Kavinsky shifted his hands to hold under his knees, pulling his legs back even closer to his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a second, a long, steep breath. Jack felt amazing, deep and intent, and Kavinsky was trying to hold back the itch of tears.

"Fuck. Molya--oh, shit." Kavinsky bit his lip, trying to keep that tenuous grasp on his English, just a little longer. His cock dribbled against his stomach and he whined softly.