[Matt's observant enough, still, to know that his diet is different than most of the other slaves -- richer, more fats, more sugar and butter and things that help keep him in whatever shape the Galra were seeking. He's conscious of that now, standing in front of Shiro, who's always been perfect, but now seems to be chiseled out of marble, like some godly sort of statue.
He's even more conscious of how that gentle, curious touch from roughened fingertips is enough to make his knees buckle a little. Of all the changes -- and there have been many -- the budding tenderness and softness of his chest had been the hardest. Fabric of any kind felt too rough, moving too fast makes him conscious of the weight, the heft of his (breasts, that's what they are) new attributes. Shiro's thumb seems to send a bolt of lightning-hot lust right down his spine, between his legs, his thicker, softer thighs, which are streaked with more than just water.
Grabbing onto Shiro's shoulders for stability, Matt is barely aware of the soft lowing moan bubbling up from his throat, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking in impatience.]
no subject
He's even more conscious of how that gentle, curious touch from roughened fingertips is enough to make his knees buckle a little. Of all the changes -- and there have been many -- the budding tenderness and softness of his chest had been the hardest. Fabric of any kind felt too rough, moving too fast makes him conscious of the weight, the heft of his (breasts, that's what they are) new attributes. Shiro's thumb seems to send a bolt of lightning-hot lust right down his spine, between his legs, his thicker, softer thighs, which are streaked with more than just water.
Grabbing onto Shiro's shoulders for stability, Matt is barely aware of the soft lowing moan bubbling up from his throat, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking in impatience.]