Jack wants to say, Well, that's the bloody point of this, isn't it? but can't, because his mouth is kind of full at the moment. Instead he pushes on with more intent. Works Norrington at a quicker pace, swirling his tongue in a cute little trick that usually brings about terrific results.

He knows Norrington doesn't want to come in his mouth. Whether it's from politeness or awkwardness or some other reason entirely, he can't say. He suspects it falls into the category of Other Reason Entirely, and for that it's vitally important that Jack keeps his mouth where it is. There are already too many conflicting urges inside his brain, between panic and lust and confusion -- the confusion is definitely a problem. One more is not welcomed.

Jack screws his eyes shut then and swallows, deeply, overriding his choke reflex. He wants to feel it when Norrington comes, back of his throat, every single ounce of his attention drawn into that one sensation. Wants to look up at Norrington, tasting him still in his mouth, and show him -- something. Jack doesn't know what it will show Norrington, what he wants it to show. He just feels defiant against the man, against all the feelings rushing through his veins.

He can't even tell if he's hard anymore.

Come for me, he wants to say. Like this, right here. He swallows a second time and then a third, pulling Norrington in until it feels like he can't breathe anymore. His hands clench on Norrington's flanks, rubbing harder, nails scraping into flesh. This is what he wants; bugger Norrington if it isn't what he planned to happen.