[The look of Choso beneath him like this is sweet in a way that makes Palamedes' heart nearly ache. Not that he isn't always sweet, or that it was less sweet to be adored while his own back was on the mattress, but there's an endearing vulnerability to Choso like this that Palamedes wants to cradle in his hands- well, appendages, he supposes- and never let go. This moment deserves to be preserved in amber, the soft intensity of it, the look on Choso's face.
Palamedes has a good memory; he'll remember. So too will he remember the uneven sound of Choso's breathing and the heat that radiates off his skin, under the affections of his mouth. He's acutely aware, this close, of the way the tension coils through Choso, and with blanket permission to do anything— he wants to feel Choso react more, to memorize the way his muscles move and his hips shift, possessed of the heady desire for more and more and more. To draw these things out of Choso himself, to run his hand up Choso's side and over his chest and back down again, thumb pressing into the dip of his hip while his kisses trail over the taut expanse of his stomach.
I like it, he says, simple as anything; Palamedes hums against his skin, reaches up blindly with his tentacles to patter affectionately against Choso's cheek and neck.]
You know just what to say, [he says, with a hint of a tease; not entirely, because Choso's little reassurances are absolutely doing it for him, but still with that affectionate tease. He presses a kiss open-mouthed next to Choso's navel, relishing the spot with an experimental flick of his tongue, his own breath going ragged and hot against Choso's skin. He's meandered this far and now he lingers, each kiss overlapping the last, dipping lower at a glacial pace. He's gone far enough that his legs are hanging off the bed again, even after all the effort to move, and that matters not at all compared to where he's got his hand and mouth.
The waistband of Choso's pants isn't a deterrent, he kisses that too, and continues his path lower with no change other than pressing his mouth against the fabric. He's not less affectionate, almost reverent in his ministrations, but pausing before he's full-on mouthing against Choso's groin through his pants. Anything is cute, but it's worth it to check in; he leans his cheek against Choso's hip, opposite his hand.]
We don't have to go any further than you want to. This is already perfect. [Earnest; he could keep kissing Choso like this endlessly, he's certain of it.] But if you want to, just say the word.
[And another kiss gets pressed just inside his hip, for reassurance.]
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Palamedes has a good memory; he'll remember. So too will he remember the uneven sound of Choso's breathing and the heat that radiates off his skin, under the affections of his mouth. He's acutely aware, this close, of the way the tension coils through Choso, and with blanket permission to do anything— he wants to feel Choso react more, to memorize the way his muscles move and his hips shift, possessed of the heady desire for more and more and more. To draw these things out of Choso himself, to run his hand up Choso's side and over his chest and back down again, thumb pressing into the dip of his hip while his kisses trail over the taut expanse of his stomach.
I like it, he says, simple as anything; Palamedes hums against his skin, reaches up blindly with his tentacles to patter affectionately against Choso's cheek and neck.]
You know just what to say, [he says, with a hint of a tease; not entirely, because Choso's little reassurances are absolutely doing it for him, but still with that affectionate tease. He presses a kiss open-mouthed next to Choso's navel, relishing the spot with an experimental flick of his tongue, his own breath going ragged and hot against Choso's skin. He's meandered this far and now he lingers, each kiss overlapping the last, dipping lower at a glacial pace. He's gone far enough that his legs are hanging off the bed again, even after all the effort to move, and that matters not at all compared to where he's got his hand and mouth.
The waistband of Choso's pants isn't a deterrent, he kisses that too, and continues his path lower with no change other than pressing his mouth against the fabric. He's not less affectionate, almost reverent in his ministrations, but pausing before he's full-on mouthing against Choso's groin through his pants. Anything is cute, but it's worth it to check in; he leans his cheek against Choso's hip, opposite his hand.]
We don't have to go any further than you want to. This is already perfect. [Earnest; he could keep kissing Choso like this endlessly, he's certain of it.] But if you want to, just say the word.
[And another kiss gets pressed just inside his hip, for reassurance.]