"Yes what, gazza?" He murmurs, looping an arm around Jack's waist to support him as they move. It's a subtle thing, the dip of his voice, the weight to his hand, the slow trace of the tip of that pick from the curve of Jack's ear to his jaw o his lips and ever downward. Along his chin and the side of his throat, following the line of his sternum and the slender arcs of his ribs, dipping into his navel.