That was why he’d fucked him: because for all his vaunted brains, Luke was painfully aware that he did not love intelligently. So he tried his best not to love at all. He chose as partners men who could fuck with friendliness and part without dramatics, because he had control of his life these days, and didn’t intend to lose it again. But there was still a kernel of him that was a desperate, lost, hungry thing, and no matter how hard he tried to starve it out, it was always there, poking its head out at a sniff of affection, howling for more, making him hopeful and vulnerable and stupid.
