[ And somehow that's pretty much all the permission he needs. Ask anyone on the Citadel about the sexual assertiveness of a salarian and (with the probable exception of Sha'ira), chances are all you'd receive in return is a blank stare. But even though Mordin feels plagued to distraction by this frenzy, this fever, and even though it's been really quite a while (and never with a male with a dick), it's like some sort of primordial switch gets flicked in his brain and he gives Thane just a few seconds more to enjoy nuzzling at his neck before he's shoving him back onto the table with deceptive strength. And he's right there with him, too, one hand encircling the one still tenuously at his hip, the other planted square in the center of Thane's chest.

The Normandy crew values many qualities in their home furnishings and it is fortunate that stability and load-bearing capacity are two of them. ]

Hm. No.

[ Sometimes the quirky little doctor makes it a little easier to remember that he's the quirky little doctor who strung up merc corpses in the corridors of Omega as a warning. ]

Interrupted before. Looked important. Hate to deprive you.

[ Which "you" he means could be up for debate. Maybe both. Probably both. His fingers leave Thane's wrist to tug Garrus closer by the cock. There's a kind of laser focus to his intent, now that he's given himself over to it. It's kind of scary. Clearly, he's had his fill of patience. ]

Should continue; impolite otherwise. Can watch you handle me instead.

[ Thane's flushed cock now pokes rudely at the damp ache between his thighs. The underwear has to go at some point, he knows, but for the moment he'd much rather see Thane ready to go on this table. He imagines Garrus concurs. ]

Able to take that, I'm sure.