[The steady climb of Choso's hand is searing, dragging over Palamedes' skin in a way he's never been touched there, never been touched in some of those places at all unless he was sick, or injured. Warm desire builds and pulses through him, making him almost antsy with the urge to touch and be touched. His tentacles on shirt duty linger between them, easily capable of sliding into spaces where a whole human arm might not fit, questing over Choso's chest and down to his stomach.
There's a question and a request there, both of which flip his stomach over, a tug of anticipation making itself at home below his ribs, but they both fizzle out of focus in the wake of their kiss, the dart of Choso's tongue against his lip. He looks so lovely up close like this, Palamedes thinks, and does not quip about being glad he kept his glasses on this time. The sentiment is there.
His shirt. Of course. He tips his head back and mumbles,] Yes, in a moment, [and kisses him once more, open-mouthed and wanting, sucking at Choso's lower lip to deepen the kiss and pull him back in closer.
He can multitask, though, as he withdraws each of his tentacles one by one a moment later, to wriggle out the bottom of his shirt and slide right back to where they were, roving over his skin with wanton curiosity.
Inevitably his mouth slides off Choso's to kiss his jaw, back towards his neck; wherever he can still reach as he elbows himself up- on just the one elbow, a smidge crooked- enough that his shirt could be feasibly dragged the rest of the way off.]
Take it off me. [This, low, near Choso's ear, is not a question.]
no subject
There's a question and a request there, both of which flip his stomach over, a tug of anticipation making itself at home below his ribs, but they both fizzle out of focus in the wake of their kiss, the dart of Choso's tongue against his lip. He looks so lovely up close like this, Palamedes thinks, and does not quip about being glad he kept his glasses on this time. The sentiment is there.
His shirt. Of course. He tips his head back and mumbles,] Yes, in a moment, [and kisses him once more, open-mouthed and wanting, sucking at Choso's lower lip to deepen the kiss and pull him back in closer.
He can multitask, though, as he withdraws each of his tentacles one by one a moment later, to wriggle out the bottom of his shirt and slide right back to where they were, roving over his skin with wanton curiosity.
Inevitably his mouth slides off Choso's to kiss his jaw, back towards his neck; wherever he can still reach as he elbows himself up- on just the one elbow, a smidge crooked- enough that his shirt could be feasibly dragged the rest of the way off.]
Take it off me. [This, low, near Choso's ear, is not a question.]