If Kavinsky had a retort, about drinks or their price or anything like that, he rested on it for a moment. The words were heavy with innuendo, and then not innuendo because he was being ground up on and pressed toward the bar and breathed in like he was the best drugs and the finest liquor in the room. Kavinsky didn't mind that so much. He liked being the best and finest thing in the room.

He was still, but not unresponsive, as hands roamed on him. More than anything, it was the nibble that got him going. A little pain was never a bad thing, in his book.

"Having fun back there?" He pressed his hips back, a bit of a tease. "Should I just take the shirt off already? You seem to be halfway there."