Tseng honestly should have expected as much. This is Rufus, after all. He sighs, tries to maintain. Lets the flat of the blade drift down his throat harmlessly, revealing the faint line of healed skin beneath. It is easier when he focuses on his hatred of that mark.
But it still feels like a betrayal, spinning the blade upon his palm until it curves down like a reaper's scythe. His breath catches at the first cut, as if he's the one whose skin is opening, as if it's his blood that is pouring. Tseng cannot say it does not feel like exactly that, not when it is Rufus.
He chooses the space over Rufus's ribs. There is more meat between bone and flesh there, more space for him to work within. He presses a hand down on Rufus's chest and slices into his skin, slow to let him feel it.
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Tseng honestly should have expected as much. This is Rufus, after all. He sighs, tries to maintain. Lets the flat of the blade drift down his throat harmlessly, revealing the faint line of healed skin beneath. It is easier when he focuses on his hatred of that mark.
But it still feels like a betrayal, spinning the blade upon his palm until it curves down like a reaper's scythe. His breath catches at the first cut, as if he's the one whose skin is opening, as if it's his blood that is pouring. Tseng cannot say it does not feel like exactly that, not when it is Rufus.
He chooses the space over Rufus's ribs. There is more meat between bone and flesh there, more space for him to work within. He presses a hand down on Rufus's chest and slices into his skin, slow to let him feel it.