Kavinsky's eyes crinkle. He wants a cigarette right now but he doesn't have them on him. He probably should have thought of that before he took his pants off. Oh well, oh well. We all must suffer for our craft, which is fostering baby dinosaurs. Which I just requested. Because I'm super on the ball, everything is fine, January isn't over, we're good we're good.

"I'll get you the other kind, if you let me jerk off your lap."

This means we're negotiating, right? Kavinsky wiggles his toes in his socks. He's starting to feel the cold, but it isn't showing in his penis yet, and that's all that matters. "You can pick. Forty pounds of pork? Twenty pounds of beef." A smile flashes across his face. There is still something unmistakably suggestive about the tilt of his skinny body. It's hard to know how Kavinsky ever gets laid, except that, well. He can't be the only person in the multiverse with shit for standards. "No faggot metaphors, even."