He growls again, something that's not words, that doesn't need to be, because it's only a vocalization of the instinct he's following in lieu of anything else. He manages to get enough one-legged purchase on the sheets to grind down hard with his hips, cock stiffening against the inside of Neil's thigh.

And he's not going to think about how, every time they do this now, it feels a little bit like Russian Roulette.

And how he doesn't even hate it.

"God." The word is muffled against Neil's throat, still half incoherent as he gropes between them with one hand. "Where's the fucking lube?"