His lips pursing against Jade's, he ducks his head, letting his body curve along the route Jade's hands take. It shouldn't come so naturally to him, not even while drunk, but he's following every tug and every nudge, moaning at the eventual caresses it earns him.

"Quiet as in not saying anything?" This is something he considers difficult in any state, sober, drunk, drugged. Only sleeping is the obvious exception. "Not making any noise at all?"

The pressure on his assorted bruises makes his legs twitch. Some are older and barely hurt anymore. Others are fresh, from being dragged around against his will, kicking and screaming insults at the top of his lungs. However, he doesn't attempt to pull away. The pain is always quick and sharp, spiraling up his spine straight into his head -- and then into his cock, hard enough to lie almost flat against his own stomach.

He's willing to endure now, though, and more than that. It's like overriding the information. Unpleasant pain exchanged for ... for whatever this is.

"I think I'll fail tomorrow."