[There are going to be a lot of little gasps, then. Because the Psiioniic can't keep his hands off. There's a reason he has such a fondness for fingers and hands. They're his way of learning more about something, more than sight or sound or scent or any of that. All the little scars he finds, the dips and curves, they tell him so much more than he could have learned just by looking. And there is so much to learn.]
[It takes work due to the unique nature of Dualscar's clothing, not to mention how very tight it is, but eventually, he has the seadweller sitting bare and vulnerable before him. The Psiioniic guide his finger down his throat and to his hips, eyes following the path. Then, he moves back just enough to give himself room.]
[In comparison, it's nothing to slip out of his own clothes, particularly since he isn't taking that slow and fascinated approach he did with Dualscar. They're off and done with, joining the pile of clothes that's grown.]
[Since being taken care of so much better, the Psiioniic's body has begun a slow return to its previous state. It is halfway between an impoverished wench and an actual muscular troll, albeit of the lithe and quick variety. And there are scars, oh there are scars. Not all of them are horrendous; in fact, few are more than simple pale patches of skin.]
[Not like the two matching and jagged scars on his ribs.]
[The Psiioniic doesn't seem to mind the vulnerability. He simply manuevers until he's almost sitting in the others lap, and then his hands are back to exploring all of Dualscar's body. After a moment, he leans his head down so that his mouth can do the same. As best he can, he tries to keep his fangs out of the way, wanting his lips to be the focus.]
no subject
[It takes work due to the unique nature of Dualscar's clothing, not to mention how very tight it is, but eventually, he has the seadweller sitting bare and vulnerable before him. The Psiioniic guide his finger down his throat and to his hips, eyes following the path. Then, he moves back just enough to give himself room.]
[In comparison, it's nothing to slip out of his own clothes, particularly since he isn't taking that slow and fascinated approach he did with Dualscar. They're off and done with, joining the pile of clothes that's grown.]
[Since being taken care of so much better, the Psiioniic's body has begun a slow return to its previous state. It is halfway between an impoverished wench and an actual muscular troll, albeit of the lithe and quick variety. And there are scars, oh there are scars. Not all of them are horrendous; in fact, few are more than simple pale patches of skin.]
[Not like the two matching and jagged scars on his ribs.]
[The Psiioniic doesn't seem to mind the vulnerability. He simply manuevers until he's almost sitting in the others lap, and then his hands are back to exploring all of Dualscar's body. After a moment, he leans his head down so that his mouth can do the same. As best he can, he tries to keep his fangs out of the way, wanting his lips to be the focus.]