Kavinsky moaned around Jack, as he slid back in, as he fucked, and as he came. He swallowed deftly around him, a desperate sort of need in every little movement of his lips and his tongue. And even after Jack had finished coming, Kavinsky lingered on what he was doing, cleaning Jack up and sighing against his skin. He was so hard it almost hurt, but he hadn't been told he could come. So he wouldn't.