“It is. I don't care that they hate me,” she responded. He shook his head and propped himself up.

“Yes, you do. Whenever you get drunk and talk about them, that's when you get the nastiest. I know when you start babbling about your sister, I finally get to pull out the ropes and lube,” Ang told her. She laughed.

“That is so not true,” she chuckled, but then his hand was on her knee, his fingers sliding up her leg. A very similar gesture to Jameson's, just a couple hours ago. Her breath caught in her throat when Ang scooted closer.

“Doesn't matter. I feel like shit. She makes me feel like shit, I hate it,” he grumbled, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Tate swallowed thickly. She was in unfamiliar territory. While under normal circumstances she and Ang got it on whenever they felt like it, it usually wasn't when one of them had just slept with another person. And she didn't know all the rules to the game she was playing with Jameson. Would he be mad if she slept with Ang? He had made it very clear that their relationship would be a purely sexual one, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't exclusive. She pushed at Ang's shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“You shouldn't let her get to you. I know it's hard, and sad, and kinda depressing sometimes, but it's still so much better than life with them. We always have each other, so fuck everyone else,” she said. He sighed, and then he leaned in to kiss her, his arms wrapping around her waist.

Hmmm, maybe went the wrong way with that speech.

“It was horrible. You know how she is, she stood in the hallway after I kicked her out. Banged on peoples doors, screaming about her 'faggot grandson', same old shit. I don't want to hate her ..., but I hate her so much,” he breathed against Tate's skin.

Ang had been a huge part of her life, for a very long time. Jameson may have peeled away the excess material, exposing the real Tatum – but Ang had helped mold her. She had sharpened her tongue and claws against him, amongst other things. He needed her, and while most friends hashed shit out over beers or ice cream or whatever, she and him had their own fucked up ways. It just worked for them.

So she went with it. She felt kind of guilty and wrong – feelings she wasn't used to experiencing anymore – but she also wanted to make Ang feel better. Make him forget a little bit of his pain. He pulled her over so she was straddling him, and he ran his hands up and down her back before settling them on her shoulders.

“I have to go to work soon, Ang, so maybe I can just give you a -,” she started, when he suddenly bolted upright. She clung to his shoulders, almost getting catapulted off the bed.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, running his fingers over the welt on her shoulder.

“Jesus, you startled me!” Tate snapped, then looked at where his fingers were touching.

“Did he do this to you?” Ang asked, leaning in close to the bite mark.

“No, I was trying to chew through my own shoulder, so I could escape,” Tate laughed. Ang glared at her. He had gone from upset to angry, very quickly.

“Are those teeth? What the fuck, Tate? That looks painful,” he snapped. She laughed.

“You're joking, right?”

“And your legs! What the fuck happened!?” he demanded, his hands gripping her thighs. Her towel had ridden up, exposing her bruises. They both stared down at her lap.

“What the fuck do you think happened? Ang, it's not like any of this is new to you. A couple weeks ago, you practically gave me a concussion, when you were practicing one of your 'moves' for your movies,” she used air quotes, making a face at him.

“That's a little different, Tate. I've been fucking you for five years. This guy just found you two days ago, and you're letting him tear chunks out of you!?” Ang's voice was getting loud. Tate scowled and climbed off his lap, holding the towel secure around her body.

“That guy found me seven years ago, and not one mark on my body is unwanted, or was unasked for. If you're gonna give me a bunch of shit, then maybe you should go,” she growled, stomping over to her door. Ang stayed on her bed, running a hand through his hair.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're totally right. I'm just not ..., I'm not used to seeing that, so quickly, with you. I've probably left bigger and worse marks,” he apologized. She nodded.

“No shit.”

“Look, I said I'm sorry. I came over here with this great idea to leave marks of my own all over you, and then I find out some guy got there first. Kind of puts a damper on my plans,” Ang laughed, and she had trouble containing her own smile. It sounded so ridiculous when said out loud.

We are ridiculous.

“Well, sorry, but you knew where I was last night,” she replied. He groaned and fell back onto the bed.

“Arrrrrrg, I just wanted to get laid. Is your roomie here?” he asked, lifting his head and giving her a sideways smile.

“No way, buddy. You are never laying a finger on Rus,” Tate laughed, turning and digging some underwear out of her dresser.

“Why not? You said she's hot for me. I think she's hot. Sounds like a party,” he said from behind her. She snorted and managed to pull on the underwear while still wearing the towel.

“As far as you're concerned, Rus is the Virgin fuckin' Mary. Off limits,” Tate replied. She let the towel drop and put on her bra. She turned around and Ang's eyes raked over her body, but he didn't say anything.