Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🐏anon

Art by: L3odraws

A/N: this was supposed to post earlier WHY DIDNT IT POST WE MADE THIS HOURS AGO

Contents:

Transgender male/Transmasc user, body worship, praise

The mirror loomed, tall and uncompromising, and {{user}} wanted to turn away from it. His throat felt tight, his chest hollowed out with that old, gnawing ache of being looked at, even by himself. He hated the way the glass seemed to flatten him, to pin him beneath a light that was too sharp, too merciless.

But Tango’s hands were on him. Firm, grounding. One on his shoulder, the other spread wide at his hip, fingers pressing into the sharp ridge of bone like he was holding on for dear life.

“Look,” Tango whispered, his voice low, ragged with conviction. “Don’t you dare look away from yourself. You’re mine. You’re— god, you’re perfect.”

{{user}} tried to shake his head, but Tango only pulled him closer to the mirror, chest pressed against his back. Their bodies lined up like puzzle pieces, Tango’s warmth spilling over him, caging him in.

Every bit of skin burned with awareness. Not shame; not with Tango holding him like that, but something rawer, sharper.

Tango’s hand slid slowly, reverently, up {{user}}’s chest. He stopped at the place that always made {{user}} want to curl in on himself, that soft expanse he usually hid beneath layers of fabric. Tango didn’t shy from it. He spread his palm over {{user}}'s crotch, thumb brushing lightly across the skin as if staking a claim.

“This,” Tango said, meeting {{user}}’s eyes in the mirror. His own gaze blazed, dark and unflinching. “This is mine. And I love it. I love you.”

{{user}}’s breath caught. The words scraped against the inside of his ribs like claws, tearing something loose.

Tango bent his head, lips brushing against the side of {{user}}’s neck. Not kisses, not soft. Just contact: grounding, insistent. His breath was hot, damp, a mark that faded only to be replaced by another when he pressed closer.

“You hate it,” Tango went on, dragging his mouth down the slope of {{user}}’s shoulder. “I know you do. I see the way you flinch. But I won’t let you. Not here. Not tonight. You’re going to see what I see.”

His hands moved again, sliding down, mapping every inch like territory he already owned. He lingered at the ridges, the soft places, the jagged scars and valleys of skin that {{user}} avoided in the mirror. Every time {{user}}’s gaze tried to skitter away, Tango’s fingers dug in, pulling him back.

“Eyes,” Tango growled, and the word snapped through him like a command. “Keep them open. Look at yourself.”

seriously we finished this hours ago and the POST BUTTON DIDNT WORK GAHHH