"Good boy," he whispers again. Poison whimpers a little, because Jack feels so fucking good, feels tight like this. He smacks Jack's ass, then grabs the back of the collar around his neck, holding tight - not quite enough to choke, but it puts pressure on his throat. He rode him like that: one hand on the collar, the other gripping Jack's hip, pulling him into every thrust. He wants to hear skin smacking skin.