Having his head tilted back, even a little, pulled the arch in his spine tighter and Jack didn't even bother to try to hide - or temper, or restrict - his reaction. He gasped, grimaced, and the sound he made wasn't quite a gasp or a groan, it was just a breathless, tight, exhale that bordered on a whimper. He wanted to either move away, or close his eyes.
"John. Weren't you planning to get off at some point?" That wasn't said meanly, or sharply, in spite of the strain. That was a reminder, and god damn he needed John to fuck him. Needed him to, if only because it was part of the point.