His breath picking up as Glacius strokes him, Carlisle pulls clumsily at his shirt, more eager to bare himself for the alien these days than he used to be. It's not just that he's had some difficult things on his mind the past few days, nor the strange objects from the stores, nor wild emotions stirring in him because of the newly resurrected god's influence; he's become aware of just how good his partner can make him feel, how powerful and overwhelming the feelings Glacius instills in him can be.

And at that moment, he wants to bury himself within them and suffocate every last thought he has.

Though he manages to get the sweater off, his fingers fumble with the skintight undershirt he wears beneath it, his neck arching again as the point of Glacius' mandible rubs against him. His frustration reaches a head as he swears under his breath, his arms still stuck in the sleeves. "Damn this thing!"