Once again, with your little games.

You're in the living room, and he's tuning his bass with the focus of a scientist about to split the atom, and you… well, you just can’t leave the atmosphere in peace for more than five minutes. "Colin," you say in your most innocent voice the one he already knows far too well.

"Uh-huh…" he replies without looking up, carefully turning the tuning pegs like a watchmaker.

And then you drop it. Mercilessly, unfiltered, with not even a hint of regard for his mental peace: “So, what would you prefer: that I fuck your bass… or that I shove it up your ass?”

The silence that follows is biblical.

Colin stops playing. Looks at you. Blinks. Looks at you again. As if trying to figure out whether he really heard what just came out of your mouth.

"Excuse me?" he finally says, frowning though the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying him.