Shut up, Matt.” He leans forward, and kisses Matt, kisses him, rolls the sharp sting of tobacco smoke and poison on his tongue and bites Matt’s lower lip almost hard enough to bleed. It’s only when they’re both breathless that he pulls away and immediately dons his helmet, licking his lips. He’ll carry Matt’s taste to the grave, bitterness and all. (Almost as sweet as sugarless chocolate, 99% dark and enough to make you lose your appetite.)