Chase makes a noise of protest as he gets dumped onto his back, but the teeth in his shoulder and the hard dick rubbing up against his own push away any real complaints. His hips roll up clumsily and insistently into the new angle of contact, even as Jack's mouth finds his nipple and his fingers try to undo his jeans, pinning his hand uselessly between them.

Then Chase's fingers twist in Jack's hair again and he laughs, breathless and heated, unable to argue with his point (because it's true.) He uses his grip to pull Jack's head back up and away from his chest so he can kiss him again instead, biting at his bottom lip and then licking his way into Jack's mouth. It's not enough to draw blood, but damn if it doesn't feel like a near thing. "I got it," he promises when he stops to breath again, when the strain of denim trapping his cock against the weight and warmth and friction of Jack above him drives him to distraction. His eyes flash red and gold, a ring of fire from the pupil that burns out the iris and the whites, and suddenly both of them are naked and there's a haphazard pile of pants and shirts strewn about the floor, joining the fallen ring that Chase has already all but forgotten.

The magic in his veins makes him fumble instantly for their dicks, wrapping a hand around both of them together and tugging them as his mouth falls open and his hips jerk up erratically. He lets go of Jack's hair and grabs his bicep, just so he has something solid and steadying to hold onto. "God," he bites out instead of moaning, and this is usually where he'd flip them both over and take what he needs, but like always with Jack, he won't push he prince too far, he won't piss him off more than is amusing but safe. But he will make demands: "Would you just fuck me already?"