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The first time he saw him was in his regular bar. He was there with his usual group of bachelor men. A few he’d known since high school and some from college. Friends, but none of them really that close. He was there alone. Sitting by himself at a table that would easily fit four. And it irked him, the way he looked so at ease; his hand casually curled around a glass, chin resting in his hand and looking around the room like it was perfectly fine for him to be there. It wasn’t. Well, technically it was, but then it really wasn’t. The bar was of the small homely type; the kind where everyone more or less knows each other and where the only new customers are the ones the regulars bring. It was disturbing how he was clearly by himself, and how he didn’t seem to notice that he was intruding even when everyone else in the room was shooting him unnerved glances, hushing their voices when they spoke and ordering more alcohol than usual. The first night he did the same as everyone else; pretended he neither noticed nor found his presence unpleasant, but made up excuses and left early.
The second time he saw him, he saw him too. It was in the bar again, and once more he was there alone, sitting at the same table and holding the same drink. He was there with the same people, speaking about the same things and telling the same jokes. But this time people wasn’t nearly as weary of him; this time they dared look, dared talk and dared laugh. He didn’t seem to feel the change, but the hostility was there; in their eyes and in their voices, it was clear how his silence rubbed them the wrong way. He made no attempt at fitting in, and the way he waved off conversation without even bothering to speak provoked him. So he poked his friend and choked out a nasty remark, and they all jumped at the opportunity, turning and laughing at him. And he raised his dark eyes and looked right at him, then grinned back with perfect teeth. When he went home that evening he was restless and annoyed, his smile remaining a constant agitating nudge in the back of his mind.
The third time he saw him he saw him move. Same bar, same drink, same table, same people, same jokes and same nagging feeling that something was wrong. But he got there a little late and he was frustrated because of work, so he knocked down a couple of drinks just to stomach the lingering presence of him without being on pins and needles the entire night. After that he almost had fun. People were loud, drunk and nearly as rude as usual. Still he sat alone and the table became a hollow space in their midst. A pestering, thorny, black hole that swallowed their laughter, sucked in their smiles and trapped their straying eyes. It was revolting how he could devour their contented indulgence by merely being in the same room. He found it revolting and so he busied himself with bad-mouthing his bastard of a boss, thus never noticed him approach before his friends hushed and averted their eyes, all raising their drinks simultaneously. So he took his beer and bottomed up before he turned towards the bar and ordered a new. And he sat right next to him, slowly stirring his drink. He abhorred how he had crept up on him, with his silence and his dark hair; loathed how his white shirt had a button open and how his beige jeans was tucked casually into the brown leather boots. It was jeering how he stood out like a needle in the eye, mocking them with his well-fitted clothes and indiscrete refusal to adapt. Then he suddenly emptied out his glass, tipping his head back to catch the last drops off the edge; Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and then left. That night he went home early without the unpleasant tension of the bar hanging off him, but with a naggingly vivid imagery of graceful, dancing movements and a confident cat-like exit.
The fourth time he saw him, he heard his voice. The bar, the drinks, the people, the jokes, the uneasiness of his company. But he was there early and he came later, and as he entered their eyes met and he grinned. “Hi.” It was simple and melodious and aggravating how he could greet him so fearlessly, when his entrance had disrupted the air in the room, as if he were static noise; clawing at his ears and dismembering his sense of self. He got drunk that night, in a sickeningly pathetic attempt at drowning out his senses which were on high alert, holding his body tense and ready for conflict. But he did nothing but provokingly nurse a single drink the whole evening, and when he finally got up and left, he was so drained of energy that he excused himself and left to go home, an empty ringing in his ears.
The fifth time he saw him was just outside. The darkness was a deep velvety black and he was standing in the strange golden circle beneath the street light, hands in his pockets and his hair just as dark as the shadows. And when he turned towards him, the light that was reflected in his black eyes was glinting just as sharply as his teeth, which were bared in a welcoming smile. “I knew you’d come.” Then he stepped forward with an intimidating smirk and he was terrified. He took a cowardly step backwards further into the shadows, but then he smiled and laughed, and the dancing, musical tone scared him stiff. He couldn’t even shrink away as he watched him cross into the darkness, unflinching as he advanced. Then there was a hand on his chin, fixing him in a gentle but unyielding grip, and he was horrifyingly, fascinatingly close. A smooth cold thumb slid across his chin in a thrilling caress and then: A hot breath against his skin, a glistening flash of pearly teeth, a fluttering of eyelashes, a brush of silky lips against his own and pure enrapture. “I know, don’t say it.” His knees gave out in shock and he stumbled backwards to support himself against the wall “I won’t intrude on you again.”
The next time he came back to the bar was the last. He came early, ordered a drink and sat down, but when the regulars started filling up the small room he had yet to finish it. He felt claustrophobic and the people he was with were being unnecessarily loud. He never showed up. They bugged him to participate in a petty drinking game and he waved them off in annoyance. He chugged down the rest of the lukewarm drink and left before either of them had had the chance to ask him again. He didn’t come back again; the atmosphere just wasn’t the same.
The second time he saw him, he saw him too. It was in the bar again, and once more he was there alone, sitting at the same table and holding the same drink. He was there with the same people, speaking about the same things and telling the same jokes. But this time people wasn’t nearly as weary of him; this time they dared look, dared talk and dared laugh. He didn’t seem to feel the change, but the hostility was there; in their eyes and in their voices, it was clear how his silence rubbed them the wrong way. He made no attempt at fitting in, and the way he waved off conversation without even bothering to speak provoked him. So he poked his friend and choked out a nasty remark, and they all jumped at the opportunity, turning and laughing at him. And he raised his dark eyes and looked right at him, then grinned back with perfect teeth. When he went home that evening he was restless and annoyed, his smile remaining a constant agitating nudge in the back of his mind.
