11-22-2021, 01:43 AM
He liked it.
The attention.
It caught between the ribs, sending lead to his feet. He watched Mik watch him, and for a moment, wished he could see what Mik saw. Crawl inside him and look out from behind those eyes upon flesh worshipped. He smiled for the first time this godforsaken day, sliding past near enough that the heat from the shower could be felt wafting from his skin.
He selected a black tshirt in a forgiving athletic material. Same with a pair of gym pants, branded along the side in a popular eastern brand. They slid straight over the skin, elastic sinched at the waist. It was nothing personal, but he couldn’t wear another man’s underwear.
His hair would fizz without product, but like underwear, no borrowing another man’s.
“There better be hot food and plenty of liqueur. I want to forget today,” he announced as he returned to find the other two. He fell onto comfortable cushions, surveying the apartment for the first real time. Mik had a decent place. Andre (and his husband) had a house, but the inside wasn’t nearly as slick as this. Mik had some style to him and the money to paint it on, apparently.
“Don’t bother with the clothes. There’s no chemical on the planet that can wash away what’s on it. And I don’t think I’d bring myself to wear it again anyway.”
He put his bare feet up and smacked his lips like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So. Anyone care to explain what the fuck is going on? And where in the fucking world you came from? Cuz honey, mad respect. That’s some serious ass you whooped today.” He saluted the lady.
The attention.
It caught between the ribs, sending lead to his feet. He watched Mik watch him, and for a moment, wished he could see what Mik saw. Crawl inside him and look out from behind those eyes upon flesh worshipped. He smiled for the first time this godforsaken day, sliding past near enough that the heat from the shower could be felt wafting from his skin.
He selected a black tshirt in a forgiving athletic material. Same with a pair of gym pants, branded along the side in a popular eastern brand. They slid straight over the skin, elastic sinched at the waist. It was nothing personal, but he couldn’t wear another man’s underwear.
His hair would fizz without product, but like underwear, no borrowing another man’s.
“There better be hot food and plenty of liqueur. I want to forget today,” he announced as he returned to find the other two. He fell onto comfortable cushions, surveying the apartment for the first real time. Mik had a decent place. Andre (and his husband) had a house, but the inside wasn’t nearly as slick as this. Mik had some style to him and the money to paint it on, apparently.
“Don’t bother with the clothes. There’s no chemical on the planet that can wash away what’s on it. And I don’t think I’d bring myself to wear it again anyway.”
He put his bare feet up and smacked his lips like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So. Anyone care to explain what the fuck is going on? And where in the fucking world you came from? Cuz honey, mad respect. That’s some serious ass you whooped today.” He saluted the lady.