The noise was a heady thing, sank heat through Neil, right through his belly and down his spine, because he could feel it just as much as he could hear it. The quiet noise of the television was a washing white noise now, enough to mute steady breathing and keep back the silence that might have seemed uncomfortable otherwise. Neil’s been in too many overly quiet places; he likes manufactured noise too much these days, and natural ones too, like this, the soft breath sounds of another boy and the steady, messy noise of kissing getting out of hand.

He shifts a little again, but this time back. It seems easy, with the way they’re clinging at each other’s necks and shoulders, to pull Steve along with him as he tilts back on the couch. Somehow, lying down seems the better choice than climbing on top of Steve. Maybe because it puts Steve in a position of control—easier to push back and away if he gets overwhelmed—or maybe because he just wants to feel his weight against him.