It's not hard to recognize a babble, as uneducated as Mick might be. Maybe it's more the cadence than the content.

He's not all over Hartley, not yet, but he's obvious, to be sure. Mick doesn't mind being damn obvious for him after a few drinks and some pizza.

A hand makes its way under Mick's shirt and his green-blue eyes flicker with interest, torso flexing and stretching subtly under Hartley's hand. There's a lot of skin there for the younger man to grab; a lot of muscle to put his nails into. And of course, just as Hartley mentioned, he was hot as a furnace.

"Think you can handle that?" Mick draws a leg along his side and leans towards the younger man, slow and predatory, letting Rathaway get a little more feel for his torso while his own hand reaches between them, undoing Hartley's slacks while his other hand slides down an outer thigh.