In the flurry of movement and the confusion of the moment Ford hadn't fully realized Tycho's state of undress, but he was forced to confront it now. As soon as he'd wrapped his arm around Ty's torso he noticed that there was skin beneath his hands where there ought to have been a shirt. He started to look down but forced himself to stop before he saw anything — anything, that was, except a very well placed tattoo. The relief that had filled him a moment ago — relief because bloody hell, he'd actually done it, and now Ford didn't have to worry that he'd end up maiming himself whenever the attempt occurred — flooded out and were replaced by embarrassment. This was only compounded when Ty started talking about showing instead of telling.

Ford was still on top of Tycho, and now that the other man was hugging him back it would have been difficult to disentangle himself without turning this into an impromptu wrestling match. He stayed where he was, but his cheeks flushed deep red. "Uhm. Ty..." he started, but didn't know how to continue. Surely this hadn't been part of the plan?

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