Malcolm dodges the blade, grinning wickedly as he sees what it’s up to. He doesn’t resist when the blade makes short work of his own shirt next, not even flinching when it just nicks his collarbone on its way out. He shrugs out of the remains of the fabric, coming for Will’s mouth with his own again with that same feral need, one hand threading into Will’s hair as he kisses him deeply, giving a handful a pull that is clearly not intended to pull his lips away from Malcolm’s.