The third time he saw him he saw him move. Same bar, same drink, same table, same people, same jokes and same nagging feeling that something was wrong. But he got there a little late and he was frustrated because of work, so he knocked down a couple of drinks just to stomach the lingering presence of him without being on pins and needles the entire night. After that he almost had fun. People were loud, drunk and nearly as rude as usual. Still he sat alone and the table became a hollow space in their midst. A pestering, thorny, black hole that swallowed their laughter, sucked in their smiles and trapped their straying eyes. It was revolting how he could devour their contented indulgence by merely being in the same room. He found it revolting and so he busied himself with bad-mouthing his bastard of a boss, thus never noticed him approach before his friends hushed and averted their eyes, all raising their drinks simultaneously. So he took his beer and bottomed up before he turned towards the bar and ordered a new. And he sat right next to him, slowly stirring his drink. He abhorred how he had crept up on him, with his silence and his dark hair; loathed how his white shirt had a button open and how his beige jeans was tucked casually into the brown leather boots. It was jeering how he stood out like a needle in the eye, mocking them with his well-fitted clothes and indiscrete refusal to adapt. Then he suddenly emptied out his glass, tipping his head back to catch the last drops off the edge; Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and then left. That night he went home early without the unpleasant tension of the bar hanging off him, but with a naggingly vivid imagery of graceful, dancing movements and a confident cat-like exit.
The fourth time he saw him, he heard his voice. The bar, the drinks, the people, the jokes, the uneasiness of his company. But he was there early and he came later, and as he entered their eyes met and he grinned. “Hi.” It was simple and melodious and aggravating how he could greet him so fearlessly, when his entrance had disrupted the air in the room, as if he were static noise; clawing at his ears and dismembering his sense of self. He got drunk that night, in a sickeningly pathetic attempt at drowning out his senses which were on high alert, holding his body tense and ready for conflict. But he did nothing but provokingly nurse a single drink the whole evening, and when he finally got up and left, he was so drained of energy that he excused himself and left to go home, an empty ringing in his ears.
The fifth time he saw him was just outside. The darkness was a deep velvety black and he was standing in the strange golden circle beneath the street light, hands in his pockets and his hair just as dark as the shadows. And when he turned towards him, the light that was reflected in his black eyes was glinting just as sharply as his teeth, which were bared in a welcoming smile. “I knew you’d come.” Then he stepped forward with an intimidating smirk and he was terrified. He took a cowardly step backwards further into the shadows, but then he smiled and laughed, and the dancing, musical tone scared him stiff. He couldn’t even shrink away as he watched him cross into the darkness, unflinching as he advanced. Then there was a hand on his chin, fixing him in a gentle but unyielding grip, and he was horrifyingly, fascinatingly close. A smooth cold thumb slid across his chin in a thrilling caress and then: A hot breath against his skin, a glistening flash of pearly teeth, a fluttering of eyelashes, a brush of silky lips against his own and pure enrapture. “I know, don’t say it.” His knees gave out in shock and he stumbled backwards to support himself against the wall “I won’t intrude on you again.”
The next time he came back to the bar was the last. He came early, ordered a drink and sat down, but when the regulars started filling up the small room he had yet to finish it. He felt claustrophobic and the people he was with were being unnecessarily loud. He never showed up. They bugged him to participate in a petty drinking game and he waved them off in annoyance. He chugged down the rest of the lukewarm drink and left before either of them had had the chance to ask him again. He didn’t come back again; the atmosphere just wasn’t the same.
Handcuffed behind the back close-up
If you love handcuffs behind the back, in arresting positions, and really good CLOSE-UPS, enjoy my shares. Handcuffs, ropes, even NO bondage; I only focus on women's hands shown behind "PALMS OPEN,"
and showing more femininity. None of this tied "PALMS TOGETHER. Prayer position" nonsense. where is the fun in that? 🤷
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Number 26 on ~Nghh's Difficult 50 Word Challenge, Atmosphere!
I'm not really sure I like this, though.^^ It was really difficult deciding when to stress and when not to, and since it was written in the dead of night, there was some TERRIBLE spelling and grammar mistakes. I've fixed most of them, but let me know if you see any.^^ Other than that it was a very unpredictable piece, since he was originally meant to be the character from physiological, but then it morphed into something comepletely different during the writing process.O.O There's still similarities though.^^
Definition of the word:
1. The gaseous envelope surrounding the earth or any other celestial body
2. The air or climate in a particular place: the atmosphere was thick with smoke
3. A general pervasive feeling or mood.
I'm not really sure I like this, though.^^ It was really difficult deciding when to stress and when not to, and since it was written in the dead of night, there was some TERRIBLE spelling and grammar mistakes. I've fixed most of them, but let me know if you see any.^^ Other than that it was a very unpredictable piece, since he was originally meant to be the character from physiological, but then it morphed into something comepletely different during the writing process.O.O There's still similarities though.^^
Definition of the word:
1. The gaseous envelope surrounding the earth or any other celestial body
2. The air or climate in a particular place: the atmosphere was thick with smoke
3. A general pervasive feeling or mood.
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Wow... This is just superb! I really love how it's all been put together and the descriptions of the bar and everything that happening is simply fantastic! 
I really adore this and everything about it! 
I really adore this and everything about it!