[He's definitely caught off-guard by that: suddenly finding himself against the table, half on his back, a mostly-naked salarian pressed up against him. For a second, Thane stares up at Mordin, eyes slightly widened, grip having tightened in his skin. (It's a good thing that, unlike Garrus, he has no claws.)
And Garrus is drawing near, he's entirely too vulnerable, mixed feelings churning in his gut. Excitement, curiosity -- but there's strong tension there, instinct. Still holding onto Mordin's hip, Thane shifts slightly, bringing himself upward a little more. Garrus is nearby, his cock is edging between his thighs again; for whom is this truly moving too fast, now? But Thane is also glad to be rid of patience, his own prick hard and aching between his thighs, rubbing stiffly against Mordin's dampened undergarments. If he was a little closer again, perhaps he might even catch his scent ...
He urges up against Mordin's lean form, legs parting, hips pressing against Garrus' in turn; the movement rubs that flushed blue length along the crevice and against the pinkened slit of his cloaca, eliciting a shiver. Thane's hands fall against Mordin's waist then, dipping lewdly past the border of his remaining garment and pressing in, urging him further against him, in the hopes that he'll actually straddle him. Tempting though it might be, Thane keeps from drawing his hands in too far, half-hoping the respected doctor will whip the rest of it away with the same gusto he had the other things. There's a predatory hardness in his eyes as he grinds his hips against the fabric, letting his cock nudge up against the hole of Mordin's cloaca, further soaking the cloth with his own fluids as well.]
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And Garrus is drawing near, he's entirely too vulnerable, mixed feelings churning in his gut. Excitement, curiosity -- but there's strong tension there, instinct. Still holding onto Mordin's hip, Thane shifts slightly, bringing himself upward a little more. Garrus is nearby, his cock is edging between his thighs again; for whom is this truly moving too fast, now? But Thane is also glad to be rid of patience, his own prick hard and aching between his thighs, rubbing stiffly against Mordin's dampened undergarments. If he was a little closer again, perhaps he might even catch his scent ...
He urges up against Mordin's lean form, legs parting, hips pressing against Garrus' in turn; the movement rubs that flushed blue length along the crevice and against the pinkened slit of his cloaca, eliciting a shiver. Thane's hands fall against Mordin's waist then, dipping lewdly past the border of his remaining garment and pressing in, urging him further against him, in the hopes that he'll actually straddle him. Tempting though it might be, Thane keeps from drawing his hands in too far, half-hoping the respected doctor will whip the rest of it away with the same gusto he had the other things. There's a predatory hardness in his eyes as he grinds his hips against the fabric, letting his cock nudge up against the hole of Mordin's cloaca, further soaking the cloth with his own fluids as well.]
As you will it.