Typical of deep gnomes, Barcus doesn't have much in the way of body hair, skin mostly sleek and smooth all the way down to his belly. Scars are few and far between on him, too, except that on his lower back, low on the left side, there are six parallel marks deep enough to be felt with Bel's fingertips. The gnome is slender; the majority of any muscle he has is in the cords of his forearms from tinkering, and his chest and upper back, from working at the forge.

Some part of Barcus seems to melt at the touch, the hand on his heart. Sex is all well and good--very good, in fact--but that little taste of tenderness is better.

"Only polite," he echoes with a soft laugh. As if politeness was a matter of primary concern at this point. Still, he wastes no time applying his attention to Bel's request. Those sensitive, artificer's hands make short work of unlacing the drow's shirt, undoing the cuffs of his sleeves, and easing it off of him.

And the trousers really do have to go, but Barcus has to take a moment to touch and hold Bel closer first, skin against skin, dazzled by the look and feel and scent of him.