Broken is broken, in cracks or cloven segments fractured off the greater whole- He's pasted together now with bravado and bullheadedness. How he's kept himself whole this long he's not sure.

Being able to let North pick up the pieces is as much a relief as it is a frustration. Admitting he's broken, letting anyone see him that useless and weak and off center invites abandonment- from anyone save North. He's the only one that hadn't left because of some stupid shit York pulled or said or didn't do. That stability's reassuring.

The closeness of their bodies and familiar rumble against his neck? Enticing.

"Hey, I can be good." He'd pout if North could see it. But he can't, so he settles for going with the roll, free hand sliding up to curl in North's hair and give it a playful tug. He's held down without much leverage, but he can roll his hips up just so to make his point. "I remember you saying on more than one occasion how very good I've been for you, Ev."

Usually mid orgasm. Or post. Or pre. Somewhere in there. After awhile it didn't matter.