Should he be concerned that the plunging of that knife right into the space between his wide-open shirt doesn't even make him flinch? Haha, no, of course not. He couldn't have predicted it, exactly, the exactly when and exactly where and exactly how, but he was ready for it, and he's totally relaxed. Reno only reacts when he glances down, lips parting with a sigh, relieved almost. When he gets a look at Tseng's face and sees the inspiration dawn on him, that critical eye that finds the beautiful angles in every bloody canvas he's ever seen him take a blade to. It's kind of amazing, honestly. Reno's never been that particularly artful. Not like this, anyway. His art is movement, a flick of the wrist, quickness and dexterity, the absolute mastery of his body and what it can do. What it can do to others, specifically. He's certain he looks a picture when he's in the moment, whether that moment is fighting or fucking or kissing or killing, but he doesn't think he could ever leave such precisely beautiful destruction on anyone's body the way Tseng does.
His head tilts to try to watch, his upper lip occasionally twitching when something hurts, his eyes widening as that scar of his runs a river of blood all over again, only this time it transforms into something mystifying. He can make out that it's lettering, a language he certainly doesn't know how to speak or read, but he's got a pretty good sense without having to ask. That's when the back of his head hits the wall with a dull thunk and he laughs. The sound shudders in his chest, breathy, made weak by the stinging persistence of that knife over his heart. With all the tender, loving care of some thing he knows he isn't and doesn't think he can be, Reno strokes Tseng's hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear to keep it out of his way while he works. Then on down the side his neck, following that absolutely irresistible curve of Tseng's dangerous body right back to that scar. His nails curl into the jagged edges of it, and this time when he finds that uneven overlap in his skin where it never could've healed cleanly, he digs in hard. Digs in and scratches and pulls at the back of Tseng's hip for counter-balance so that he can apply pressure and pressure and pressure until it starts to tear and bleed.
"Y'know," he starts casually, the words thick in his throat as that blade bites into the same spot again for the fourth time and fuck, that one was a little deep, jesus, he's getting hard, he claws harder, "If you hadn't come back, I'da just taken this all out on myself."
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His head tilts to try to watch, his upper lip occasionally twitching when something hurts, his eyes widening as that scar of his runs a river of blood all over again, only this time it transforms into something mystifying. He can make out that it's lettering, a language he certainly doesn't know how to speak or read, but he's got a pretty good sense without having to ask. That's when the back of his head hits the wall with a dull thunk and he laughs. The sound shudders in his chest, breathy, made weak by the stinging persistence of that knife over his heart. With all the tender, loving care of some thing he knows he isn't and doesn't think he can be, Reno strokes Tseng's hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear to keep it out of his way while he works. Then on down the side his neck, following that absolutely irresistible curve of Tseng's dangerous body right back to that scar. His nails curl into the jagged edges of it, and this time when he finds that uneven overlap in his skin where it never could've healed cleanly, he digs in hard. Digs in and scratches and pulls at the back of Tseng's hip for counter-balance so that he can apply pressure and pressure and pressure until it starts to tear and bleed.
"Y'know," he starts casually, the words thick in his throat as that blade bites into the same spot again for the fourth time and fuck, that one was a little deep, jesus, he's getting hard, he claws harder, "If you hadn't come back, I'da just taken this all out on myself."