Kavinsky didn't say anything; he shifted his hand from the back of Jack's neck to the front of his throat, cupping without pressure but with the potential for promise. His hips kept moving. He watched Jack's face. He knew this was a hard limit, but Jack had come to him to be hurt, to be pushed, to be forced around.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-01-10 11:30 pm (UTC)He'd stop, if Jack said no.