“Yeah, be honest.” He was going to throw it out there. Ichi had nothing to lose and Cole—it wasn’t like Cole had to find out he’d teased Bobby before the man tossed him out on his skinny ass. “Why would you change now? You think there’s something between us? Like what?”
“You know there is. And it gets me to wondering a few things sometimes.”
“More things? Other than this one thing?” Ichi dropped his hands to his thighs, waiting for Bobby to make the next move. “Like what exactly?”
“Like whether or not you want to be bent over a bed or lying on it,” Bobby purred as he tilted his head back. “You know, when I fuck you.”
There was no mistaking the challenge in the man’s darkening eyes or the cocky set of his grin as he twisted sideways to stare at Ichi over the back of the couch. It was a game Ichi knew well—one he’d played a thousand times before—the shoving out of a chest and the tossing of salt into a dohyō. It was a look he’d gotten right before he suckled down the gummy, hairy insides of a fertilized duck egg and shouted in triumph when he extracted the beak before he swallowed it. And it was a smile much like the one he’d gotten before he’d shot across a bed of salt flats in a broke-assed Harley held together with spit and a prayer.
Folding his arms across the back of the couch, Ichiro leaned in and gave Bobby a cocky smile of his own, tilting his head as he drawled slowly, “What makes you think you’re the one who’s going to be doing the fucking?”