Poison laughs, sort of, when Jack wants him to keep talking. Alright, he can do this. Maybe. Because as soon as Jack's fingers start moving like they mean it, he's having trouble stringing words together. Or thoughts.

"Ah-- uhm. Like-- like the hickey. Bruises. Uhm. Like the kinda soreness you feel after a good fuck. I mean like. I like how it feels when my hair gets pulled around, but--"

He can't quite finish that sentence, because he makes it a point to move his hips just so and Jack's fingers hit the right spot. "Fuck."