Proko squirmed and moved and Kavinsky was still heady from dreaming, and from this power trip. He pressed his nose against Proko's ear and slid a hand slowly down his chest, his stomach, between his legs.

It was a heavier friction than just Proko seeking and lifting for it.

"Missed you," he whispered against his skin, scraping his teeth against the hinge of his jaw. "And I know you missed me."