Hans Larsson

"You're a bad fucking liar." Rekker teases as he shook his head because he knew very well that the Swede was staring at his crotch.

Rekker stared at the shower still scolding himself about opening his mouth in the elevator. What an idiot he was in that moment. "I guess."

Then he's staring at the Swede unbuckling his belt. It caused a tightness all through Rekker's torso as the anxiety peaked again. His hands were still cold and now felt cold to him too. He was going to have to undress too.

Looking away from the Swede, Rekker resigned himself to his fate from his own stupidity. Unbuckling his own rather tight jeans he slid them off and felt suddenly exposed and uncomfortable. His skin is pale and the front of the thighs covered with more scars, straight lines across the front. Cutting on his legs hid it and so that had been his target even more than his arms had been. There are a lot of scars from years of repeated bouts of self harm. On a brighter note, he is definitely a natural red head. The hair down low is even redder than the hair on his head, nearly a red orange and dusted across the inside of his pale thighs.

Glancing at the Swede again he can't tell if this is a nightmare or something he wants. Through the nerves there's a flutter of arousal and want that is fighting with the part of his mind telling him is scarred body and broken mind made him ugly and unwanted.