Off goes the other pant leg, and the only thing in his way from the hips down is the man's undergarments, visibly tented. Phil makes this low sound in the back of his throat as he closes his right eye and turns his head slightly so he can look at it without interference from his cataracts.

"Aren't you pretty," he huffs. He has a brief thought about just taking that all in his mouth right now. Having a muzzle means it won't reach his throat, and he can press it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue--no, but it means he wouldn't be able to put these teeth to good use.

Which, Ossie's sweater and tie are in the way of that, so don't mind Phil as he moves up and presses his knee in against his crotch so he can reach up and tear off the sweater vest, not a care for any bruising or scratching he leaves along the way. His head twists to the side for better leverage like an animal ripping skin from a carcass.