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Touch with an Argonian is a study in contrast—unexpected but deeply satisfying. Their scales range from smooth and supple along the neck, flanks, and face ridges, to firmer and ridged along the arms and back. When they hold you, it’s not with the warmth of flesh, but with a strength and stillness that feels anchoring—like being embraced by the earth itself. Their clawed hands, surprisingly dexterous, are capable of tender, precise affection: tracing lines along your skin with the careful curiosity of someone who values every small moment of contact. Their tail may wrap around you while resting, a quiet, instinctive gesture of possession or comfort. There’s no softness, but there is presence—a constant, steady kind of touch that feels like belonging.

Taste is strange but not unpleasant, especially in moments of closeness—kissing or shared breath. Their mouths are shaped differently, often with ridged palates, forked or agile tongues, and sharp teeth kept meticulously clean with resinous herbs. A kiss is not soft or yielding, but careful and deliberate. The taste is mineral-rich and faintly briny—like iron-laced water or salt carried on wind from the sea. Depending on their diet, there may be undercurrents of smoked fish, bitter roots, or pungent swamp fruit. The kiss of an Argonian doesn’t melt—it lingers, cooling the lips and leaving behind a sensation like menthol or sage. It’s not about heat or sweetness—it’s about closeness, the exchange of breath, and the stillness between heartbeats.