Disclaimer: I don't own the pretties, but I wish I did, yup.
There is creamy white skin spread out in front of him and the idea is just far too tempting.
Tseng picks up the brush from the table and dips it in the red ink reserved for special occassions.
The brush slides with graceful elegance over taut muscles, capriciously serpentining crimson lines on snow, courted by loose strands of ruby silk, and Tseng watches the birth of unearthly beauty enchanted.
It's no mere picture, it's a confession he might never utter, and he is thankful for the fact that Reno doesn't know what the kanji means.
Reno is thankful for the fact that sometimes even Tseng can be naive.
END