The sound that escapes him when Jack pushes in is a kind of desperate relief. His legs close, thighs tight against Jack's hips like he means to trap him where he is. Poison leans up to meet the kiss, hanging on Jack's promise that he'll be untied before this is all over.

He loves touching this man.

But without his hands, he takes what he can, lingering against Jack's mouth as long as he's allowed. "Fuck, I love you," he whispers, because it's not part of their game but he has to say it. He can't hold that little bit in.