A rumbles comes from deep in his chest at the wet heat of a mouth against his neck, exploring further. When he eases back from the temptation of Alexsandr's tongue, it's only for a moment, stripping himself out of the soft thermal shirt he'd been wearing. It falls to the floor and his hands surge back to the other man's waist, pushing up under his shirt with purpose.

He's already thumbing the curve of Alexsandr's right pectoral when it occurs to him that he did just get shirtless without thinking about it, when such a concept would have been impossible before Darrow and the wonderful, impossible people he's known here.

It only serves to fuel his hunger, everything he'd been holding back as he'd come to know Alexsandr. He wants to lift Alexsandr off the couch, carry him upstairs, and then press him back into the bed. Right now, he continues to seek out warm skin and hard muscle under his hands.