May. 11th, 2006

killingsoftly: (Sinful)
They were his favorite pants. Cliché perhaps, no not perhaps. Definitely cliché. The bad boy rocker in his black leather pants. But it wasn't for the cliché that he loved them. It wasn't for the looks it got him, the hands reaching to touch, the heated rise in the room that was heady. The black silk shirt did that well enough, just enough unbuttoned to make them want to take it further.

Calculated seduction.

But the leather he wore even when he wasn't performing or prowling. He wore it in the privacy of whatever room he'd claimed as his for the night, the week, however long his stay in one place was. He wore them out to the forest, to the desert, to anywhere he went by himself. He thought it had all started as part of the image. He'd fit into their expectations of what he should wear, in order to better pull them into what he needed. But somewhere along the way they'd moved beyond that to become part of him. A second skin. One tougher, more resilient than the one he felt thrust into most days.

Soft, sensual to the touch, but a barrier to anyone getting too close, there in his mind even when he stripped them off and tossed them over a chair. Part of him, more than part of the persona. Armor in their own way. A reminder.

He zipped them up carefully and tossed a smile at the sleeping girl amid the rumpled sheets, then slipped out of the room and retreated back to his hotel.


killingsoftly: (Default)

September 2007

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