I'm not above anything. Isn't the point just to act like I am and keep all my filthy, pretty skanky shit on the inside?
[ Zing.
Reno gasps as if that helmet was stifling his breath and not just holding all that long hair in, cascading down over his shoulders the minute it clunks to the floor. What was that he said about keeping his hands to himself? When he left? Okay, so he didn't make himself any promises, but he did tell himself to act like he has any self-control whatsoever for once. If not for professionalism's sake (ha, fuck that shit) then for his own. If he just keeps falling into everyone's arms like this, one of these days he's going to wind up dropped on the floor.
And yet here he is. Falling into Tseng's arms.
No regrets. He all but claws that uniform off of him in turn, not having educated himself on the hows but either brute forcing it or copying what Tseng does is good enough to make it happen. It trips him up to go for a handful of hair and find it so very short, but that makes grasping at the back of his head and pulling him in oddly satisfying in a brand new kind of way, humming when their mouths meet and press, hungrier still every time he thinks he's satisfied what he wants. It's like pulling magnets apart when he staggers upright to shed the rest of that damn uniform. Would you look at that. He's put on weight again. He's gentle about letting that sword touch the ground. ]
no subject
[ Zing.
Reno gasps as if that helmet was stifling his breath and not just holding all that long hair in, cascading down over his shoulders the minute it clunks to the floor. What was that he said about keeping his hands to himself? When he left? Okay, so he didn't make himself any promises, but he did tell himself to act like he has any self-control whatsoever for once. If not for professionalism's sake (ha, fuck that shit) then for his own. If he just keeps falling into everyone's arms like this, one of these days he's going to wind up dropped on the floor.
And yet here he is. Falling into Tseng's arms.
No regrets. He all but claws that uniform off of him in turn, not having educated himself on the hows but either brute forcing it or copying what Tseng does is good enough to make it happen. It trips him up to go for a handful of hair and find it so very short, but that makes grasping at the back of his head and pulling him in oddly satisfying in a brand new kind of way, humming when their mouths meet and press, hungrier still every time he thinks he's satisfied what he wants. It's like pulling magnets apart when he staggers upright to shed the rest of that damn uniform. Would you look at that. He's put on weight again. He's gentle about letting that sword touch the ground. ]
Until the time's right, that is.