Kavinsky's enthusiastic retort has Cain smirking wickedly, snorting in soft laughter. His amusement disappears with the nickname though, dark eyes flashing with anger.

"Cain. Not 'hot stuff'," He growls in correction and turns around to give Kavinsky a very obvious once over, his sudden temper dissipating as quickly as it had flared up. Cain steps closer getting in his personal space, looking equal parts like he might suddenly take a swing at or kiss Kavinsky.

"Nah, the thought of some old perv secretly jerking it to me fucking around doesn't really do it for me. If I'm going to have an audience I want to be able to see them."