Lips bruised and wet, eyes dark with want and a little glassy, Neil smiles proudly when Harry has to stop him. It puts a bead of vicious pride in his belly, even if it’s just because Harry hasn’t had someone’s mouth on him in a while.

He kisses him sweetly, aware there’s precome smeared on his lips, and then he moves to the head of the bed. He lets his thighs lull open, reaching down to play with himself briefly.