There is no resistance here, save for the brief moment that Tseng hesitates to slide his fingers across Reno's cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of ink upon it. Strange how profound this feels. Tseng has bared skin in front of plenty of watchful eyes, but there's a touch of painful anticipation here, a flutter of something unsure. Like it needs to be perfect, like he will die if Reno's eyes do not light up at what he's about to show him.
Tseng hasn't even seen it himself. Not yet. It should have been a higher priority, assessing the damage and taking stock of this new thing that he has to live with inscribed upon his flesh, but it just wasn't. He could turn, maybe, and take that first glimpse for himself. But there is something about gifting that to Reno instead, trusting him to judge it before he ever really sees, that feels right in the culmination of everything he's done.
Tseng removes his jacket and lets it fall to the floor. Careless, but nothing matters more than those eyes upon him. His fingers make quick work of his buttons, top to bottom, and here is where he exercises caution, so that what lies beneath is not exposed until he drags both ends away to reveal it in full.
Perhaps the scar would have been as clean and neat and masterful as Reno's, but more was done to him than that. There was the force of his blood expelling, his palms smothering the wound to keep it all inside. And there was Reno's hands thrusting into him, careful and precise but not enough to escape lending vertical scores to the jagged, obscene mark that spans almost the entire width of his belly. It's that part that takes Tseng's breath away, the little tears where Reno's touches were too much for his flesh to bear, where they were the breaking point under so much pain and pressure.
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Tseng hasn't even seen it himself. Not yet. It should have been a higher priority, assessing the damage and taking stock of this new thing that he has to live with inscribed upon his flesh, but it just wasn't. He could turn, maybe, and take that first glimpse for himself. But there is something about gifting that to Reno instead, trusting him to judge it before he ever really sees, that feels right in the culmination of everything he's done.
Tseng removes his jacket and lets it fall to the floor. Careless, but nothing matters more than those eyes upon him. His fingers make quick work of his buttons, top to bottom, and here is where he exercises caution, so that what lies beneath is not exposed until he drags both ends away to reveal it in full.
Perhaps the scar would have been as clean and neat and masterful as Reno's, but more was done to him than that. There was the force of his blood expelling, his palms smothering the wound to keep it all inside. And there was Reno's hands thrusting into him, careful and precise but not enough to escape lending vertical scores to the jagged, obscene mark that spans almost the entire width of his belly. It's that part that takes Tseng's breath away, the little tears where Reno's touches were too much for his flesh to bear, where they were the breaking point under so much pain and pressure.