mazeofrelationships | Synodiporia - Thread Continuation Post

She shivers a bit, even in her sleep as he takes the sheets from her. Having fallen asleep the previous night in just her boxers, even without her binder, her tiny body is rather susceptible to cold.

Without waking up much, she shifts, so that she's closer to him, snuggling up against him to warm herself up on instinct. Eventually, she wakes up a tiny bit to mumble. "Souji, you're being a cover hog. 'm cold."

"...I think I'm colder," he says, faintly alarmed, noting how fever-warm she feels pressed against his side and the way the muscles there ease immediately on contact, doing something he's really sure his human muscles never do.

"Wha?" She pulls herself awake quickly, and sits up, startled. "Oh... er, that's unexpected. Did you shift in your sleep?"

Her eyes widen a bit as she looks him over, examining him carefully, then reaching out to put a hand on his chest gently, almost reverently. She hasn't really explored him in this form before, except for her first kiss as a guy, and she's admittedly a bit curious.

"That's how it seems," he says, glancing down at her hand.

The skin dimples to the touch. The texture is a little different, not discernibly scaled, but seamless, like a smooth-skinned fish might be. Everywhere under the skin there's even layers of thin muscle and spongy, fattier tissues - so there are no hard points where bones feel nearer the surface, but no especially soft places either. The padding is even. As his skin dimples, the colors blue slightly and iridesce, as the pressure changes the way his skin cuticles line up, and compress or stretch chromatophores.

His eyes widen.

She stares for a moment, gently tracing lines on his stomach for a moment, watching his skin before turning bright red, and looking up at his face.

"Er, sorry. My curiosity got the better of me for a moment. I, er, well, I haven't seen this much of you like this before." And he knows quite well how deep her natural curiosity goes. And if she were to really admit it, he's rather attractive like this.

"Neither have I," he admits, hair wriggling, and presses his lips together for a moment. "...You can keep going," he adds. "I'm curious, too..."

"Alright." She swallows, somehow a bit nervous, not really for herself, but just in general.

"Stop me if you're uncomfortable." And before he can say anything else, she starts gently tracing lines around his chest, exploring carefully and precisely with first one hand, and then two, face as serious as when she is thinking her way through an important case. It's an investigation, and one she is determined to work through.

Here and there, when pushed, the skin reveals that, smooth as it is, there truly are scales, and beneath them is tender white subdermis, like the membrane under eggshells, ticklish when poked - but it takes precise angles and deliberate force to reveal these areas.

The cardamom scent increases there - the calcification glads probably lie beneath - and revealing the pale spots brings on a frisson that makes his hair-tendrils go languid and his heart beat harder, pleasant in a way direct contact is not.

Simply pressing down reveals that Gorgon ribs aren't xylophone-like crossbars linked at the ends, but a honeycomb structure, subcutaneous chainmail with fused rings a few centimeters across.

Close study shows that the edges of each small scale of his skin line up precisely, and making those lines curve or shift is what changes the shimmer of it. Stretching the scales themselves, or compressing them, changes their color, and those thin little muscles under the surface shift each time that happens, replicating the effect elsewhere on his body.

She's careful with her explorations, not knowing what will hurt him, but still methodical in what she tries, tracing a scale here or there, gently pressing to get a feel for how he is shaped underneath everything, and memorizing what everything feels like, even so far as to put a bit of an anatomical picture together in her head.

It doesn't take long for her to realize what causes him the most pleasure, and she switches seamlessly from exploration to application, and starts gently repeating movements that he likes. Almost curiously, she leans over and brushes her lips across his chest at one point, before sitting up again, watching him carefully.

The touch of her lips is nice, personal, intimate. But straight vertical rubbing motions seem to cause the most pleasure - maybe because they cause the least functional physical change, blushing him darker blue but not exposing vapor glands or shifting cuticle structure.

He takes a deep breath and exhales cinnamon-roll scented breath, tendrils curled tight, hugging themselves in pleasure, even without any direct contact of their own. They've long since shoved the pillow under his neck, better to help him watch her work.

She shifts her position a bit, moving a bit further up the bed for now, reaching out one finger to stroke a hair tentacle, curiously, almost like one would pet a very skittish cat.

Her other hand, however, has developed a bit of a rhythm on his chest, stroking the scales in long, gentle, careful strokes, keeping contact with him as much as she can, and covering as much of him as her tiny hand can.

For whatever reason, the smell of his breath makes her breath catch. It's different, and it's fascinating, but above all, it's her Souji, and there isn't any thought in her mind that this is in any way strange.

The coiled tentaclet pulls tight around her finger, a reflexive curl, winding its way up at her touch as if she's a trellis and it's a vine, and he gasps, a little - the tendrils are full of glorious sensoria, so he's not just touching her, he's tasting her, smelling her, taking her pulse, inhaling the exhalation of her pores, even seeing her, a little, when she brushes over the dark mottling of eyespots, which is no more vulnerable than any other prtion of tendril.

She opens her hand, holding it close to his tentacles so he can explore her as much as she's exploring him. It's fascinating to watch the tentacle curl around her finger, and her other hand stops in its exploration of his chest to move up and gently caress a few more of them.

There's a curious smile on her face, as she explores his reactions, a rare truly happy moment for her, as she pursues what is really just another kind of puzzle.

