"Too cold," he breathes, arching up under Neil's touch, wriggling after a few moments and lifting the top of his torso just enough to get the shirt off over his head. "Too fucking polite."

He pulls them back together again, mouth against the soft skin under Neil's jaw. "I need to do this," he whispers. "I just... need to. Before I'm done." He doesn't know how to explain it, the monumental betrayal it would be to just cut and run, the way he feels like he's on the edge of one now.

The way he's now seeing the daily betrayal he's been living with for years.