"Fuck," Kavinsky breathed. It was a cutting thing, those words, and Kavinsky squirmed a little. He was too wrapped up in the moment, in the warm haze of everything and the urgency and want, to have some comeback, and anyway it didn't matter. He slid a hand down between his legs, curling his hand around his cock, stroking urgently.

He leaned his knee up against the wall a bit, trying to improve the angle slightly. Maybe they should have moved away from the wall at some point. Too late now. His thighs quivered with effort, but he refused to collapse.

"C'mon," he hissed. "That all you got, old man?"