding his hands above his head.
Jamie leaned forward, his mouth against Roy’s ear. “Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”
It’s a weird doubling, like an old photograph with a double exposure. He knows Jamie wouldn’t hurt him–could barely stand to fight him even when Roy was the one picking the fight–and he knows Jamie could right now, with Roy pinned down beneath him, and he starts squirming again, starts trying to pull his hands free because he wants to know what Jamie will do. Wants Jamie to make him stop.
Jamie grunted and squeezed Roy’s wrists so hard he felt the tendons grind painfully against bone. He shifted, moving to hold both of Roy’s wrists in one hand, his longer fingers easily cuffing both hands together above his head. Roy’s mouth fell open with shock, and Jamie took advantage, shoving two fingers past his lips and pressing down on the back of his tongue, his thumb going under Roy’s jaw, and Roy realized he couldn’t close his mouth. That shocked him more than anything else, and he froze completely. His cock throbbed dully, the pulse echoing up to his eyes, and he wished he hadn’t worn such tight jeans.
“BIte me and I’ll knock your head off,” Jamie warned, just enough menace in his voice to make the threat credible.
Jamie started to slide his fingers in and out, adding a third to force Roy’s mouth wider, and then pushing deeper until he triggered Roy’s gag reflex. He convulsed against the intruding fingers, heart racing, eyes and nose watering but Jamie pulled away before he vomited. His hand disappeared and Roy couldn’t follow what he was doing, his vision too blurry. Then he felt something hot and smooth and slick pressed against the corner of his mouth, and he didn’t need to see to know it was the head of Jamie’s dick. Roy’s cock twitched, and Jamie dragged himself back and forth against Roy’s lips, spreading the saliva and pre-come, letting the smell of his musk fill Roy’s nose.
Roy didn’t resist this part. Why would he? It was exactly what he wanted. To have no choice but to let Jamie press past his lips and fuck into his mouth, to close his eyes and accept the salty taste against his tongue, to have nowhere to go. No protest, no defense, and most of all, no explanation of how or why he wanted it so fucking bad. Because he wasn’t supposed to want Jamie Tartt, was he? He especially wasn’t supposed to get off on Jamie Tartt fucking his mouth with forceful thrusts and soft grunts. Wasn’t supposed to let his eyes roll back and answer with his own groan as Jamie shifted to push more of himself down Roy’s throat. Wasn’t supposed to desperately hump the air as he gagged on Jamie’s dick, dying to get a hand wrapped around his own to relieve the terrible, incessant pressure.
Roy relaxed his jaw and his throat as much as he could, though he got the sense that Jamie was holding himself back. He no longer gripped Roy’s wrists with bruising pressure, and his thrusts were shallow, not quite pushing all the way to the back of his throat. And then suddenly, he was gone, pulled completely out of Roy’s mouth. Jamie managed to turn around while keeping Roy pinned beneath his body, sitting back to press his ass against Roy’s face. Before Roy could decide what he was supposed to do about that, Jamie had his jeans open and his cock out, the air startlingly cold against his flushed, overheated skin. The second Jamie touched him, fresh fluid leaked from him, rolling down his cock, betraying his intense arousal.
It all came to an end with shocking abruptness. Jamie bent and wrapped his lips around Roy’s head, his tongue flicking over his slit, and Roy erupted, his shout muffled against Jamie’s cheeks. Jamie kept his mouth on him until his cock stopped twitching and softened and slipped from between his lips, then the weight of his body disappeared. He stood over Roy, stroking himself for only a few seconds before his head dropped back and he shuddered, long ropes of come falling against Roy’s cheeks and lips. Roy’s tongue darted out to taste the warm liquid, and he shivered with pleasure, taking another taste.
“How was that? You good?” Jamie asked earnestly, dropping down into a crouch so he was at Roy’s eye level. He swiped his thumb over Roy’s bottom lip with surprising tenderness.
Good? He was better than good. He felt great, even if he wasn’t ready for it to be over. He nodded and closed his eyes, afraid Jamie might see the truth in his eyes. But he was already walking away, tucking himself back in his trousers, reaching for a towel. He perched on the sofa near Roy’s shoulder and carefully wiped his face clean.
“Roy? You good?” Jamie repeated, when Roy took too long to answer.
“Yeah…yeah, Jamie.”
He tossed the towel aside and reached for another one, continuing to wipe up Roy’s stomach and groin. He was maddeningly gentle. Roy didn’t want to admit how much he liked it, especially since a part of him still wanted Jamie to grab and squeeze him until he had tears in his eyes.
“Here, have a beer.” He twisted the top off one of the bottles and pulled Roy upright. “You need anything else? Water? Anything?”
“I’m good.”
His head was spinning, and he wanted to tell Jamie to push him around some more, to hold him down, to do something other than look at him with those questioning eyes and eager fucking smile. But he couldn’t really blame Jamie, either. This seemed like it was new to him, and it would make sense for him to think the first orgasm would put an end to the scene. Hell, until that moment, Roy might have assumed the same thing, but he was far from sated.
They drank their beer in silence for several moments before Roy noticed a tremor in Jamie's fingers.
“You alright?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m good. Yeah. I just…you had fun, right?”
“Jamie, it was perfect. You were perfect.”
Jamie’s smile lit up the room. “Yeah? Okay. Good.”
“Do you…can we do it again? I have another idea.” Roy normally wouldn’t volunteer this information, but he was still swimming through the afterglow and all he wanted to do was pull Jamie back on top of him.
“Sure, mate. What is it?”
“At Nelson Road. Not my desk. The showers.”
“The showers?”
Roy nodded, casually adjusting himself back into his pants in case saying the words out loud gave him another chub. “Yeah, say, late after training, and I’m in there alone and you come in and maybe we fight, or something.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he listened, processing the details through his sharp mind. Jamie was a lot smarter than most people–including Roy himself–gave him credit for, and he could connect the dots and pick up on patterns just fine.
“We fight and then I fuck you?” Jamie asked, the words coming out a little tight.
“Yeah, that’s…that’s the idea.”
“Okay,” Jamie breathed. “When?”
“Monday. No training. We’ll have the locker room to ourselves.”
“Okay. Great. Do you want another beer?”
“I’m good. And Jamie? Thank you.”
“For the beer–oh wait, you meant for the…the other thing. You’re welcome. I just…I wanted to make sure it was good for you.”
“It was,” Roy said softly. “You were.”
The pink flush of pleasure on Jamie’s cheeks, the soft upturn of his smile, was the best part of the entire night. The memory Roy returned to again and again, long after his blood stopped buzzing.