Jack was exquisite to watch like this. The uptight banshee that Blake often mentally described as prissy, cocky, or simply self-important, reduced to the pleasures of the flesh. And he, Blake, at the helm. Blake didn't get so much pleasure out of dominating Jack as he did seeing the results. Jack Cavanaugh was, simply put, beautiful with his guard down and exposed like this.
These thoughts swirled through his head in a slow-motion blink of an eye. Then Jack's teeth fastened on Blake's shoulder and the Dragonslayer felt an immediate instinctual response. He was a fool to think he was the one dominating here. Dragon blood was old in Blake's veins, but some things were basic and primal. With the sharp pain mixing so nicely with his want and pleasure, it might as well have been a command to come. And Blake did.
Some time later, Jack's clothes freshly washed and still hot from the dryer, Blake gave one more lingering kiss on Jack's mouth, hands cupping his face. Then he let go. Blake's pants were back on, and hung on his hips beneath a well built torso with its assorted scars and short dark chest hair. He didn't try to think of something to say, too afraid that they'd be back to arguing and the last hour or so would have just been a dream.