So you're saying, if I want to do the fucking, [kavinsky's voice is wry, laughter underneath. it's not entirely nervous laughter anymore, either. his heartbeat is still kicking awkwardly in his chest. still alive, still alive, a singsong that mingles relief with the beginning of disappointment.

he sounds distracted. it's a joke of a question, or close enough; he hasn't exactly been in the mood, of late.] You ever like older guys? [his head moves suddenly, tracking the leap of light, the crackle of electricity. his eyes sharpen. he thinks about the crackle down the skin of his arm again. he has to talk louder the next time he speaks-- half-deafened, already,]

Guess I don't even know how old the fuck you are.