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Simon picked at his jeans and pulled at his shirt cuffs. He was busy wishing that absolutely no part of him was glad to have Mark back, when Mark spoke up from across the room.
"You got down on your knees for me once," He was still looking at his phone, as if he wasn't really thinking.
Simon choked, struggling with how unprompted and nonchalant it was above anything else. "Do you remember?" he pushed, as if Sick Boy's response had left room for any misinterpretation.
"I wasn't sure you did," Simon looked down, "You never mentioned it - I just assumed you were on the skag,"
Mark chuckled - a smug, disingenuous chuckle. "I wouldn't have been able to, most likely." He sat for just a moment before lifting himself up by his arms and taking a single step closer. "Would you do it again?"
He kept moving, leaving Simon unsure he was even sober now, nevermind 20 year ago when they were both junkies. "Would you?"
"I -" Sick Boy stopped. Mark touched a hand to his shoulder and he just stopped, silently nodding his head whilst his brain short-circuited. "Yes,"
Mark smiled, pushing Simon of off the sofa and onto the floor. No sooner had Simon gotten Mark's jeans to the floor than his face was pressed into Mark's boxers, pinned there by strong hands.