He whined and whimpered softly, arms trembling a little as he held himself back. The scent of his blood was as arousing as it was disturbing, which should probably bother him a lot more than it did. Steve hadn't often indulged his darker side, his less savory urges, and there'd been nothing since James. Kavinsky was feeding that need, at least in part, and he was grateful.

"I thought! I thought about it . . . I just . . . didn't push." His voice was harsh, the words pushed out with gasps at the knife digging in, the blood welling up and dripping down to stain everything. Steve had cared, he always cared. he'd also seen right off that the guy wouldn't be pushed. Try to dig and Kavinsky would have been gone and hated him forever. He wasn't an idiot. He was also . . . less than pure. Very much so lately.

Steve almost lunged at the guy, whining as he held back that fraction of an inch to leave the choice up to Kavinsky. He growled and bit his lip, hard and sharp, and blood rose quickly. If Kavinsky kissed him, he could have a taste, and Steve wanted that, "I like you, but I might have thought twice if I knew your age before. try not to sleep with kids." He couldn't help trying to get a dig in too, not with the chance it might give him some more delicious pain.