[ john knows he won't get trampled, that joseph wouldn't actually hurt him, not really, but he curls his legs up and throws his arms up anyway, letting out a snickering shriek, before he pushes at kavinsky's arms, wrestling him to get away from tickling fingers. ]

Oh yeah, a sex hotel. [ he starts, sarcastically, interrupted by giggles and cries of protest as he tries to squirm his way away from the tickle assault going on right now. ] I'm sure that'd be full of people who wouldn't turn me in for a freakin' twenty if they caught half a look at my face.

[ john attempts a distraction - darting in to catch kavinsky's lips, kissing him firm and hot, teeth dragging at his lips and mouth opening to invite him in, as his hands sneak around to try weaving in joe's fingers, holding them and thus barring them from tickling. after a moment, he leans his head back, brows drawn. ] Tortured poet, though? Have you ever seen me read poetry? No. I don't think so.

[ nah, man. nah. ]

I think I'd like 'em average height, and mean, and covered in dumb tattoos, and hung up on acting like an idiot. [ aka, you. the answer is you, you dork. ]