Somehow, the sight of Bradley sprawled, lazily on Arthur's bed, scrunching up Highly Important Manuscripts as if paper were something you could mass-produce and showing off his incompetency as he hits every part of the room except Arthur -- somehow what ought to be annoying and mildly nightmarish is in fact translating, in whatever inner circuitry takes care of these things, as turn on. As well as annoying, and nightmarish.

"At least put some clothes on," he says to Bradley. He hopes it might help.

Bradley gets out of bed -- and he is, of course, stark naked, several bruises forming on his -- Arthur's -- Bradley's -- that skin, thanks to the night's activities.

"We're not doing this again," Arthur says, because he's thinking, I want to do this again.

"Tonight, maybe?" Bradley says, eyeing Arthur's arse -- bloody narcissist, just like Arthur -- and not doing anything at all about correcting his nudity. "I recharge fast."

Arthur knows it's true -- knows because his own body really is evidence to go by -- and knows they wouldn't have to wait at all as long as Bradley is suggesting. He throws some trousers at him.

"We're definitely not doing this again."

Bradley says: "I could have you right now, if I wanted."