Closed RP: Mel and Brice on the Astral Plane.
((WARNING: May turn explicit.))
Brice was still mooching. He was good at that. Smirking too. One of those was playing across his (biteable) lips at the moment, and the piercing, soul-scorching eyes were glittering as well, with the sinful ideas of angels. Because well, he was one, though the memory of that was a little fuzzy at the moment. He wanted to find some girls. One girl in particular. The gorgeous, the alluring, the constantly-getting-herself-into-trouble Melanie Beeby. She wanted him, he knew she did, and he was going to get her. Even if he had to kidnap her, tie her to a chair and walk around menacingly while calling her pet names, perhaps slowly drag his fingers over her neck. He'd whisper sexy things in her ear, brush his lips against her throat, perhaps remove his shirt and give her a good look of his impressive pectorals to make her swoon with his manly, manly ways.
And there would be sex. Because he was Brice. And he was sexy, and slightly evil. These were two things he was absolutely aware of, the only two things he was about. Which suited him just fine.
So he walked down the corridor, hands in his pockets (and considering how tight those jeans were, it was quite an impressive feat to get anything in there) and looking with intense, electrical eyes at the place. His black t-shirt clung to his chest and accentuated his muscles, and the leather jacket was... well, sexy. We did mention the sexiness, right? Because he was pretty much so full of it it was oozing (sexily) out of his ears.
Brice was still mooching. He was good at that. Smirking too. One of those was playing across his (biteable) lips at the moment, and the piercing, soul-scorching eyes were glittering as well, with the sinful ideas of angels. Because well, he was one, though the memory of that was a little fuzzy at the moment. He wanted to find some girls. One girl in particular. The gorgeous, the alluring, the constantly-getting-herself-into-trouble Melanie Beeby. She wanted him, he knew she did, and he was going to get her. Even if he had to kidnap her, tie her to a chair and walk around menacingly while calling her pet names, perhaps slowly drag his fingers over her neck. He'd whisper sexy things in her ear, brush his lips against her throat, perhaps remove his shirt and give her a good look of his impressive pectorals to make her swoon with his manly, manly ways.
And there would be sex. Because he was Brice. And he was sexy, and slightly evil. These were two things he was absolutely aware of, the only two things he was about. Which suited him just fine.
So he walked down the corridor, hands in his pockets (and considering how tight those jeans were, it was quite an impressive feat to get anything in there) and looking with intense, electrical eyes at the place. His black t-shirt clung to his chest and accentuated his muscles, and the leather jacket was... well, sexy. We did mention the sexiness, right? Because he was pretty much so full of it it was oozing (sexily) out of his ears.