Steven's own hands follow Jack's again. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears. He's so very conscious of how easily Jack could strangle him, right here, right now. And-- fuck. He doesn't know. He doesn't know if he wants him to. Doesn't know if he doesn't want him to. Doesn't know if he'd let him. Shouldn't-- shouldn't there be reciprocity in these things?

"Right," he repeats, faintly.