[Thane is patient, respectable when Mordin pulls off his clothing, eying the curve of his body with great interest. He knows salarian anatomy in great detail, much like how he knows that of many other species -- it's different in this context. But isn't it always?
Their joined hands on him has Thane gasping for breath, perhaps a bit more sudden than he'd expected. Garrus and Mordin are both so warm and so much of it is drawn into his flesh. He glances down as well, eyes lazily-lidded, watching the interplay of fingers as they move along his length. Both palms slide over him easily, slick and nearly dripping himself with so much hunger, need that slides through him. It would seem that whatever Solus has is contagious; compounded by the lust he'd held before he and Garrus tore into each other today in the first place. A soft noise rolls from the drell's throat, something like a breathy grunt, and then he's drawing an arm up to extend the odd little triangular circle that they've all formed together.
Garrus' forehead is on his, and Thane's eyes close, albeit briefly. The removal of a hand, his hand, already leaves him yearning; Thane pushes forward a little against Mordin's fingers, seeking more of the encompassing touch that had faded. Garrus' hand feels hot against his back, though, and he likes that. Thane reaches out again, drawing his fingertips down the length of Mordin's torso, and his eyes are wandering over him a second time. More shades of pale brown, burnt-orange... scars, like himself, plain for both of them to see. Like they all carry, just as much on their insides if not out-- and if not more. Thane is curious to a degree that is almost heinous, even if he does not immediately reach out for the undergarments, or allow his gaze to travel beyond. He knows what's beneath them, and yet he doesn't in a lot of ways.]
In terms of skin, I don't believe you'll have much need to worry, Dr. Solus.
[In saying this, Thane's fingertips traverse the curved hollow of Mordin's sternum, easing down toward his waist.]
C=====> (spoiler: it's not an arrow)
Their joined hands on him has Thane gasping for breath, perhaps a bit more sudden than he'd expected. Garrus and Mordin are both so warm and so much of it is drawn into his flesh. He glances down as well, eyes lazily-lidded, watching the interplay of fingers as they move along his length. Both palms slide over him easily, slick and nearly dripping himself with so much hunger, need that slides through him. It would seem that whatever Solus has is contagious; compounded by the lust he'd held before he and Garrus tore into each other today in the first place. A soft noise rolls from the drell's throat, something like a breathy grunt, and then he's drawing an arm up to extend the odd little triangular circle that they've all formed together.
Garrus' forehead is on his, and Thane's eyes close, albeit briefly. The removal of a hand, his hand, already leaves him yearning; Thane pushes forward a little against Mordin's fingers, seeking more of the encompassing touch that had faded. Garrus' hand feels hot against his back, though, and he likes that. Thane reaches out again, drawing his fingertips down the length of Mordin's torso, and his eyes are wandering over him a second time. More shades of pale brown, burnt-orange... scars, like himself, plain for both of them to see. Like they all carry, just as much on their insides if not out-- and if not more. Thane is curious to a degree that is almost heinous, even if he does not immediately reach out for the undergarments, or allow his gaze to travel beyond. He knows what's beneath them, and yet he doesn't in a lot of ways.]
In terms of skin, I don't believe you'll have much need to worry, Dr. Solus.
[In saying this, Thane's fingertips traverse the curved hollow of Mordin's sternum, easing down toward his waist.]