[ For better or worse, however, the heel of his palm brushes perfunctorily over her nipple once or twice as he does this—light and subtle, not at all intended to elicit a reaction. Just... doctorly.
Mordin thinks he's observing a change in the color of her skin: slight darkening, reddening, but could very easily be in response to exposed situation. Self-consciousness, embarrassment. Humans often touchy about nudity. It's for that reason that he refrains from asking to confirm that her body temperature has, in fact, spiked a few degrees in the last few minutes. Trying to make this easy. ]
Oh no, perish the thought! Know you of all people, more than capable of juggling simultaneous objectives. Have observed you closely: hack terminal, push button, [ His hands hiss softly over her ribcage, between her breasts, under them, across the hard plane of her stomach, thumb licking into her navel. ] headshot. No need to protest, Shepard. Already impressed.
[ They're innocuous caresses of her sides, her waist, tracing just over the hollows of her hips as they disappear past the band of her underwear. So professional. He pauses a moment, pushing aside the largely irrelevant perception that Shepard is exhibiting signs of pleasure in response to this examination, and gives her a brief glance. ]
Will ask that you remove these shortly. Not now, but soon. Also: scoot down, if you please. Legs off table. Can use footrests.
[ Because he may have made short work of her neck, her back, her shoulders, arms, hands, but he's far from done. The skin of her left leg is buttery smooth against the pads of his fingers, by necessity massaging the strong muscles lying underneath all the way down to her ankle and the vulnerable sole of her foot. But as he starts on her right thigh, his touch stutters, alerted. He traces the irregularity, a thin stripe curving around to her inner thigh, very near the beginning of the swell of her backside. Mordin takes a peek, cocks his head. ]
Scar here. Aware of it already, I hope?
[ They're soldiers. They've both got their fair share, only Shepard's are all so new that one can never be too sure. The others he recognizes as shrapnel scars, entry wounds, varren bites. Knows injuries can occur in improbable places at times. Something about this one just struck him as arresting, apparently. No sign of foreign material beneath the skin. Just... captured his attention somehow. ]
no subject
Mordin thinks he's observing a change in the color of her skin: slight darkening, reddening, but could very easily be in response to exposed situation. Self-consciousness, embarrassment. Humans often touchy about nudity. It's for that reason that he refrains from asking to confirm that her body temperature has, in fact, spiked a few degrees in the last few minutes. Trying to make this easy. ]
Oh no, perish the thought! Know you of all people, more than capable of juggling simultaneous objectives. Have observed you closely: hack terminal, push button, [ His hands hiss softly over her ribcage, between her breasts, under them, across the hard plane of her stomach, thumb licking into her navel. ] headshot. No need to protest, Shepard. Already impressed.
[ They're innocuous caresses of her sides, her waist, tracing just over the hollows of her hips as they disappear past the band of her underwear. So professional. He pauses a moment, pushing aside the largely irrelevant perception that Shepard is exhibiting signs of pleasure in response to this examination, and gives her a brief glance. ]
Will ask that you remove these shortly. Not now, but soon. Also: scoot down, if you please. Legs off table. Can use footrests.
[ Because he may have made short work of her neck, her back, her shoulders, arms, hands, but he's far from done. The skin of her left leg is buttery smooth against the pads of his fingers, by necessity massaging the strong muscles lying underneath all the way down to her ankle and the vulnerable sole of her foot. But as he starts on her right thigh, his touch stutters, alerted. He traces the irregularity, a thin stripe curving around to her inner thigh, very near the beginning of the swell of her backside. Mordin takes a peek, cocks his head. ]
Scar here. Aware of it already, I hope?
[ They're soldiers. They've both got their fair share, only Shepard's are all so new that one can never be too sure. The others he recognizes as shrapnel scars, entry wounds, varren bites. Knows injuries can occur in improbable places at times. Something about this one just struck him as arresting, apparently. No sign of foreign material beneath the skin. Just... captured his attention somehow. ]