Gaelio stares, dumbfounded, unable to feel it but watching as his legs lift, as McGillis tucks his arm low. He can feel the arm curling below his shoulder blades. McGillis might be swift in it, but Gaelio always has time to squawk and protest.
Reflex flails his arms, would kick his legs, but they keep dormant. ]
W-w-w-hat are you, McGillis!
[ As to that flailing: the arm closest to McGillis's chest should fall around his shoulders, neck, a convulsive grasp for support. On its recalcitrant and flustered way, he swipes at collar, fingers claw through blond strands (not meeting scalp, not quick a smack, not quite a combing through, not quite a shove), until scrambling across the back of his neck and clutching at farther shoulder.
His other hand vacillates between beating and grasping at McGillis's front, as his eyes swing between McGillis's very near face and the floor, finally settling palm against the starred shield of Gjallarhorn.
In other words, palm against pectoral.
Against chest.
Something he has yet to realize while adjusting to this stark change in position. During his floundering, surely only as a result of that motion, heat rushed through him, and sticks in his cheeks and neck, a rash of rose. ]
H-hey.
[ Much quieter than his initial yelp, eyes drawn down. ]
This is...
[ no, no, no. None of what he thinks, feels in the rapid and resonant palpitations of his heart can he say.
a safer word, that should be true, though must be dug out and dragged out from the farthest reaches, this farthest thing from mind and concern. ]
no subject
is getting closer still.
Gaelio stares, dumbfounded, unable to feel it but watching as his legs lift, as McGillis tucks his arm low. He can feel the arm curling below his shoulder blades. McGillis might be swift in it, but Gaelio always has time to squawk and protest.
Reflex flails his arms, would kick his legs, but they keep dormant. ]
W-w-w-hat are you, McGillis!
[ As to that flailing: the arm closest to McGillis's chest should fall around his shoulders, neck, a convulsive grasp for support. On its recalcitrant and flustered way, he swipes at collar, fingers claw through blond strands (not meeting scalp, not quick a smack, not quite a combing through, not quite a shove), until scrambling across the back of his neck and clutching at farther shoulder.
His other hand vacillates between beating and grasping at McGillis's front, as his eyes swing between McGillis's very near face and the floor, finally settling palm against the starred shield of Gjallarhorn.
In other words, palm against pectoral.
Against chest.
Something he has yet to realize while adjusting to this stark change in position. During his floundering, surely only as a result of that motion, heat rushed through him, and sticks in his cheeks and neck, a rash of rose. ]
H-hey.
[ Much quieter than his initial yelp, eyes drawn down. ]
This is...
[ no, no, no. None of what he thinks, feels in the rapid and resonant palpitations of his heart can he say.
a safer word, that should be true, though must be dug out and dragged out from the farthest reaches, this farthest thing from mind and concern. ]
...embarrassing.