[That's a little weird-feeling, but not a bad weird. Kind of ticklish, she observes in a mildly distracted manner, a not insignificant chunk of her own resources devoted to picking over the feedback from his side almost as closely as he's doing. She hardly needs any of it to pick up on the thread of nervousness through it all, and even though she feels much the same it makes her want to laugh. This is a process with no failure state possible, aside from maybe overheating to death. Which, okay, seems plausible, but that's not going to happen.
She traces the contour of his lower lip with her tongue and makes a little pleased hum. Soft. Her hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, seeking more contact of skin on skin.]
no subject
She traces the contour of his lower lip with her tongue and makes a little pleased hum. Soft. Her hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, seeking more contact of skin on skin.]