"Don't talk back to me," he says, but he's smiling faintly and his voice is fond. There's not as much need to keep back the emotion now.

He's not as afraid.

The hand at Tom's collarbone finger-walks up to his throat, curls around the back of his neck and as Mike steps away and to the side he pushes down, not quite pressing Hobbes onto his knees but bending him, instead.

"Bend over the bed," he murmurs. "Legs straight. I know it's hard to hold yourself up with your hands like that. Do your best."