Morrison leans farther back in his chair, knees splayed wide. He has not bothered pushing down his heavy pants; just pulled his dick out from the opening in the front, idly weighing it on the wide palm of his hand.

His cheek is resting on the fist of the other hand, elbow braced on the armrest of his chair.

He watches Shimada, and Shimada looks back: unblinking, unmoving, unnerving. His dark eyes are glowing a faint red, like coals smoldering away, and sometimes Jack imagines there to be a furnace inside him; a heavy, perpetually working machine that doesn’t let the young man come to rest, and is responsible for his ever aggressive nature.

Kneeling on the floor, watching his cock – the blunt head appearing again and again from the foreskin, wet and dark and inviting – he looks a lot calmer than usual.

“Do you want this?” he murmurs, thumb moving, pulling down on his foreskin again; lifting his cock to present it to Shimada in all its glory.

He looks hungry, the metal of his jaw glinting as it moves faintly, light reflecting on the smooth surface.

“Why don’t you beg for it, hm?”

Shimada’s mouth falls open, though he is not saying a word. Morrison doesn’t think he has ever actually hear him speak. It is not of importance: his body speaks for him if he so chose.

His mouth falls open, tongue lolling out.

In the back of his throat, Morrison can see metal glinting. The bottom row of his teeth are shiny titanium. His tongue, however… that is all human. Soft and pink and glistening with the saliva that’s gathering rapidly the longer he stares at Morrison’s cock. Close enough to smell. Too far to lap at the broad tip.

If the tongue isn’t human, Angela outdid herself modelling it perfectly. Organically. He wonders if she knew what it would be used for.

He stops leaning his head on his fist, and instead uses the hand to reach for Shimada. His eyes flinch towards the movement, but he stays steady otherwise.

Morrison cups his jaw; pushes his thumb into the open, accepting mouth, idly dragging the gloved finger across Shimada’s tongue.

“You want my cock?” he murmurs, pulling himself a little further towards him, cock almost close enough to touch his lips. Shimada stays steadfast but his eyes… his eyes are almost crossing; trying to get a look. Saliva dripping from the tip of his perfect little tongue.

He wants it. He wants it dearly.

Morrison plays with his tongue just a little longer. Just long enough to show him he is not in charge: and then he slips a little closer still, indulging himself. Slapping the fat weight of his dick against Shimada’s cheeks. Smears it across the prominent cheekbones Angela had been able to reform. Beautiful.

“You’re a good boy, hm? I always get those complaints about you… people are afraid of you… but you’re nothing but a little kitty cat, are you?”

Shimada is drooling liberally, staring up at him, still as a statue until Morrison finally pops the swollen head inside his open, wanting mouth.

“Yeah,” he grunts, slumping back in his chair, eyes going half-lidded as Shimada suckles, tongue cradling what little he’s been given to play with. “Just a little kitty cat wanting some cream and loving.”