Koa
Isn't it messed up,
How I'm just dying to be him?
How I'm just dying to be him?
Koa has never been able to read minds. He's never been the most astute when it comes to affairs of the heart, to the subtleties of things said and unsaid. Gods know he does a good deal of his thinking with the head in his pants instead of the one on his neck. So how is he supposed to know the turmoil in Jude's thoughts, the hurt that's fueled him to this moment where their paths now deliciously, dangerously collide?
Jude's all but splayed against the bar, and it's very, very easy for Koa to imagine the younger man unclothed, to wonder just how many beauty spots litter his pale skin. With the liquor-lavender haze blurring his judgment, he finds his earlier reservations slipping lightly away, fleeing the rise of baser instinct and the heat of lust and need.
Leaning in closer, Koa lifts a hand up to Jude's chin. "Oh, it will be good," the Dragoon promises with a purr, calloused thumb tracing feather-light across the singer's angled jaw. This close he can smell the peanut butter on Jude's breath, make out each long eyelash framing those irresistible doe-eyes. Much like Jude, Koa wants to be wanted, and the high of it frays his carefully crafted tethers, leaves him at risk of becoming unmoored in a sea of bad decisions and rose-soft lips.
Jude's all but splayed against the bar, and it's very, very easy for Koa to imagine the younger man unclothed, to wonder just how many beauty spots litter his pale skin. With the liquor-lavender haze blurring his judgment, he finds his earlier reservations slipping lightly away, fleeing the rise of baser instinct and the heat of lust and need.
Leaning in closer, Koa lifts a hand up to Jude's chin. "Oh, it will be good," the Dragoon promises with a purr, calloused thumb tracing feather-light across the singer's angled jaw. This close he can smell the peanut butter on Jude's breath, make out each long eyelash framing those irresistible doe-eyes. Much like Jude, Koa wants to be wanted, and the high of it frays his carefully crafted tethers, leaves him at risk of becoming unmoored in a sea of bad decisions and rose-soft lips.
I'm just a notch in your bedpost,
but you're just a line in a song
but you're just a line in a song
