Alexsandr has always been a man of rather broad tastes, from fellow humans to one particular Lasat, and most species between, so it doesn't occur to him that there might be any reason Luther wouldn't want to remove his clothing. His skin feels different, looks different, and it means absolutely nothing to Alexsandr, except now there's more to touch.

His hands drag down, palms moving over rough skin, over Luther's nipples, then to either side of his waist as his own hips keep rolling. He feels like an idiot teenager and he rather likes that.

"Your family isn't going to walk in on us, are they?" he asks in a break of a kiss.