Jack kneels back, his hand spread on the warm, damp skin of Daniel's thigh, lips parted and wet. He's breathing in gasps filtered through the echo of a moan he didn't voice and staring blindly down at a sprawled, spread body; at arms curved high above Daniel's head, wrists crossed and bound.
His tongue's tasting his lips in restless sweeps; his free hand rises to wipe them clean when they're coated in nothing but spit.
And he's whispering 'sweet' and Daniel's shaking his head before his hands are untied.
"Not sweet, Jack. It tastes more like..."
Daniel smiles; surrenders.
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