He rolls onto his belly after Neil's out of the room, reaching down onto the floor and grabbing a crumpled t-shirt--perhaps from the day or two before--using it to wipe the last of the come and lube from his skin before balling it up and tossing it into the corner. He doesn't want to move, but lying here... it's too easy to start thinking.

He hasn't let himself really think about this until now. And now he can't stop. What if he has it? What if they both do?

At least then they won't have to worry about it anymore.

He sits up, groaning as a twinge shoots through his hip. He could get up, but that involves putting the prosthesis back on, and that feels like almost more than he can deal with.