[ Mordin looses a soft, rough grunt, almost pained. But it isn't pained, oh no, and it's like water the way he rolls his hips forward and tighter against Thane, at the perfect angle to work him inside if not for the fabric stretched slickly between them, and Mordin's had enough patience, enough... he's had enough. His hands skid over Thane's strangely numerous digits hooked into his waistband and he shoves them off and kicks them away somewhere in a fell swoop. Wish granted, apparently.
He's tall enough, his whole body long and lean enough that to take Thane standing just like this would be a fairly simple task. It's instinct, maybe, that calls for him to clamber atop the solid form before him, splay his knees to either side, grind slow and fast and hard—but then instinct logically shouldn't account for the desire to take on two alien men at all, so maybe it's not worth rationalizing just now.
It's speculated among some salarian evolutionary biologists that the male orgasm itself is vestigial and somewhat redundant. Particularly in light of modern mating practices, the amount of seminal fluid produced during arousal alone should technically be more than sufficient for the purpose of fertilization. Over the course of his career, Mordin has been inclined to tentatively agree with this theory, though there's still less evidence to it than he'd like. But not anymore. Not now, when the first slide of textured drell cock nudges past the outside of his vent and it lights up his nerves like the perma-day Omega skyline, hand stuttering on Garrus's molten-hot prick behind Thane's shapely ass. The closer it comes to his hole the more fervently he realizes that it is so necessary to come, and without coming soon he's sure he's going to find a way to crawl out of his own skin.
Transfixed by the sight of violet-red nestling into orange-green, Mordin stares and swallows and then chokes on his own voice as a bump of Garrus's body against Thane sees him breached just slightly. Even this is tight, stinging sweetly, but if Mordin has any logical objections they get drowned out with the shaky, needy sound he makes as he tries his best to push him all the way inside. The anemone-like flare at the tip of Thane's cock sinks into him, moving, fits so strangely inside of him. Although it's already too much too fast he finds himself gasping out a little laugh tinged with hysteria, suddenly, helplessly frustrated that he's not riding Thane until he's stripped the bark off him. ]
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He's tall enough, his whole body long and lean enough that to take Thane standing just like this would be a fairly simple task. It's instinct, maybe, that calls for him to clamber atop the solid form before him, splay his knees to either side, grind slow and fast and hard—but then instinct logically shouldn't account for the desire to take on two alien men at all, so maybe it's not worth rationalizing just now.
It's speculated among some salarian evolutionary biologists that the male orgasm itself is vestigial and somewhat redundant. Particularly in light of modern mating practices, the amount of seminal fluid produced during arousal alone should technically be more than sufficient for the purpose of fertilization. Over the course of his career, Mordin has been inclined to tentatively agree with this theory, though there's still less evidence to it than he'd like. But not anymore. Not now, when the first slide of textured drell cock nudges past the outside of his vent and it lights up his nerves like the perma-day Omega skyline, hand stuttering on Garrus's molten-hot prick behind Thane's shapely ass. The closer it comes to his hole the more fervently he realizes that it is so necessary to come, and without coming soon he's sure he's going to find a way to crawl out of his own skin.
Transfixed by the sight of violet-red nestling into orange-green, Mordin stares and swallows and then chokes on his own voice as a bump of Garrus's body against Thane sees him breached just slightly. Even this is tight, stinging sweetly, but if Mordin has any logical objections they get drowned out with the shaky, needy sound he makes as he tries his best to push him all the way inside. The anemone-like flare at the tip of Thane's cock sinks into him, moving, fits so strangely inside of him. Although it's already too much too fast he finds himself gasping out a little laugh tinged with hysteria, suddenly, helplessly frustrated that he's not riding Thane until he's stripped the bark off him. ]