[He takes in the sight of her, as though he has not been doing so this whole time, when she draws closer. Her hands guide his own, snaking around to where he can feel the round edges of a button clasped closed -- around the base of her tail, which he thumbs a little out of curiosity, the constant need for stimulation taking all forms, even if it is just a brush against a fingertip.
Blessedly, he does not linger. He can work at it with one hand, undo that button with his forefinger and thumb with ease. Tugs at the waistband of the material once it gives a little, clear encouragement.]
no subject
Blessedly, he does not linger. He can work at it with one hand, undo that button with his forefinger and thumb with ease. Tugs at the waistband of the material once it gives a little, clear encouragement.]
Will I? On my tongue?