A 'mess' is not the most flattering term Junkrat could have chosen to describe his anatomy, but Zenyatta is willing to make exceptions under the circumstances. With his finger duly released his hand lingers for a few seconds longer than his strictly necessary, cupping cheek and jaw, before he slips backwards and touches his sash, his waistband.
First, the belt. His hips are narrow enough that it takes only gentle persuasion to slip it off, followed quickly by the sash, which ripples elegantly to his feet in a single scarlet ribbon. The whole while he is distinctly aware of himself as a body on display, in a way he hasn't experienced for many years now- not since he found independence.
But, acquisitive though Junkrat's eyes are, there's something softer in there: genuine curiosity, latching on to every little part of him as he exposes it: the wires looping out of his spine, every piston, each plate. Finally, Zenyatta loosens the cord of his trousers and lets them drop. With his modesty plate engaged there's little more on display than there was in the first place but the seams of it are obvious enough. Obscene in their own way, he supposes.
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Date: 2016-12-09 09:36 pm (UTC)First, the belt. His hips are narrow enough that it takes only gentle persuasion to slip it off, followed quickly by the sash, which ripples elegantly to his feet in a single scarlet ribbon. The whole while he is distinctly aware of himself as a body on display, in a way he hasn't experienced for many years now- not since he found independence.
But, acquisitive though Junkrat's eyes are, there's something softer in there: genuine curiosity, latching on to every little part of him as he exposes it: the wires looping out of his spine, every piston, each plate. Finally, Zenyatta loosens the cord of his trousers and lets them drop. With his modesty plate engaged there's little more on display than there was in the first place but the seams of it are obvious enough. Obscene in their own way, he supposes.