[ It will always be a touch ironic that while Shouto's hands are calloused, Allen's are not and smooth when he's the one who is a close combat melee fighter. But one hand cannot be calloused and the other he always wears gloves in those situations. He isn't wearing any now of course, and feels the thin scarring pressed into his palm; something that registers with a faint pang as it always does, and is perhaps part of the reason why he slows and takes his time to press his lips to his throat in such a meaningful way.
He blinks at the reaction, equal parts fascinated and amazed that he can feel the breath he takes and the quick flux in temperature. But the strong grip on his hand has him glancing up before he can really continue or capitalize on it, catching the trail of mist, and he stills lightly. ]
Are you alright? [ He asks it softly, not pulling back or seeming alarmed. Just watching Shouto in a quietly awe-touched way, and squeezing his hand gently in response. ]
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He blinks at the reaction, equal parts fascinated and amazed that he can feel the breath he takes and the quick flux in temperature. But the strong grip on his hand has him glancing up before he can really continue or capitalize on it, catching the trail of mist, and he stills lightly. ]
Are you alright? [ He asks it softly, not pulling back or seeming alarmed. Just watching Shouto in a quietly awe-touched way, and squeezing his hand gently in response. ]