The ‘bad boy’ decked in leather, cigarette smoke wreathing him like a halo. He looks so good at being bad that you cannot look away. Is that a jaded invitation in his eyes, or just your wishful thinking? You move in close, compelled by the desire to sweep that raven lock off his brow–and by the undeniable need to taste that devil smoke upon his lips, upon his tongue. Hoping as the saying goes, that where there’s smoke, then there is fire…and that you can burn together.
In a dark, delicious dream, you burn together.
He’s always loved shaving. That was probably because of the traditional straight shaver that had been passed down to him from his father. He loved his father very much and would naturally love the family heirloom that was passed down to him. He saw it an honour to be able to put it to use, a badge that screamed his belonging to the family.
The blade would cut through the rich mixture on his face in neat, precise strokes, revealing skin now clean and baby smooth. And he’d rinse both the blade and the bowl, drying both before he swipes the blade over hard and unforgiving leather, the metal creating a muffled scratching sound as he drags the brittle blade over animal skin.
He would run his fingers over his face, trying to find any spot untouched before he would smile softly at the perfect reflection in front of him, cerulean eyes bright with electricity and excitement. He’d move to get dressed soon after, leather, silk and cotton all slithering softly as he pulled them on, the materials clinging onto his muscular frame, twisting and moulding around the shape of his strong physique and putting to show his pectorals and broad, muscled chest.
Turning around, he’d stride over and plant a tender kiss against your forehead, your own being still held hostage under slumber’s grasp, the perfect blend of vanilla, sandalwood, minty toothpaste, chocolate and cinnamon falling on dulled and sleeping senses.
And then he’d be gone, shoes slipped on hastily as he bolts out of the door towards his car, bright blue eyes glancing worriedly at his watch as he tightened the knot of his tie around his neck, not noticing how his tie was so very slightly tilted to the left of his collar.
// um, I forgot the muse prompts that I reblogged and I was kinda confused when I got this :/ So instead, I wrote a drabble for this if that’s alright? I’m really sorry if it ends up something entirely different from what you expected or if it’s shit! :( Let me know which prompt this is from and I’ll gladly rewrite it! :)
