He laughs, low and rough, pressing deeper and digging his fingertips a little harder into Neil's hip. "Maybe not exactly like this," he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of Neil's ear, the slight curve of his shoulder. "He asked me if I was ready, for one thing." In a fraction of a second he slides his fingers out and then he's spitting into his hand, slicking himself as best he can, lining himself up and forward and in with a strained groan.
Not that he doubts that Neil's ready. But it's the principle of the thing.
no subject
Not that he doubts that Neil's ready. But it's the principle of the thing.