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C3 Him

High trope, trapped inside a glass structure, hides a prince, made of vile and cement heart...

***Young, bodily mysterious, but cramped in personality sigh, he glares like a mean devil. A random outfit, along with the gray color clouds vibes, large frame, and athletic legs, running. He runs unresponsive. His phone rings, unstopped; his hat is damp in sweats.

Later, bugged, he opens, puts the phone in the pocket, and steers strolling.

"What do you want?"

He responds angrily, touching his elbow. Delightfully, he flatters inelegantly, smirking:

"Aliza wants your presence here!"

A bicycle honks, broadening to parkways.

"What for?"

"She is not deciding about the wedding dress? Hello? Help me!"

A thin nimble voice percolates. He stifles staring at his workout watch. During the silence, she explains, advisedly.

"Your daughter, suit her chaos!"

"Your sister..." she adds.

He mocks, almost hanging out. But at the last moment, he shrieks cold. And his glance pokes irreverently.

"Please come!"

A pleading voice peers. He alters his complete attitude. He unbearably keeps stomping, face-reactive.

"Why do you ought to seek my placement everywhere, Alize?"

Quite manly, does he reply.

"Because Tom isn't anywhere to be found! I need a man's advice!"

"Go and discuss it with friends!"

No sooner does he oppose the crave, unbelievably quiet, he steps onwards a crowded building.

"They have jobs to care about!"

She pleadingly justifies. Twisting diabolical neck, he pronounces done:

"Okay, I will find the time to come!"

Hang up tone... he finally moves on humming and gravelly tapping the lift's button.

"Good morning, mister Red!"

Plodding outside, shamrock-like blondie black worn, greets, sliding a glowing chortle. The man dubs uninterested:


His shielded forehead straightens while shuffling inside. Jaw distorts gruffly, lips wetten like in arouse-session.

Beside the mirror alone, he presses 10. Scorching pumped body, styled, he grips strong behind the bar.

Each stage stop, new people enter. He pushes onto the corners, like a monster in a closet. Sourly acid-lowering his head, he constantly spikes up like a gay and genteel.

Though he sounds frozen, he doesn't pretend at all the cough.

A slim chapter of cough, which he fondles with a fist.

His vision is lurching, perched, to numbers rising.

When it marks 10th, he spoiledly dares to rush out. Then the lift closes, tracing aside a clank.

"I am leaving for two hours, don't plan anything!"

"Everything you want!"

He passes past the receptionist, whose black skirt wriggles softly, and tells cut. She smiles, nodding. Nervously, the man preps to take off his cap, on hold, slamming the front door open.

"We're more than sorry to announce our meeting has been postponed for two hours. You are free to showcase the best time to meet."

The lady nicely, mouth syncing, departs talking. Her words fade in the entrance.

Once he treads onwards, the lights begin flashing on little short. No windows, nor parquette or difficult to grasp- pieces of art, just straight his own style of gloom. Curtains have perished, walls are incredibly white, his lavish chandeliers are so complex.

As he moans coughing, he grabs the phone and sees messages noise deriving.

"Can we meet tonight?"

The text is not long, nor hard to get. The brawny, sugar-chipped handsome devil swiftly deletes, pulling a face over bent arms.

"How about my place? I miss you!"

She doesn't apparently understand. ANGRILY UPWARDS the cap-worn head erases, knocking the upsetly stocky clank down the table he is standing still.

"Fuck you!"

He later litters the phone on the floor. The swear hits so hard.

He turns abruptly left, seriously ambling. Constant ambling, the white hall stretches endless, until a black door poops. His lingered 6 frame writhes from the sweats.

He tosses a white hand to grip the cap off. And his mystery hair reveals...golden yummy. Many clears of the throat, he allegedly frolics with the spit a lot. A cool gross habit.

That door zooms, he flagrantly rubs his chin, on a halt to open it. Sir extends a tight hand to bear the locker. He spins it backward and scurries in.

Still the muzzy atmosphere, crazy dark..and red sheets...on a bed. He tiptoes to the right. His humming music is mild, though a little jaded.

He begins stripping off. His trousers fall newly. His briefs slide down sane thighs. His nice tall Red demands to get a shower.

On the right is a spacious shower, with blurry glass walls. He sneers as he pulls to the tap. Two seconds after he shows off sinewy muscles. His nipples daunted in long sweat, enter the shower. Meanwhile, he just drags the shutter, leaving a crack.

In that crack, he foots around naked. Hunky body washes with plain water.

He chuckles goofy. Then he strides to evenly spread the shampoo across the body. From the head to last foot toe, each inch...

When he is done patting his large tool, he strolls out, covered in a towel. He rocks his hair strands and looking faint-like with those jade eyes, he defines bored.

He follows the same path to the closet. He lifts the arms, trailing off the water, on the request to find the clothes.

He pushes the many T-shirts, between fashion-dislike, he frowns.

"Blue, red, green, gray!

Nervously repeats. With a longing desire to get a cold, he picks one. A polo blue T-shirt. Dressing fast, he wears also long cropped trousers. He rakes his hair, perfumes weird hash-like sniff, and dries the mouth.

The fine regular mirror displayed a boring null man.

Giving an irritated walk outside, he grapples loose strip, looking slimmy sexy.

Libre Baskerville
Gentium Book Basic
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