Steve sweated and shook, in a place he rarely visited that satisfied some of the deepest guilt he held. He was also fairly aroused, which was something he didn't really care about. The offer made him shiver more and his hands pressed into the table, denting it with a sharp ping as all ten fingers made a divot. Blood still trailed down his body and pattered softly on the table and the floor. And probably Kavinsky as well. The scent was intoxicating, bringing back other memories of injuries and blood.

His head moved slightly so Kavinsky's lips caressed his ear, taking a little more than he was probably supposed to, "Kiss me? Hurt me some more? Order me around? Take your pick . . ."