In his room with the door only slightly closed he paused, considering. On second thought- second smell, more like- Mik's clothes went into his wicker hamper and he dug out a fresh pair of silk boxers, and some clean jeans. Quick and liberal use of Dude wipes and he was mostly dressed. He was looking through his drawers for a shirt when he heard a voice calling for him. He opened the door to find Andre standing there in a towel and...
...took a moment to register what the man had asked. Could you blame him? The guy had that perfect V, shoulders like massive shotput balls, a broad chest still glistening with droplets of water, flanked on both sides by prominent hip bones, a flat belly that sloped seductively down to disappear beneath the loose folds of his towel. The man was a work of art, carved from ebony granite, the lines of his ink accentuating and following curve of muscle and bone, sloping around dips and around swells.
His fingers itched to reach out and trace them- scratch that. His hands did raise before he caught himself and shook it off with a laugh, fighting through the fog that clouded his thoughts. "Clothes. Oh. Heh. Yeah, I gotcha man." The smirk wouldn't leave his mouth and he glanced around to see if the Lady was about. She had set this little situation up, after all. He almost imagined her slow chuckle, the face she wore now the Doll out in the living room.
Which soured his mood a little bit. She was closed for business, that's for sure. Which meant that Mik and Muscles here didn't have much time for slap and tickle. Or anything else, he thought, glancing at the neatly wrapped ropes, jagged teeth of a wartenberg wheel and cuffs peeking out between their loops along with other toys in the box near his bed. Just his impromptu play kit. Not for a properly planned scene. That was what the stuff in his chest was for. And the hooks in the ceiling.
Still, he didn't hide his interest as he gestured to his closet drawers, showing where his boxers and pants and shirts were, aside from those that were hanging. "Try anything you like. I'll toss your stuff into the wash. You can get it back to me later." He turned around to pull out a tight gray v-neck t-shirt and put it on, wondering if Andre would get dressed with him in the room.
...took a moment to register what the man had asked. Could you blame him? The guy had that perfect V, shoulders like massive shotput balls, a broad chest still glistening with droplets of water, flanked on both sides by prominent hip bones, a flat belly that sloped seductively down to disappear beneath the loose folds of his towel. The man was a work of art, carved from ebony granite, the lines of his ink accentuating and following curve of muscle and bone, sloping around dips and around swells.
His fingers itched to reach out and trace them- scratch that. His hands did raise before he caught himself and shook it off with a laugh, fighting through the fog that clouded his thoughts. "Clothes. Oh. Heh. Yeah, I gotcha man." The smirk wouldn't leave his mouth and he glanced around to see if the Lady was about. She had set this little situation up, after all. He almost imagined her slow chuckle, the face she wore now the Doll out in the living room.
Which soured his mood a little bit. She was closed for business, that's for sure. Which meant that Mik and Muscles here didn't have much time for slap and tickle. Or anything else, he thought, glancing at the neatly wrapped ropes, jagged teeth of a wartenberg wheel and cuffs peeking out between their loops along with other toys in the box near his bed. Just his impromptu play kit. Not for a properly planned scene. That was what the stuff in his chest was for. And the hooks in the ceiling.
Still, he didn't hide his interest as he gestured to his closet drawers, showing where his boxers and pants and shirts were, aside from those that were hanging. "Try anything you like. I'll toss your stuff into the wash. You can get it back to me later." He turned around to pull out a tight gray v-neck t-shirt and put it on, wondering if Andre would get dressed with him in the room.
"Good and ill.
We're like the wind,
we blows both ways."
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods
- Mad Sweeney, American Gods