"I don't want to," he breathes, words smudged against the corner of Neil's mouth--because he hasn't stopped there, because he can't, tracing achingly slow, careful kisses up to Neil's cheeks, his eyes, the ridge of his brow. It feels almost like worship--this face that he knows so well, that he loves so much, that he feels like he has to learn for the first time. And none of the kisses from before now count. Those hadn't even been kisses at all; they had been hard, rending things full of teeth and he had meant every one of them to hurt.

I don't want to. Because he isn't stupid enough to say I won't.

He's not sure he really can, anyway. Not in the end.

He pulls back finally, smearing wetness away from under Neil's eyes with his thumbs--and just for a few seconds his own vision blurs into bright nothing. "You wanna get outta here?"