He lets out a harsh sound as he feels Neil spilling over his fingers, hot and sticky against his wrist--he's not there himself but he can feel it coming, building like a steady upward spiral as he drags Neil through it. The scars don't matter. The leg doesn't matter. His body is incidental; it's a means to an end, and the end is convulsing in his arms even as he crests it.

Another harsh sound as he slides down into the slow, shaking explosion of his own orgasm, rougher and lower than the last and somehow more desperate. If it's an end, it's also ending, and he's still afraid of what might be waiting tomorrow.

But Neil had said mine. And Mike still believes him.