Having Macnair's hands on him was almost as exciting as having his own efforts paying off. Ford might have groaned as he managed to dispatch with Macnair's belt except that he was already half out of breath, which was — just ridiculous, really. Surely this couldn't be normal, to feel this way around someone? Ford was still hesitant to assign a label to it (at any moment except that slip of the tongue last Saturday), but there was certainly something here that couldn't be replicated with someone else.

He slipped one hand into Macnair's pants while the other went to Macnair's neck. Ford leaned in to kiss him deeply on the mouth, then moved to his neck. He continued kissing while he stroked Macnair, then punctuated it all with a light bite to the other man's shoulder.

A thought occurred to him and he pulled back, his face slipping into an annoyed frown. "I suppose I shouldn't leave any marks," he said dourly. Ugh. Macnair liked when Ford bit him, though, or when their kisses got a little rough... and, to be honest, Ford liked leaving traces of their kisses behind. On more than one occasion when he'd spent the night before, he'd occupied himself with tracing over each of the edges with his fingers, reliving the kisses that had resulted in them. Hopefully they wouldn't have to leave off of that sort of thing forever, but at least tonight they both knew he was going to be on display for Tatiana Lestrange in less than a day... and those marks would be difficult to explain away.

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