[Carlisle lets the alien maneuver him, his hand reflexively going from the horn atop Glacius' head to the edge of the couch as he tries to brace himself, the rumble of Glacius' hum as moving as the hands at his waist. Glacius may be dealing with physical sensations he hasn't felt in a long time, but Carlisle is quickly being consumed by ones that are entirely unfamiliar, as well as ones he is used to suddenly being seen in a new light. The steady tremors from the alien's satisfied purrs cut through his body, reverberating from his middle and into his chest, reaching up toward his neck and down to his toes. His body reacts with trembling of its own, shivers running through him as Glacius draws his mandible over his scars once more. They are so horrifyingly sensitive most times, yet this feels impossibly good.
Too good, perhaps. He's not home, but he's not allowed such things for a reason, his insecurities call from the back of his mind. Such bliss isn't afforded to the twice-cursed.
He finally speaks again, and it's more than before as he tries to shut down his uncertainty by drowning it out with words. It's a response Glacius has no doubt seen more than few times during their tenure as roommates, though his winding sentences weren't usually punctuated by labored breaths in the past.]
I cannot help but- but question your judgment at- at times, Glacius, as I can think of- plenty that- that I would- about- about myself—
[And he has to stop. Though he's doing his best to overthink the situation (an everyday habit he has yet to break), he's finding it increasingly difficult as another groan pushes itself out of him, the hand he brings to his mouth arriving far too late to stifle it. His head tilts back on its own; his face feels as though it's on fire. Is that healthy? That can't be healthy.]
no subject
Too good, perhaps. He's not home, but he's not allowed such things for a reason, his insecurities call from the back of his mind. Such bliss isn't afforded to the twice-cursed.
He finally speaks again, and it's more than before as he tries to shut down his uncertainty by drowning it out with words. It's a response Glacius has no doubt seen more than few times during their tenure as roommates, though his winding sentences weren't usually punctuated by labored breaths in the past.]
I cannot help but- but question your judgment at- at times, Glacius, as I can think of- plenty that- that I would- about- about myself—
[And he has to stop. Though he's doing his best to overthink the situation (an everyday habit he has yet to break), he's finding it increasingly difficult as another groan pushes itself out of him, the hand he brings to his mouth arriving far too late to stifle it. His head tilts back on its own; his face feels as though it's on fire. Is that healthy? That can't be healthy.]