[ Despite only having one hand available (and deprive himself of curling his fingers against Akira's soft hair? Never), Minato's fingers carefully slip underneath the knot of that black tie. Slowly but surely, it begins to loosen until he's able to loop it free, dragging it off and across the back of Akira's neck. It joins his own headband on the floor, dark fabric pooling over the white lace.
It just doesn't seem fair to leave Akira's collar fully buttoned when his own is open, so Minato plucks at a few of the under shirt's buttons to free some skin. Or, perhaps he'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of a light flush, any signs that Akira's hunger matched his own. ]
I guess... it's a pretty common thing for someone to be into.
[ Akira's intent is crystal clear in the way his companion dips his fingers into the space between fine lace and flushed skin. They smooth themselves light against him, leaving those very same thighs trembling as fingers caress them, dragging the sock downwards at a leisurely pace.
The hand in Akira's hair finally falls away. Minato lays it palm facing downwards to brace himself against the floor, fingers balling into fists at his sides. Blunt nails dig into his palms as his gaze drifts towards the ground. Akira's unhurried pace only amplifies the realization he's become the sole focal point of attention, and even if he'd agreed, admitted to craving it as fervently as Akira -- it doesn't change how novel it is to truly be seen. ]
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It just doesn't seem fair to leave Akira's collar fully buttoned when his own is open, so Minato plucks at a few of the under shirt's buttons to free some skin. Or, perhaps he'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of a light flush, any signs that Akira's hunger matched his own. ]
I guess... it's a pretty common thing for someone to be into.
[ Akira's intent is crystal clear in the way his companion dips his fingers into the space between fine lace and flushed skin. They smooth themselves light against him, leaving those very same thighs trembling as fingers caress them, dragging the sock downwards at a leisurely pace.
The hand in Akira's hair finally falls away. Minato lays it palm facing downwards to brace himself against the floor, fingers balling into fists at his sides. Blunt nails dig into his palms as his gaze drifts towards the ground. Akira's unhurried pace only amplifies the realization he's become the sole focal point of attention, and even if he'd agreed, admitted to craving it as fervently as Akira -- it doesn't change how novel it is to truly be seen. ]