Work Text:
His neck. Pressed up against a cold wall, teeth closing at his throat. Hard kisses leaving marks only his highest collar will hide. His chest. A hot mouth and five o'clock shadow rasping over his skin, nipples bitten and sucked until they're red and aching. His cock, hips held down, and who knew the old fellow would have such a talent for it? Everywhere else. Wicked places, whispered things, acts he doesn't even know the name for until he's choking on his own moans, his legs spread wide.
They never kiss on the mouth. It would be far too intimate.