[ He can't believe they're doing this. He can't believe they're doing this. He should be allowing Inigo the chance to look, to know how his hands are navigating below, knuckles touching bare skin and every shift to his clothing not going unnoticed, but instead Tidus pulls Inigo's mouth in closer to his. Seeking, yearning, searching for some mean of ignoring what's happening below while he also aids in it, lifting his ass so that his trousers and underwear don't get caught as they're pulled down. His arms are close to wrapped fully around Inigo's head and neck, his tongue brushing hot and thick inside his mouth, the roof of it, against lips.
And Inigo's hands are down there. Inigo's hands are undressing him. Why does he feel this way? When he didn't, he's sure, feel it when he nearly went this way with Inigo before, twice. Vulnerable, shy in a ridiculous manner, knowing he can't take this back even if they were to stop right now. This level of intimacy somehow not exposed to him when he isn't the one on the other side, where Inigo is, and it makes him fearful in a sense he can't shake off.
But he doesn't want to be useless, be unappreciative, though it would be easy to hide in the kisses he gives. Hands gliding down a chest covered by fabric, one going as far to find its rim; pulling it up by the back of his hand, while his other travels around Inigo's side, guided the way to the small of his back. Lips taking Inigo's between his, every part of him searching for some kind of distraction for where Inigo's hands are going, where he both wants them, but can't help that apprehension ringing ever louder in his ears. A buzzing, a white noise.
Still--he doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to stop this, to not be touched. ]
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And Inigo's hands are down there. Inigo's hands are undressing him. Why does he feel this way? When he didn't, he's sure, feel it when he nearly went this way with Inigo before, twice. Vulnerable, shy in a ridiculous manner, knowing he can't take this back even if they were to stop right now. This level of intimacy somehow not exposed to him when he isn't the one on the other side, where Inigo is, and it makes him fearful in a sense he can't shake off.
But he doesn't want to be useless, be unappreciative, though it would be easy to hide in the kisses he gives. Hands gliding down a chest covered by fabric, one going as far to find its rim; pulling it up by the back of his hand, while his other travels around Inigo's side, guided the way to the small of his back. Lips taking Inigo's between his, every part of him searching for some kind of distraction for where Inigo's hands are going, where he both wants them, but can't help that apprehension ringing ever louder in his ears. A buzzing, a white noise.
Still--he doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to stop this, to not be touched. ]