[ That is something that's going to have to be dealt with at some point. Although he very much doubts that such a thing will be changed quickly. Mindsets like that... it's something Sylvain is all too familiar with. If for different reasons.
But for now, he does what he can without moving, without words. Instead, he lets Basch see the appreciation and hunger that fills his dark gaze as the man strips away his clothing, layer by layer. Reveals his body - scarred, yes, but toned and telling countless stories with the marks left behind. He smiles faintly at the sight of freckles, knowing he has more than a few on his own pale skin. he takes in every exposed inch of him and there's not a single moment where that hunger falters.
It's only when he stops, stripped and exposed and naked except for that last remaining claim about his throat, that Sylvain moves. Steps in close once more and slides his hand against the man's jaw, tilting his face towards him and holding him there as he lets his other hand trail down over the man's bared torso, tracing his ribs, or scars alike. There's no flinching there, and the lust never fades from his dark eyes. ]
You're wrong, you know. You are beautiful. Your body tells a story - it might be a dark one, but it is yours and one you are still here to tell. The scars do nothing to diminish you. If anything, they do the opposite - they speak to a strength and a willpower deeper than most can ever imagine. And that you choose to bend to me, possessing that strength? Is a beauty all its own. One I do not take for granted.
[ He holds the man's gaze for a moment, earnest and solemn, wanting him to understand Sylvain means every word, before his lips quirk faintly and he steps back again, hands going to his own shirt as he starts to unbutton it and cast it aside.
It reveals a toned, muscular torso - one scattered with its own collection of scars. The long slash from a blade down his ribs, the jagged remnants of where he'd taken a spear in the side. The nasty slash of wyvern's claws on the back of one shoulder, and countless other smaller ones scattered over his skin. He doesn't flinch from the sight of them, either, the vulnerability of exposing himself. If he wants Basch to believe him, he doesn't want to falter here, either. He drops his shirt to the ground with little care before going to unfasten his pants as well. Stripping away each layer the same way Basch had. ]
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But for now, he does what he can without moving, without words. Instead, he lets Basch see the appreciation and hunger that fills his dark gaze as the man strips away his clothing, layer by layer. Reveals his body - scarred, yes, but toned and telling countless stories with the marks left behind. He smiles faintly at the sight of freckles, knowing he has more than a few on his own pale skin. he takes in every exposed inch of him and there's not a single moment where that hunger falters.
It's only when he stops, stripped and exposed and naked except for that last remaining claim about his throat, that Sylvain moves. Steps in close once more and slides his hand against the man's jaw, tilting his face towards him and holding him there as he lets his other hand trail down over the man's bared torso, tracing his ribs, or scars alike. There's no flinching there, and the lust never fades from his dark eyes. ]
You're wrong, you know. You are beautiful. Your body tells a story - it might be a dark one, but it is yours and one you are still here to tell. The scars do nothing to diminish you. If anything, they do the opposite - they speak to a strength and a willpower deeper than most can ever imagine. And that you choose to bend to me, possessing that strength? Is a beauty all its own. One I do not take for granted.
[ He holds the man's gaze for a moment, earnest and solemn, wanting him to understand Sylvain means every word, before his lips quirk faintly and he steps back again, hands going to his own shirt as he starts to unbutton it and cast it aside.
It reveals a toned, muscular torso - one scattered with its own collection of scars. The long slash from a blade down his ribs, the jagged remnants of where he'd taken a spear in the side. The nasty slash of wyvern's claws on the back of one shoulder, and countless other smaller ones scattered over his skin. He doesn't flinch from the sight of them, either, the vulnerability of exposing himself. If he wants Basch to believe him, he doesn't want to falter here, either. He drops his shirt to the ground with little care before going to unfasten his pants as well. Stripping away each layer the same way Basch had. ]