[ The nice thing about Issac's complete lack of social graces is that it's hard to embarrass him. Or maybe difficult to realize when he's supposed to be embarrassed. It means he doesn't feel the need to break eye contact, despite the fact that even the first, light touch drags a needy groan out of him, under but not entirely disguised by the music pulsing around them.
It doesn't change when Quentin keeps going, never entirely looking away, even as his hands flutter a little uncertainly in the air, not sure if touch is appreciated, if he's just supposed to assume it is. One hand lands after a minute, fingers light on Quentin's shoulder, the other hanging down, pressing a little nervously against his own leg.
It's almost surprising how good it feels, maybe because his imagination is the only thing he has to compare it to, and that's never been particularly sharp in this area. One sharp canine catches on the side of his lip, biting down hard, barely audible sounds low in his throat slipping free, hips shifting forward thoughtlessly, eagerly. ]
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It doesn't change when Quentin keeps going, never entirely looking away, even as his hands flutter a little uncertainly in the air, not sure if touch is appreciated, if he's just supposed to assume it is. One hand lands after a minute, fingers light on Quentin's shoulder, the other hanging down, pressing a little nervously against his own leg.
It's almost surprising how good it feels, maybe because his imagination is the only thing he has to compare it to, and that's never been particularly sharp in this area. One sharp canine catches on the side of his lip, biting down hard, barely audible sounds low in his throat slipping free, hips shifting forward thoughtlessly, eagerly. ]