The truth is that even separated by lives and fucking worlds he still knows Neil's body this well, can feel the tension building like a thrumming charge under his skin. And when Neil comes he makes a liar of himself and it's not down his throat; it's on his tongue, hot and slick and faintly bitter, and everything that comes with the taste of it sends him shuddering again.

It's not an orgasm of his own, though he's had a hand between his legs, grinding against the heel of his palm, for the last however long. But the world gets indistinct for a while, and then he's licking Neil clean with a kind of care that's almost delicate--with that edge of desperation still beneath it.