[Really, he's asking a lot of him. Gepard has practically no idea where to go... but at least his nervousness and lack of experience is accepted. It's a little strange, too. Despite the fact that Dohalim is his Lord, that their positions make this an outright terrible choice, he's not even thinking of that. This isn't something that arose after their deployment, after all.
His thoughts are derailed when warm lips press to his neck, drawing out a soft gasp as they work their way toward his ear. It's a lot more sensitive than he expected - and rather it of instinct, a hand reaches up to thread into soft red hair, head tilting to offer access. As his eyelids flutter closed again, Gepard exhales a shivery sigh, his other hand finally moving to just... feel. Fingers slip beneath delicate fabric to glide along muscle and curves, finally taking in the form he's seen so often.
It would be a lie to say he doesn't admire it, the smooth, lean muscle of another close combat fighter. They're quite different in their personal styles, but... it's nice nonetheless. Even so, he does have... one little question that comes to mind among all this.]
How do you— mmh— focus on anything else when it feels— this nice?
[because he's doing his best, but his whole mind keeps wandering off elsewhere...]
no subject
[Really, he's asking a lot of him. Gepard has practically no idea where to go... but at least his nervousness and lack of experience is accepted. It's a little strange, too. Despite the fact that Dohalim is his Lord, that their positions make this an outright terrible choice, he's not even thinking of that. This isn't something that arose after their deployment, after all.
His thoughts are derailed when warm lips press to his neck, drawing out a soft gasp as they work their way toward his ear. It's a lot more sensitive than he expected - and rather it of instinct, a hand reaches up to thread into soft red hair, head tilting to offer access. As his eyelids flutter closed again, Gepard exhales a shivery sigh, his other hand finally moving to just... feel. Fingers slip beneath delicate fabric to glide along muscle and curves, finally taking in the form he's seen so often.
It would be a lie to say he doesn't admire it, the smooth, lean muscle of another close combat fighter. They're quite different in their personal styles, but... it's nice nonetheless. Even so, he does have... one little question that comes to mind among all this.]
How do you— mmh— focus on anything else when it feels— this nice?
[because he's doing his best, but his whole mind keeps wandering off elsewhere...]