Neil can't actually say, really, what it does. He knows it feels good. He can't attribute it to the touch or to the enthusiastic movement of their hips or how long they've been doing it. Caleb feels good.

He wants Caleb to feel good, and that's it. That's all of it. He clings to him desperately, rolling his hips and panting softly.

"I want it," he whines. "Don't worry 'bout me. God, Caleb..."