He's caught for a moment between wanting to continue arguing and just giving in. Of course, he chooses chaos. Even as he stops thinking properly. Even as he grows warmer under his touch.

The words are halting, laced with soft noises that he knows, without wondering, drive Warren mad. For all their restraint in public, Jacobi doesn't hold back here.

"I love making you ache for it, though." He rakes fingers along his shoulders, under his shirt, digging welts there that regretfully never last. He knows he won't last, so he adds, in a murmur: "Do you think you'll beg me?"

Jacobi tilts his head back against the wall as he finishes, raising up on his toes with a deep groan.

But dammit, he got the last word.