Something in Kavinsky's chest ached for a second and he diverted his gaze for a moment to compose himself. Being overwhelmed with need maybe wasn't the best time to have that idea floated past him. It felt terribly like a rejection, and more importantly a mocking. He licked his lips, kept his hands still and his posture wholly accepting.

"'s your car," he breathed. He made a conscious effort of steeling his voice. "Told you you can do whatever you want with me."