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.