Francis doesn't even seem to mind that the gagging is more encouragement that anything. He likes being roughed up a little, and as much as it pushes him a bit, it's not too much, and he doesn't pull away even as his throat flexes around his cock. A low whimper humming on his lips as he sucks against flesh, a little greedy, a little wanton, that slick sound that's only really audible between them given the noise and the music. There's a certain eager willingness in how he takes it, leaning in a little and just letting Dodger use him. Able to tell that he's out of control, but he doesn't quite seem to mind, or maybe he just knows it wouldn't really matter in the moment.

It's not until his skin starts to heat up even more that the blonde squirms a little. It hitting that point of being uncomfortable against his tongue, and his fingers on his hip tighten a little, muffled words and soft sounds. It doesn't burn him, but it's still a little too much, has him fighting that urge to pull back. He probably should, but Francis is caught in the moment, and fucked up as it might be, but there's something about the heat and that edge of being almost dangerous. He swallows him as he spills down his throat, and even his cum is hot.

He gasps, breathless and a little wrecked as the man pulls him off, tugging his head back and all he can do is look up at him- eyes a little glassy, damp at the edges, his pupils blown. His skin's flushed, all heat and arousal and he shivers at the question, licking his lips without quite thinking about it as he nods. It takes him a moment to find the words, to trust himself to try and voice it.

"Yes, I-- yeah. You're good," he breathes, a low murmur that leaves it vague exactly which he means. Aside from his enjoyment, at least.