[You're not going to hurt me, he almost says, except that it occurs to him just in time that that's probably exactly what Alucard doesn't want to hear right now. Alucard, who tore Dio's head off and crushed it in his hands, who fears losing himself to the vampire inside him more than anything else in the world...Alucard doesn't want to hear you won't any more than he wants to say I want. They're both questions of restraint, aren't they, and ones that Alucard has to contend with alone.

So he bites his tongue, kicking the door closed behind them with the heel of one foot while he keeps his attention on Alucard, and tries a more careful approach.]

I'll tell you if I need you to stop. And I have Star. He'll look out for me.

[He backs up a half-step, making just enough room to get hold of his sweatshirt and shuck it unceremoniously off, the soft cotton shirt beneath it following quickly after. It leaves him standing in just his pants, bared to the waist, open to be touched.

He knows how many scars there are, left behind on his skin — the place where Anubis's sword had pierced his stomach, gasoline burns here, knife wounds there. He doesn't think much of them by now; he supposes they're probably unsightly. Mostly when he looks at himself he focuses on the muscle instead of the skin — the firm ridges of each abdominal muscle in isolation, the sharp angles of his hipbones. His pants ride low on his hips; a faint dusting of black hair is just barely visible, joined by the trail that runs south of his navel.

He looks all right, he supposes. It's just his body, that's all.

A moment's hesitation later, he opens the button on his pants and shoves them down, stepping out of them one leg at a time and leaving them abandoned on the floor, with the boxers beneath following soon after. Even bared, he doesn't find himself particularly self-conscious; he wonders if that's Alucard's influence, or something else.]

So. ...Look all you want, I guess. This is me.