[for whatever it's worth, Tonic's leg is a bizarrely unique experience. Tek can run his fingers over a form that has been burned, sliced-into, mangled, and intermittently stitched back up. patches of skin, especially along his hip, have been warped by the same abrasive chemicals that have eaten half of his face. long, thin scars run like seams up the curve of his thigh, while other scars dip in deep and jagged where someone had, years ago, shredded the flesh to integrate heavy, poisonous metals into his nerves. strangest yet are the perfectly-round divots where his body had healed in the shape of whatever had been plugged in, but it never quite filled back in. it's a curious mix of tough skin and soft spots that make Tonic shiver and squirm when he touches them--partly from surprise when his nerves go from dulled to sharp in an instant, but largely from the sick joy that comes from being touched like this, by someone he likes, who very much seems to like him back.
his hands have been busy, but more and more aimless as the indulgences have drawn on... both of them wandering over Tek's neck, his shoulders, his back, grabbing at his arms when he feels something he likes, tugging at his shirt when he wants more. between this and the tongue at his neck, what were originally deep, thankful breaths are becoming shallower.
by the time Tek's fingers are picking at his waistband, he's more than happy to oblige, shoving both of his hands under his skirt to anxiously wriggle out of his underthings, discarding them off to the side without the slightest thought. his arousal is now very obvious... though he's anything but self-conscious about it, snaking his hands under the hem of Tek's shirt to wander selfishly over his hips the moment he can.
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his hands have been busy, but more and more aimless as the indulgences have drawn on... both of them wandering over Tek's neck, his shoulders, his back, grabbing at his arms when he feels something he likes, tugging at his shirt when he wants more. between this and the tongue at his neck, what were originally deep, thankful breaths are becoming shallower.
by the time Tek's fingers are picking at his waistband, he's more than happy to oblige, shoving both of his hands under his skirt to anxiously wriggle out of his underthings, discarding them off to the side without the slightest thought. his arousal is now very obvious... though he's anything but self-conscious about it, snaking his hands under the hem of Tek's shirt to wander selfishly over his hips the moment he can.