Y'know, every single time you spread your legs, I want to fuck you back into screaming my name.

[ Murmuring his thoughts aloud against scratchy skin, his tongue rasps as Jack licks over his work, a nice pink bruise that will turn purple by tomorrow. Switching off the grill with barely a glance, the hand sliding up and down Hiccup's back rakes its nails into the dip as Jack's hips are teased, a low noise pouring over the curve of a neck. ]

Breakfast. Then another shower for you. How's that sound?