Paul had always been fond of the feel of flannel against his skin.  The flannel shirt that Charlette had hijacked and was wearing felt much, much better, due to her abundant breasts which lingered underneath.  So he had to feel those, too, believing it’d be rude not to.<br/><br/>While they continued to slowly kiss, he removed his hand from the comfort of her boobs, well aware of her stiffening nipples.  Hand reconnaissance was now headed for her pajama shorts, where even through the garment’s soft material, he could feel the warmth being generated there.  Viewing that fact as an invitation, Paul’s digits slipped between her right leg and the shorts, homing in on the heat signature.<br/><br/><i>Oh, well fuck me, Old Man.  That’s damn good strategy.  No need for a helmet cuz you’re not plunging that soldier.  Carry on.</i><br/><br/>Paul glided his hand along the insides of both of her thighs, avoiding the red-hot area in between them.  For now, but soon.  Very soon.  Charlette writhed at his touch, eagerly anticipating his fingers breaching her.  Which they did shortly thereafter.  Well, a pair of the lucky ones did, at any rate.  She moaned at the penetration, while his fingers were already doused with her liquid excitement.<br/><br/><i>Y’know, you don’t need a helmet, Old Man.  You need a fuckin’ umbrella.  Hahahahaha.</i>