No, not really in a bad way. Duma was sharp angles and almost no curves, but it suited him. And John knew what he actually was -- there was nothing frail about him.
He slipped further into the room while Duma lost his shirt -- removed his own jacket to throw on a nearby chair and then took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it into the fireplace.
He loosened his tie, but did not completely remove it and then met back up with Duma, still faced away from him. He nipped sharp at his shoulder and then the side of his neck again and let his hands trace the sharp lines of his hip bones, peeking out from his waistband.