[welp. there goes the shirt, thrown across the room, as Mars arches his back against the mattress and glides his palms seekingly across newly exposed skin. they might be the same person— k. . . kind of. . .— but their bodies are different enough, and Mars is more than happy to explore as many of those differences as he can with wandering fingertips]

[. . . Joker's commentary gets a dry snort from Mars, followed by a pleased, encouraging noise. the pleasure continues on his end of the bond, buzzing like electricity, still laced with that sense of competition that has yet to ebb]

I think the technical term is. . . The Devil? Or something?

[he yanks scoldingly on Joker's hair, just enough to be slightly painful]

Don't sound so gods damned smug.