[Though relieved to hear he's picking up on all this quickly enough, Carlisle is puzzled as Glacius continues, as the alien moves his hand from those tendons and hollows to one of the spikes atop curved head. He's then confused by the instructions, by what Glacius means or even intends to do. It all becomes abundantly clear as he moves lower, the alien's head gracing Carlisle's abdomen and the scars that rake across his middle. He's returning the gesture Carlisle himself does so often when taking in the ruined portion of his face, the tarnished surface where his other mandible used to be -- Glacius is showing that those scars do not ruin him or mark him as a monster, but make him who he is all the same. He accepts them along with everything else, as he always has.
Carlisle isn't so sure about this, but finds it easy enough to comply as Glacius nestles against his stomach and the skin that lies there. This scars have always been sensitive, both figuratively and literally -- not only does he find talking about them to be a touchy subject, but they tend to ache when he expels beyond a certain threshold of energy, reminding him of what he is, of a failure that defined the rest of his life. Even now, he picks up on every touch of Glacius' mandible against him, every caress the alien gives his body. The pressure is perceptible as Carlisle leans further back against the couch, bracing himself on it as he struggles to cope with sensations that are new, frightening, overwhelming... and desirable all at once.
With his face so close, the alien can no doubt hear the breath Carlisle pulls in, one that tightens his middle. Though he seems to be trying to stifle it, a quiet groan escapes him, yet he doesn't pull at Glacius' spike to stop him. Meanwhile, his other hand trails up the side of the alien's face and finally departs, returning to the floor to give him some support.
His voice is hushed as he finally manages some words.]
no subject
Carlisle isn't so sure about this, but finds it easy enough to comply as Glacius nestles against his stomach and the skin that lies there. This scars have always been sensitive, both figuratively and literally -- not only does he find talking about them to be a touchy subject, but they tend to ache when he expels beyond a certain threshold of energy, reminding him of what he is, of a failure that defined the rest of his life. Even now, he picks up on every touch of Glacius' mandible against him, every caress the alien gives his body. The pressure is perceptible as Carlisle leans further back against the couch, bracing himself on it as he struggles to cope with sensations that are new, frightening, overwhelming... and desirable all at once.
With his face so close, the alien can no doubt hear the breath Carlisle pulls in, one that tightens his middle. Though he seems to be trying to stifle it, a quiet groan escapes him, yet he doesn't pull at Glacius' spike to stop him. Meanwhile, his other hand trails up the side of the alien's face and finally departs, returning to the floor to give him some support.
His voice is hushed as he finally manages some words.]
Th- that's good.
[Well, two and a half words.]