[Palamedes kisses that spot on his jaw again in the interim, waiting until he feels Choso shift his hand under his shirt before he actually pulls away and lets it get lifted over his head. There's a thrill in it, even as it knocks his glasses around, even for an action as simple as getting his shirt over his head. It's a thrill that lives in his chest, a fluttering, hummingbird thing, quickened by the way Choso looks down at him with open desire.
That gaze and the quiet way Choso fusses over his glasses make Palamedes feel like he's pinned in place, different from how he's been physically pressed against the bed; held right here because Choso wants to be someone who takes care of him, because he'll be careful. Palamedes can only smile up at him, again briefly overwhelmed with affection to be cared for in these small ways, intimate and probably, to many people, pointless; but Choso adjusts his glasses for him and Palamedes wants to melt into him completely.
Before he can, though, before he's left to dissolve into the mattress in earnest, Choso dips down to distract him anew with the trail of his mouth. His human hand follows the movement to wrap against the back of Choso's neck, an encouraging movement to accompany the way the rest of his body reacts.
Then he has double cause to melt, and more than enough opportunity to do it, as Choso's mouth trails lower. Palamedes sighs out his pleasure, content, even languid with the sensation of Choso's mouth against his skin, each sweet press leaving him curving up from the mattress more than the last. It's the slow buildup of that heat in his stomach that undoes him more than any one spot, and it feels like he's nearly taken by surprise, like his skin goes more sensitive all at once and makes his breath stutter, body hot under the attention.
His fingers find their way into Choso's hair again, already a habit. Now when Choso brushes his lips against a sensitive spot- soon to be all of him, if this keeps up- he grips tighter in his hair, curving up to meet him there, hyper-aware of all the places their bodies meet and briefly spiraling into other thoughts of more and more.]
Do you, [he says, and then stops, wet his lips with his tongue, starts again,] Won't you let me kiss you, too?
[All over, specifically, but his mouth is feeling perilously un-kissed up here, the neglect of a handful of minutes.]
no subject
That gaze and the quiet way Choso fusses over his glasses make Palamedes feel like he's pinned in place, different from how he's been physically pressed against the bed; held right here because Choso wants to be someone who takes care of him, because he'll be careful. Palamedes can only smile up at him, again briefly overwhelmed with affection to be cared for in these small ways, intimate and probably, to many people, pointless; but Choso adjusts his glasses for him and Palamedes wants to melt into him completely.
Before he can, though, before he's left to dissolve into the mattress in earnest, Choso dips down to distract him anew with the trail of his mouth. His human hand follows the movement to wrap against the back of Choso's neck, an encouraging movement to accompany the way the rest of his body reacts.
Then he has double cause to melt, and more than enough opportunity to do it, as Choso's mouth trails lower. Palamedes sighs out his pleasure, content, even languid with the sensation of Choso's mouth against his skin, each sweet press leaving him curving up from the mattress more than the last. It's the slow buildup of that heat in his stomach that undoes him more than any one spot, and it feels like he's nearly taken by surprise, like his skin goes more sensitive all at once and makes his breath stutter, body hot under the attention.
His fingers find their way into Choso's hair again, already a habit. Now when Choso brushes his lips against a sensitive spot- soon to be all of him, if this keeps up- he grips tighter in his hair, curving up to meet him there, hyper-aware of all the places their bodies meet and briefly spiraling into other thoughts of more and more.]
Do you, [he says, and then stops, wet his lips with his tongue, starts again,] Won't you let me kiss you, too?
[All over, specifically, but his mouth is feeling perilously un-kissed up here, the neglect of a handful of minutes.]