[ Well, he didn't for sure, but he suspected. Having confirmation is nice. Shiro gives him a slightly lopsided little smile and after another beat of hesitation, goes to his knees. He hooks his fingers under the shirt and rather than tossing it, neatly folds it; old habits die hard.
Then: Matt's bare too, and Shiro's utterly distracted by the long, pale line of him against the dark gray of his sheets. He's filled out more, lean muscle underneath the cloth of Shiro's shirt. It's good - Matt was always attractive to him, glasses and short, messy hair, but now, he's -- ]
Wow.
[ It's soft and a little breathlessly appreciative; Shiro reaches a hand out, skims it up from where his hip dips down and trails further until a thumb brushes over one of his nipples on the way up. He dips down to press his lips to the nearest scar, lingering and then rocks back, rolling his shoulders a little anxiously. It's not as bad as it could have been; some aliens weren't given a healing chamber to tend their wounds. Shiro was, for some of the worse fights. They couldn't have their Champion dead of infection. There's still the handprint from where he'd escaped again and had to cauterize it himself, still pink. There's various scars that are clearly from stab or claw marks, and a set of scars along his belly like something tried to take a bite out of his right side. ]
i know they can't 'cause it's a kids show but cmon
[ Well, he didn't for sure, but he suspected. Having confirmation is nice. Shiro gives him a slightly lopsided little smile and after another beat of hesitation, goes to his knees. He hooks his fingers under the shirt and rather than tossing it, neatly folds it; old habits die hard.
Then: Matt's bare too, and Shiro's utterly distracted by the long, pale line of him against the dark gray of his sheets. He's filled out more, lean muscle underneath the cloth of Shiro's shirt. It's good - Matt was always attractive to him, glasses and short, messy hair, but now, he's -- ]
Wow.
[ It's soft and a little breathlessly appreciative; Shiro reaches a hand out, skims it up from where his hip dips down and trails further until a thumb brushes over one of his nipples on the way up. He dips down to press his lips to the nearest scar, lingering and then rocks back, rolling his shoulders a little anxiously. It's not as bad as it could have been; some aliens weren't given a healing chamber to tend their wounds. Shiro was, for some of the worse fights. They couldn't have their Champion dead of infection. There's still the handprint from where he'd escaped again and had to cauterize it himself, still pink. There's various scars that are clearly from stab or claw marks, and a set of scars along his belly like something tried to take a bite out of his right side. ]