Mustang's smile begins when Vrenille compliments his color choice at the same moment he realizes he hasn’t been maintaining a watch on his facial expressions. On the other hand, he already trusts the man enough to agree to the ridiculous terms in which this sex had been couched.
Some tiny part of him reminds Roy that it’s just sex, and while he’s here, there’s no real reason to hide the person he is. It’s not as though he’s done a particularly good job in that arena anyway.
Vrenille speaks, and for a moment, Mustang doesn’t even hear what he says, just locks his gaze on the man’s eyes, seeing nothing sheltering his need, not anymore. He can’t be entirely sure if there ever was, but a second later, the words change shape enough for him to comprehend what’s been said.
What? After putting three pair of pants on for this crowd and pulling off two, he wants...
No. The man’s buying him clothes and that’s not even the point. He guesses he hadn’t thought through how deep this dominant/submissive thing went. It doesn’t matter how confident he might be (and he is an extremely confident man, he thinks with some satisfaction), no one wants to put on a show for a bunch of strangers. Do they? Did he?
Well, it’s not as though he hadn’t agreed to it all. This kid has charisma oozing out of his...
“Alright.” He may as well enjoy it. Humming the music to a strip tease ditty, Mustang smiles, slow as he unbuttons each closure on the shirt, wriggling each shoulder as he glides his arms out of each sleeve and ends by tossing the piece of cloth over Vrenille’s head. When he undoes the studs on the pair of jeans, he’s quick to pull them off of his legs to his ankles, overemphasizing the bend at his waist, flexing and relaxing each level of his abdominal muscles just to show off.
He finishes by stepping out of the pants and throwing those, too, but over toward the bench.
“I hope I get extra points for creativity,” he says, thinking he hasn’t been remotely creative, but you never knew with what you might be faced in a different culture.
no subject
Some tiny part of him reminds Roy that it’s just sex, and while he’s here, there’s no real reason to hide the person he is. It’s not as though he’s done a particularly good job in that arena anyway.
Vrenille speaks, and for a moment, Mustang doesn’t even hear what he says, just locks his gaze on the man’s eyes, seeing nothing sheltering his need, not anymore. He can’t be entirely sure if there ever was, but a second later, the words change shape enough for him to comprehend what’s been said.
What? After putting three pair of pants on for this crowd and pulling off two, he wants...
No. The man’s buying him clothes and that’s not even the point. He guesses he hadn’t thought through how deep this dominant/submissive thing went. It doesn’t matter how confident he might be (and he is an extremely confident man, he thinks with some satisfaction), no one wants to put on a show for a bunch of strangers. Do they? Did he?
Well, it’s not as though he hadn’t agreed to it all. This kid has charisma oozing out of his...
“Alright.” He may as well enjoy it. Humming the music to a strip tease ditty, Mustang smiles, slow as he unbuttons each closure on the shirt, wriggling each shoulder as he glides his arms out of each sleeve and ends by tossing the piece of cloth over Vrenille’s head. When he undoes the studs on the pair of jeans, he’s quick to pull them off of his legs to his ankles, overemphasizing the bend at his waist, flexing and relaxing each level of his abdominal muscles just to show off.
He finishes by stepping out of the pants and throwing those, too, but over toward the bench.
“I hope I get extra points for creativity,” he says, thinking he hasn’t been remotely creative, but you never knew with what you might be faced in a different culture.