[ She's skeptical about the purported lack of complexity, but despite an arched eyebrow in his direction, she flattens her palm over the bulge in his trousers. He's firm under her hand, but not solid exactly. There's a pliant sort of give afforded by the muscle, and she tries to squeeze him despite the fact that she can't get her hand around him while his pants are in the way.
Hmph. If he wants her to get a feel for it, then she needs access. Once his belt is gone and he's working on his shirt, she takes the opportunity to open up the fastenings on his pants and pull them down around his knees. His underwear go with, and there it is. Springing free, darker than the rest of his skin, and jutting out like it demands her attention.
She's never seen a naked man before. Rey traces the lines in his abdomen that curve downward into his hips, as if pointing the way towards his cock where it juts out towards her, begging to be seen, touched, teased. She looks up to meet his gaze.
It's not a comfortable position, what they've settled into. Rey sits up the rest of the way and scoots off the edge of the bunk to a kneeling position and pulls at his legs. It puts her at a better height, keeps her body from having to fold down over itself to get at him — and probably keeps him from bumping his head against the top of the bunk.
Then, searching for approval in his face, wetting her lips in anticipation, she reaches both of her hands out to touch him. There's no rhyme or method. She's got nothing to mimic. So she handles him with the awe someone might afford to a lightsaber, in fact, all gentle touches and two hands exploring the length like she wants to be able to map and render it later. Her fingertips trace the veins that run his length, the ridge of his head, the slit.
And, eventually, she does wrap her fist around it, getting a feel for his size. Her fingertips barely touch, and that causes her eyes to widen a little. ]
this is why you uploaded them right
Hmph. If he wants her to get a feel for it, then she needs access. Once his belt is gone and he's working on his shirt, she takes the opportunity to open up the fastenings on his pants and pull them down around his knees. His underwear go with, and there it is. Springing free, darker than the rest of his skin, and jutting out like it demands her attention.
She's never seen a naked man before. Rey traces the lines in his abdomen that curve downward into his hips, as if pointing the way towards his cock where it juts out towards her, begging to be seen, touched, teased. She looks up to meet his gaze.
It's not a comfortable position, what they've settled into. Rey sits up the rest of the way and scoots off the edge of the bunk to a kneeling position and pulls at his legs. It puts her at a better height, keeps her body from having to fold down over itself to get at him — and probably keeps him from bumping his head against the top of the bunk.
Then, searching for approval in his face, wetting her lips in anticipation, she reaches both of her hands out to touch him. There's no rhyme or method. She's got nothing to mimic. So she handles him with the awe someone might afford to a lightsaber, in fact, all gentle touches and two hands exploring the length like she wants to be able to map and render it later. Her fingertips trace the veins that run his length, the ridge of his head, the slit.
And, eventually, she does wrap her fist around it, getting a feel for his size. Her fingertips barely touch, and that causes her eyes to widen a little. ]