Hawk's face squinches up into his cat expression. You know the one, the one where he looks smug, like he got the canary and the cream at the same time. He places a kiss carefully on Phil's cheek.

"I'm sure I've had people think nicer things when I kiss them, but I'll take it," he teases. Well and truly back in his wheelhouse, if that touch of demure bashfulness is anything to go by. Hawk eases his hands back into how they were when they were dancing, only this time pressing closer, cheek to cheek.

"I'm an award winning shuffler-in-place, too. Won regional championships."

His aftershave is still lingering from when he shaved earlier, something masculine in an abstract way, but he got a nice close shave for Phil. Just in case they got this close.

"It's my third favourite pastime," and his eyes flick reflexively to check if the kitchen curtain is closed.