Even after Hobbes bends, Mike holds him there with his hand on the back of his neck, firm without being too hard. He knows from experience that there's something about that touch in that place that feels ultimately controlling, even if little pressure is used. And it can be calming, too.

He stands there with Hobbes bent over in front of him and he just looks, not meeting Hobbes's eyes. Not acknowledging him.

When his hands finally start to move they're unhurried and businesslike, sliding down the lines of back and hips, gripping Tom's ass firmly, slipping between his thighs to cup hard cock and heavy balls before moving on to his chest and shoulders.

It's like he's examining. Like Hobbes is livestock that he's considering buying. But the touch itself is a form of ownership.