The miscommunication hadn't been deliberate. Most men he slept with took care of their needs or they didn't. It went without saying and he had never been instructed or taught otherwise. It wasn't uncommon that they didn't finish, though some made it impossible to ignore that they had. He'd never been on the received end either. Couldn't comprehend why the man beneath him might tolerate it, much less actually enjoy it. Not for him to really worry over. He knew what he liked, even if he pretended as if he didn't some days.<br/><br/>"Not much more den a man needs," Dusty said, considered the trash piles surrounding them. He ended up mostly perusing, loading up on anything he predicted might be useful later on. Not really looking for anything specific, but he did pile crap in the bed of the truck nonetheless. It went back to how it was between them, as if nothing had happened. Dusty was friendly but not exactly warm, and the drinking had resumed until it was time they ought to head back. There was no mention of their previous discussion of the fishing trip, or much conversation at all on the ride back to the stranger's apartment. Dusty was never exactly proud after his dalliances with other men. Attributed largely to his upbringing and the shame he contended with on a regular basis. The end of the world hadn't really changed any of that, though he did show up three weeks later, hauling a jon boat that looked beat worse than his truck, honking obnoxiously.<br/><br/>Dusty had tried not to consider the awkward and slightly tense implications of the last exchange they'd had. He would have preferred if it wasn't acknowledged and wasn't sure if he wanted it to happen again. Sleeping with the stranger another time would make him less of a stranger. Categorizing him as a drinking buddy was one think. Fucking him on a regular basis was something else entirely, though what the fuck was he doing back, with a cooler full of beer and bait?