There was a moment, contemplative and still, where Kavinsky was worried he'd offended Lee. He knew, from experience, that some guys didn't like the joking about the age difference. He'd only been with a couple other guys that were old enough that he could manage to realistically pull off calling them daddy; only the businessman from DC had taken to it kindly.

Then Lee was moving, a firm sort of authority in him now. His hand was warm, definitive, exacting as his fingers curled at Kavinsky's throat, and he did swallow for a moment. He let himself fall into it, lets the sensation wash over him. He's good at this, if nothing else.

He let Lee lead the way, the still mostly unseasonable weather meaning that Kavinsky's light jacket gave him a fairly perfect reason to be near Lee the whole way back to his apartment.