Poe didn't seem to think he was being ignored or forgotten -- they were pressed close enough that it wasn't as if his dick was being completely ignored anyway; depending upon how Armitage moved, there was friction plenty, a drag of skin that he got caught up in. Every time it made him gasp out a little breath of surprise, like it was hard to balance that kind of pleasure when coupled with being fucked.
The neediness was better this time, better than the bossy air that Armitage usually managed. It wouldn't be better every time, but in this instance, it was. Poe'd needed it, somehow. His fingers felt sort of sweaty but he tangled them in Armitage's hair anyway, he tensed his muscles up, heels digging further into his back, ass clenching up enough to practically make a claim. "Armitage," he said, or at least tried to, it probably didn't come out quite as coherently as all that, but who was really keeping track anyway?