Hans Larsson

"I have nothing to prove to you or anyone else."

Rekker growled the words at the Swede, low and gravelly like he sang sometimes. The prissy Swede wasn't going to wind him up, not now, or at least not that way. The grinding though had his eyes closed and pulled ragged breaths from the Brit. This was going to get him hard in a hurry if Bjorn kept rocking in his lap.

"You're the one that climbed on me." He threw back as he grabbed a handful of the now much softer bleached hair. He didn't pull, yet, but those soft sounds got his mind on fucking the hell out of the singer. He leaned in whispering, still near a growl.

"You'd like me to prove you're a little bitch? Like the whore you keep offering to be."