His clothing was not substantial by any means, they were simply everyday wear - well crafted, and sewn with love and care and flowers, thanks to the Hatter's fine skills! But otherwise, Hawke could tear into them like shredding through tissue paper with brute strength, and what a pleasing thought that was. "Just leave my trousers intact, if you don't mind," he chuckled, a twitch of muscle beneath warm hands, and he made a sound of assent - fingers also hooked, literally, in the front of the other man's pants, using the leverage to tug him closer as Killian scooted back against the armrest of the couch, to shift position slightly.
"I need something to walk home in, in the morning after I make you breakfast." Teeth flashed in another of those Mephistopheles grins, a brief flicker. "Though I'm sure that won't be until the afternoon or so, come to think of it."