cheeks didn’t just flush, they flooded a brilliant scarlet as hunter covered his ‘no-no square’ with his hands, making his way over to where his pants were. shifts were humiliating– even more humiliating when spectators were there. spectators asking him about his ‘tiger dick’. “i–” he started, licking his lips and pulling his brows together in a tight knit before bending over to pick up the now torn jeans ( he liked that pair too. damn it. ) “i don’t know. i don’t really want to know. i have to say, when it happens, that’s kind of the last thing on my mind. i’m…” his voice grew quieter as embarrassment clenched tightly in his throat. ihatethissomuchiwanttodie, he thought quickly. “m–…maybe?”
Kavinsky took one more swig of vodka, letting cold slice down his throat. He shivered at the release of his lips before shooting Hunter a look. Heavy, laden with underperformed concern, but still something. “Don’t put those back on,” K deliberately sought direct eye contact, sharp smile smearing his lips apart. His heart kicked into third gear, hard. It was hammering a little louder than usual, maybe accelerated from the alcohol, maybe not. “This isn’t Florida.” He continued, cocking an eyebrow. “No one wants to see your gay ass in some daisy dukes.” K cleared his throat, moving to dig through the pile of clothes closest to him. He dug until his fingers found purchase. With no ceremony, he threw a pair of basketball shorts, aiming for Hunter’s head. “Those should be fine. Just big enough for your tiger cock.”
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