He almost -almost- grinned at how the man reacted, how his body moved. How he heard the silk on his back give in to leather clad hands grabbing.<br/>But that would have meant to break the kiss, and he was enjoying the warm, wet eager mouth way too much to allow that to happen.<br/><br/>What he<em>did</em>do was push, with the full of his body, until Atticus' back hit something.<br/>The wall? No.. sounded like the door. It would do.<br/>So he could retract the hand on the man's back, press his knee between his thighs and not spend a thought about him maybe melting to his knees.<br/><br/>That hand took on a life of its own it seemed, grabbing at the shirt -blouse?-, finding bone buttons at some point he got rid off, plucking them from the fabric to have them rain on the carpet under them while it travelled, stopped moments to pluck at the belt-buckle it found, then slid between skin and pants, not caring he had not all too much space and enveloped, without so much as a warning, the man's hardening member to give a teasing squeeze.<br/><br/>How wonderful, a man's body reacting. His own had probably, too, though he wasn't aware of this. It wasn't important at the moment, so he had not noticed, much too focussed on Atticus' demands.