[ A faint sound escapes him, one that is simultaneously longing and startled in quality. It is as if Set is shocked by his own wants, by the way some subconscious part of him wants Liem's hands high on his thighs and the other part of him is startled that he's being touched like that. Some part of him torn in two, that seeks intimacy but is disoriented by its existence; that does and does not want Liem leaning over him ( in his mind, Liem is a different sort of man than others; he is deliberate and polite, affords himself enjoyment with intent and moves in increments ).
The redhead opens his mouth, and he wants to say what is on his mind. He wants Liem to know what he wants, but the words strangle in his throat. Not for lack of trying, but for a host of other reasons that need to be whispered first. As Set turns his head up, and his smile turns a little thin and drawn. His eyes still want, they do not flinch, but something inside of him needs to say the first thing, if he wants to live up to Liem voicing his own "want". ]
— men, categorically, do not touch me like you do.
[ One of his own hands dips, fingers gliding across the dark material of his shendyt to the angle of Liem's wrist. Not to push him away, but to stroke the cool skin there. To curl his fingers around it and try to draw it higher between his thighs, nakedly flustering and petulant as his mouth frowns and draws into a deeper pout. His spine rolls into an arch, to push his shoulders down against cushioning and hips higher.
]
Be nice. [ He scolds a little, sounding terribly put out by such an easy request, before he amends his tone and words: ] I want, to be touched nicely. By you.
8)
The redhead opens his mouth, and he wants to say what is on his mind. He wants Liem to know what he wants, but the words strangle in his throat. Not for lack of trying, but for a host of other reasons that need to be whispered first. As Set turns his head up, and his smile turns a little thin and drawn. His eyes still want, they do not flinch, but something inside of him needs to say the first thing, if he wants to live up to Liem voicing his own "want". ]
— men, categorically, do not touch me like you do.
[ One of his own hands dips, fingers gliding across the dark material of his shendyt to the angle of Liem's wrist. Not to push him away, but to stroke the cool skin there. To curl his fingers around it and try to draw it higher between his thighs, nakedly flustering and petulant as his mouth frowns and draws into a deeper pout. His spine rolls into an arch, to push his shoulders down against cushioning and hips higher.
Be nice. [ He scolds a little, sounding terribly put out by such an easy request, before he amends his tone and words: ] I want, to be touched nicely. By you.