The roughness of the touch was more grounding than anything else, a possessiveness that reminded him of who he was and who Newt was, that pressed calloused fingers against sensitive skin and reminded him to stay in line. And he loved it.

"God, please," he whispered. It was not one of the things he was allowed. His mouth was allowed to be open for sucking cock and saying thank you, but he wanted the noise of expressing his want. It felt good to say it, to feel the weight on his tongue. "Can I suck your cock first, sugar?"