It hurts. God, it hurts, and that ugly something twists it into a little thrill, and the fact that he hurt Tim is even better (even worse). Neal doesn't move in again. Breathes deep, does everything he can to stay focused.

"Okay." It's soft, neutral, not placating. Instinct--the way he knows he would react to placation--keeps it neutral. "I don't want anything from you, Tim. I'm here if you--"

What, need him? Tim won't, or won't admit that he does, and it's perfect (no it's not). Neal shakes his head.

"If you want to lock yourself in my apartment room or whatever. I'll leave the window unlocked." He knows by now that Tim can get himself inside that way just fine. "And I meant what I said about the house. One of those rooms is yours. No matter what else happens."