When Steve was close, standing there, Kavinsky brought the knife down to the lower hem of his shirt. He yanked the knife through the fabric, rending the shirt without care for the fabric, or the flesh underneath. It did little damage to the flesh, a scratch that he watched barely exist for all of Steve's rapid healing.

There were some scars, though. That was heartening, at least.

He licked his lips and gently placed the knife against Steve's stomach. Just the edge, not quite digging in yet.

"Should I put a sin on you? I've got some I think would look lovely on you right now."