[ Good news, Irving: a whore doesn't have to admit he's a whore, not when he offers himself up so easily, clings to him like he'd drown otherwise. Hell, maybe he would - if he lets Jack see this tempestuous conflict within him, what small tortures is he hiding, he wonders?

Nothing that won't make his brain go flying out through his ears, with the mental gymnastics it takes to maintain it all. ]

You would still claim any decency, while begging me to keep fucking you in the same breath. You are deeply, profoundly disturbed.

[ And Jack is...fascinated, honestly, like he's being faced with a puzzle, the solution for which seems obvious until it isn't. A perfect contradiction to pull apart and terrorize until he can force it to make sense. Until then, he'll force him to bear his marks, accepting the invitation to leave more, and in more visible, vulnerable places. He's raking his teeth against the base of Irving's throat when his grip tightens, pulling his chest up against his and gripping him tighter so he can thrust up into him, rough and unhindered. It is good, despite all of Irving's bullshit, he's tight, hot, and enthusiastic, in deed if not in words. ]

Don't lie to me. There's no decency in there, just your pretty little moans and my dick. You-- mmm. You love the debauchery, don't you?