This time Johnny's soft, restrained gasping resolves into a startled yelp, ramping up quickly and dying almost as fast, leaving him shaky and breathless, quivering under the pinch of thumb and forefinger. It is this that undoes him; he arches toward his would-be tutor in sharp surprise, his breathing ragged and his fingers digging uselessly against the immutable wall.

"Oh, god," he whispers, the words slipping carelessly out, regretting it immediately, that he's given that, that acknowledgment, that - concession. But it hardly matters. Niall's got him taken well apart by now. Knows what he craves, and that he craves it enough that now what he wants is to press forward, not pull away; or if he wants to fight back, he wants to be overcome.