The surface of the tentacle is fingertip-soft, without quite the firmness of the rest of his body, and it has a strong pulse, easily felt. Each tentacle is circular, but one side folds shut, making the circle smaller and giving it more tensile strength, or broader for more fine sensitivity, and as they flex open, tickling her fingers, her palm, several tendrils leaning in towards one another, they reveal a double row of raised bumps, tactile sensors that help to grip and determine shape, and finally a slender crest of short, fine cilia, like silk fibers.

To his touch, her skin feels oh-so-arm and inviting, the pads of fingers and hand surprisingly soft, not backed by chroma-muscles, and something about it makes him blush dark, the silver all but vanishing from his coloration.

She giggles a bit in spite of herself as the tentacles tickle her palm, curling her hand up a bit instinctively. However, after only a tiny moment, her hand is back open, allowing him to keep exploring as much as he wants.

Her other hand is still tied up in the tentacle, and she blushes a bit at that, feeling somehow even more intimate and closer to him than usual. The smile on her face only widens as he blushes, and she leans over, kissing his cheek gently. For the moment, she's pretty sure that words are more than unnecessary.

His whole body wriggles, just a little, at the continued contact with his tentacles. It's at least as nice as when she plays with his nipples - when he has those. He kisses back, lips flat and cool, brushing them over her cheekbone.

"I can feel your heartbeat," he says, quietly. "Not just your pulse - every time your heart moves, there's a little jump of electricity in your body."

She smiles, cheeks flushing a bit at the coolness of his lips, fingers reaching out to touch even more of his tentacles, wanting to see more of his reactions to it.

"That's... interesting. Your tentacles seem to make you more aware of things, if my observations are correct."

Somewhat impulsively, she leans up and gently kisses one of the tentacles that is wrapped around her finger.

His eyes roll up a moment at the continued touch, tentacles petting almost frantically over her hand, her wrists, and he gasps out loud, sharply, at the kiss, the tip of the tentacle curving curiously between her lips as the rest of his body jolts at the pleasurable sensation.

He swallows. Something, he's becoming aware, is happening between his legs, hidden by his boxers, but he has absolutely no idea what it is or what it means. In Questing Country, he'd been dreaming, after all, and hadn't needed to address the sorts of basic needs that would have educated him.

The touch of his tentacles on her hands is becoming even more intensely intimate, and Naoto is relying even more heavily on her instincts at this point. It's fascinating, she thinks, the way the gentle caresses are making her feel, and how much she's starting to want more.

Without thinking too much, she parts her lips just a bit as the tentacle curls up, tongue coming out to gently taste it.

The cilia curl in at the dampness, to form a single, nubbly ridge, but in texture, in content, it's strangely similar to making out, moving in slow, exploratory, oversensitized curls as he gasps and whimpers and feels a definite sticky dampness against his thighs which makes him widen his eyes. What is going on, down there?

She pulls back just a bit at that, expression concerned. She knows his expressions, and his body language extremely well. "Souji? Are you alright?"

One of her hands disentangles from the tentacles to reassuringly take his hand. "I can stop if you're uncomfortable."

"It's not that," he says, reassuring, tentacles reaching like hopeful plants leaning for sunlight. "It's just..."

He nods downwards. "I'm... I'm not really sure. There's something happening. Like..." he considers, face serious and thoughtful.

"... Like something might be happening if I were kissing your breasts."

Her hand goes back up to the tentacles, gently caressing and re-assuring them as she thinks for a moment, and then leans over, kissing him on the mouth, then pulling back.

"You are welcome to experiment with me, if you want. I don't mind. I... would like it, actually." Really, she wants to feel the tentacles on her breasts, and she shivers a bit thinking about it.

He nods, eagerly. That... isn't quite what he meant, but after all this, he's more than happy to turn the tables. He reaches up for her with his hands, pulling her down onto the bed next to him, shifting up onto his side so that they can face each other. What's happening between his legs can wait, at least a little.

He kisses her, lips insistent, and slowly, tangibly warming with the contact and friction. He's not, he notices, as cold as he used to be. The tendrils on his head drift down slowly, twining in locks of her hair, caressing her cheekbones, curling their tips in the hollow between her jawbone and her ear, holding her jaw in place like a tentative hand might while they kiss. When her eyes close, they slide like gentle fingertips across her eyelids, impossibly gentle, the point of contact very small.

As the kiss breaks, he slides down, skin rubbing against hers - a vertical shift, making him gasp before his mouth begins to study her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, then his cool, dry tongue sliding down over her breastbone. The tentacles cascade down as he does in a curtain, coiling and uncoiling, brushing her with the edges of their curls, with the fine tips, with the uneven bumps and the fanning cilia, experiencing touch on more levels than he could before, feeling the static charge between the sheets and her skin, the power of her heartbeat, the way her brain, her nerves speed and rev at sensation, and he smiles, mouth pressed over her solar plexus while he cups her breasts.

She kisses back enthusiastically, breath catching a few times as his tentacles caress her, shivering at the slight touches. It's so good, so intense, and so different than anything she's felt before, even the time they kissed when she was in her male form. It's tantalizing, and her mind wanders a bit, wondering what really was going on between his legs.

However, as he starts sliding down her chest, she whimpers a bit, eyes closing for a moment, to even more intensely feel him against her, but before long, she's watching him, biting her lip, and reaching out to gently caress some of the tentacles again. Really, she just can't get enough of that feeling. It's intense, and her mind is going even more quickly than usual, taking it all in, and making sure even her perfect memory won't ever forget it.

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let me know if this gets too weird or academic or whatever?

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