He thrusts in deep, deep as he can, just rests there for a moment and waits for his head to stop spinning, head dropped with his lips pressed against Neil's shoulder. One arm slips around his middle and pulls them closer together, the other finds Neil's on the rock and closes over it, threading their fingers together. This is always a different kind of close, close like someone with their hand buried in your guts.

"Neil," he whispers, half mindless and reflexive, lips moving against wet skin. Then he rolls his hips back and in again and his breath catches. "Christ, you're... so good, Jesus."