Feeling Kavinsky's fingers in his hair, the light tugging, earns him a guttural groan muffled against his lips. The little pulls aren't quite as rough as he liked yet, but he's encouraging the move in the right direction.

Kavinsky's pants were already undone, so he gave up on his shirt, leaving it bunched up around his shoulders and neck, and pushed his hand down into his pants, palming him roughly. The partition wall wavers again as he Cain presses his tongue past Kavinsky's lips with another rumbling groan, challenging him to push him back.