"Fuck," he sighed, head falling back now that Kavinsky wasn't really holding him. He felt desperately aware of every place their bodies touched now, too warm and perfect. Prokopenko tried to move his hips, tried to move anything. His fingers twitched, that felt like a good start.

It reminded him of a dozen - a hundred - different nights in Henrietta, a dozen different parties. It wasn't the first time Kavinsky slipped him a dose to see what would happen, and Proko had a feeling even this wouldn't be the last. Sometimes it was to help his pack of dogs feel more cohesive - Proko was good at that. Other times, it was like a reward. Here Jiang, left this for you.

He managed to plant his foot on the ground and push a little, but all it did was force his hips up against Kavinsky's stomach. Shit. Bad idea. Even the tiny bit of friction made him shiver.