Kavinsky lingered, for a moment, in the warmth of Lee's touch, the closeness of his breath against his mouth. Then, at the note of need in his voice, he sat down on the edge of the bed and started to move back. He wanted, so badly, to lay there on the edge of the bed and put his mouth to work, slowly worship the weight of Lee's cock against his lips and tongue and down his throat. He knew he only had to ask, and Lee would probably let him.

Slowly, he laid back in the middle of Lee's bed. He draped a little, a coaxing, wanton finger, watching Lee quietly, softly. Sniggering a little, he cast his arms over his head and mumbled, "Draw me like one of your French girls."

His quiet little giggles soon overtook him, until he had to turn his face into the pillow for a moment to smother them, his shoulders shaking with the suppression. Even so, it didn't stop the little shivers of anticipation running up his legs and stomach, the slow way his cock was building back toward arousal thanks to teenage libido.