[Mostly bare beneath Diluc's touch, the samurai is as quiet of a partner in intimacy as he speaks generally. Most of his pleasure is communicated in the twitch of muscles beneath the redhead's fingers, or the flutter of lashes, or a soft hitch of breath. The hitch is heavier as Diluc's palm slides over the cloth of his fundoshi, stroking up along the underside of his slowly hardening dick.]
Not at all.
[Inazuman— or in this case, Nipponese —clothing can be somewhat confusing to westerners in Kazuha's experience, so he takes the initative to reach down to where the edges of the fabric is tucked and pulls it loose. He doesn't entirely pull the cloth from him, and instead he hooks his fingers into the side, letting his cock bob up slightly with a twitch as cold air meets the wet tip.
A blush has spread from Kazuha's face, down his neck, and has begun to dust his shoulders and chest in pink. From the comfortable smile and the way that the samurai boldly reaches to trace scarred fingers down the lines of the larger man's stomach, following the natural paths of muscles downward until he reaches hair, it's less a sign of modesty and more just a trait about him.]
no subject
Not at all.
[Inazuman— or in this case, Nipponese —clothing can be somewhat confusing to westerners in Kazuha's experience, so he takes the initative to reach down to where the edges of the fabric is tucked and pulls it loose. He doesn't entirely pull the cloth from him, and instead he hooks his fingers into the side, letting his cock bob up slightly with a twitch as cold air meets the wet tip.
A blush has spread from Kazuha's face, down his neck, and has begun to dust his shoulders and chest in pink. From the comfortable smile and the way that the samurai boldly reaches to trace scarred fingers down the lines of the larger man's stomach, following the natural paths of muscles downward until he reaches hair, it's less a sign of modesty and more just a trait about him.]
You're beautiful.
[Kazuha can't help the praise.]