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He took casual to a new level, from the flowing cloak shrugged like a shawl across the expanse of his broad shoulders to his rough-shorn beard.
Is that him?
I can’t access any of their Sys-IDs, so you have to work out which of the three is our mark.
Sana’a’s eyes raked over his form, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
He was all primal, gargantuan in size, menacing in vibe, sculpted in face, dead-bored in stance.
He wore a half-open shirt under the cape that revealed a muscled chest covered in shifting, inked markings.
It was tucked into loose trews that clung to the sinew of his immense thighs.
His elongated legs were crossed at the ankle and ended in a pair of flat, knee-high boots.
She had to give it to him. He’d toiled long and hard to keep his muscles corded, lean, and whipped.
She raked her eyes back up.
He sported a thick dark brow, a proud aquiline nose, lush lips, a jutting chin and a chiselled jaw.
She twisted her mouth, not impressed in the least.
She’d seen many of his kind. Hackneyed conventions of predictably alpha males, complete with their overworked, brooding, lofty and unfathomable mystique.
But it was his locks that had her sucking her teeth in disapproval.
The man bun was once again a craze amongst Pegasi’s outright bachelors and hardcore playboys, from Iccythrians to Edenites.
Sana’a stopped shy of rolling her eyes.
In her estimation, the style was untidy and tended towards funk if not washed well, when worn by individuals who did not adhere to hair maintenance rituals.
It also sent a message of solid asshole vibes.
That said, his crowning glory had a different take; his silver locks caught up in a loose roll, trailing several chrome plumes studded with jewels that ended by his broad midsection.
She leaned in for a close assessment. His presence gave off a silent charisma, dominating the space without speaking.
Yet somehow, he was removed from it all, aloof, as if not quite in communion with the carousing around him.
With zero warning, he glanced up. At her.
Their eyes met, clashed, and heated with a lightning-fast smoulder.
She jolted, a fever running over her skin. In waves, as if she was being scanned.
Or was it stroked?
How was that even possible?
Pushing back on the arced heat, she challenged him, narrowing her own gaze.
He sat back, savouring their eye lock.
He stretched his long arms to either side of the couch he lounged on, the movement stretching his rippling chest against his thin shirt.
His tongue teased out from between sinuous lips as he worked his mouth around a slight bulge in his cheek.
