Kavinsky focused on the machine between them, the gears and rods and phallic implements, perfect for some sort of rough fuck. Acted like he wasn't even paying attention. There was a lovely hint of an accent in Cain's voice, something that was deeply, viscerally familiar, and he liked that. He was always drawn to the other foreigner's kids.

"You planning on taking this for a ride yourself?" Kavinsky let a bit of his own native Bulgarian slip back into his accent. "I suppose I can leave you to it, if you don't want any company."

He was deliberately ignoring the question, but at least it came off casually. What did it matter what his name was? It didn't, not right now. Maybe if they ran into each other again, but not right now.