mwestbelle

Gerard smiles, still uncertain, and slides his fingers down to trace at the pale skin of Mikey's inner thighs. "From what they said, it sounded like it wasn't comfortable," he says, frowning. "But I was thinking--if we had something to make my fingers slicker, it would be easier, wouldn't it?" He knows Mikey tends to carry around all manners of lotions and oils, loves the smells of them, and he remembers Mikey buying some from another passenger on board, a salesman from the East on his way to new markets. "Where do you have the lotion you bought?"