[and then there's a tattooed hand slipping past kurt's hip, closing on the edge of the table. caging him in. kavinsky's face looks vulpine sly, but his own mouth stays centered, no smirk, no teeth, full as pillows as he leans in again.
and they're nearly-- sporadically— touching, when he says,]
no subject
and they're nearly-- sporadically— touching, when he says,]
Not this?