<font color="#e6c519]From the outside it appeared to be a regular two-story house made of pale sandstone with a black roof, delicate pillars and intricate metal work that made it seem just a bit more expensive. It didn't bother Likèreal that it was surrounded by apartments and skyscrapers, to be honest he owned a penthouse apartment not too far away - but this is where he kept his collection.
It seemed modest and yet luxurious, but there were many hidden facets to this house. Within the garage there was a false wall that pulled aside with the press of a button, following it down a ramp would bring you into an underground car park that took up a fair amount of square footage beneath his house. Pillars came down to support the structure, similar to an industrial car park.
Within the room on the left hand side were all the items you'd expect to see at a mechanic shop. Spare tires and parts miraculously organised, with rows and filing systems of tiles and various bits and pieces. There was a car that appeared to be in the midst of getting rebuilt, a 69 Chevrolet Camaro convertible though the paint hadn't been redone yet it looked like it had been cherry red and white back in the day.
There was another car and motorcycle that looked like they were in the midst of refurbishments too, but of course, that wasn't all that was down there. On the right there were six cars some that were brand new convertibles mostly in reds and blacks including a Mercedes Benz, Porsche and Chevrolet Corvette. There were also quite a few motorcycles parked as well.
Likèreal was down in his garage, currently on wearing a pair of black jeans that sat low on his hips and black boots. Matched with it was a red t-shirt that stretched over the tight muscles of his chest and left his arms bare, except for the gloves that he wore on his hands. The long black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail to keep it out of the way for the most part as he laid under the car on a metal creeper checking the wiring.[/font]
The wind tried to whip at his hair—tried. But, he’d been smart enough to wind the length of it in a leather banding that fell to his waist. Still, the bells woven into the length of it chimed as bits of it came undone around his ears and temple; little strands that refused to be tamed.
The engine revved under him, rumbled between his thighs, as he sped up once the light changed from red to green. The black goggles on his face kept his eyes from drying out, but there sat no helmet atop his head. Truly, not like the bastard would need it; but, maybe he liked to tempt death a little too much. Maybe.
The 1969 BMW R69S prowled like the vintage beast it was; all combustion and beast. It wasn’t quite a big as some of the newer models, but it suited him just fine. Got from point A to point B, growling the whole while in the night air as it coiled around him like a swath.
The moon was high, half covered in black. He’d never been motivated by the fullness of it, or lack thereof; though, he imagined what wandering garou were about were itching for the more fullness it proclaimed from time to time. Not that he cared right then. Not with the rock music blaring in his ears from the earbuds he donned.
He stopped the bike rather suddenly, booted feet resting against the ground to steady it as he looked up at the house. Mismatched hues of emerald and sapphire, icen in shade, were curious if he had the right one. The number looked right.
He drew the bike up and got off in the garage, propping the kickstand with a swift motion that happen in the same instance. For moment, he wondered if he had come to the wrong place; however, then he remember the button Likereal had mentioned him. He hit it and followed the ramp downward.
Hands reached up and tugged the goggles down to hang about his neck, ear buds too, to half resting on the forest green shirt with an unbuttoned neckline to reveal a hint of his hard chest. Sleeves were drawn up to his elbows, which he adjusted further before digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans; jeaned that were covered in black leather chaps.
He gave a grin as he looked about, wandering closer to the man under the car lying on a mechanic’s creeper. “Sexy beast,” he purred, only half referring to the car he was under—the Camero. It was nice too, all slick curves and angular edges.
He took a seat on Aya, his bottom pressing into his crotch while his legs bent and his booted feet pressed flat on the concrete floor. He let his elbows rest on his knees even as the creeper rolled under them both with the movement.
“Transmission trouble?” he asked, eyeing the space of flesh on his abdomen that was revealed between the red shirt he wore that was riding up and the jeans.
<font color="#e6c519]Likèreal had left the garage door open for Saint, knowing that it was likely he wouldn't hear the doorbell beneath the car he was working on. It was for that very reason that he'd provided the vampire all the knowledge necessary to slip his way into his garage unaided. Well that, and he trusted Saint.
The first sign that Saint had arrived was the soft rumble as the stone wall slid open, opening up the path between his visible garage and his underground car park. The second sign that he was there were the soft jingle of bells. How he loved the other male's long inky strands and the tiny bells that he wove through them. Most would think it too feminine, too strange...but it worked so well with Saint and Likèreal loved the soft chimes.
Once he was inside the Fallen slipped one hand into his pocket and pressed a button - closing the gate that connected to the iron work fence that surrounded the property. Moments later he made a soft sound of surprise as the creeper shifted slightly under the additional weight and he arched slightly beneath the body that settled against his.
Only instinct stopped him from hitting his head on the car above him.
Hands shifting up automatically to slide over thighs covered in denim and leather. Smoothed along Saint's thighs and he groaned quietly in enjoyment as the bottom pressed into a certain part of his anatomy that came to attention quite quickly. Saint was so good at distracting him. That voice like dark velvet against his senses and he hummed quietly, "Mm...I have been rebuilding the engine."
He slid the creeper back so that he was free from being under the car which showed a few smudges of grease, oil and dirt on the tanned skin from an evening of mechanics. Once clear the golden eyes slid over the forest green shirt and the expanse of smooth milky skin and the tight fitting jeans and chaps, "Mm...mi noche you are teasing me already and you only just arrived? Though I must say...you look very handsome this evening, as always. Is your vehicle inside?"[/font]
It seemed modest and yet luxurious, but there were many hidden facets to this house. Within the garage there was a false wall that pulled aside with the press of a button, following it down a ramp would bring you into an underground car park that took up a fair amount of square footage beneath his house. Pillars came down to support the structure, similar to an industrial car park.
Within the room on the left hand side were all the items you'd expect to see at a mechanic shop. Spare tires and parts miraculously organised, with rows and filing systems of tiles and various bits and pieces. There was a car that appeared to be in the midst of getting rebuilt, a 69 Chevrolet Camaro convertible though the paint hadn't been redone yet it looked like it had been cherry red and white back in the day.
There was another car and motorcycle that looked like they were in the midst of refurbishments too, but of course, that wasn't all that was down there. On the right there were six cars some that were brand new convertibles mostly in reds and blacks including a Mercedes Benz, Porsche and Chevrolet Corvette. There were also quite a few motorcycles parked as well.
Likèreal was down in his garage, currently on wearing a pair of black jeans that sat low on his hips and black boots. Matched with it was a red t-shirt that stretched over the tight muscles of his chest and left his arms bare, except for the gloves that he wore on his hands. The long black hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail to keep it out of the way for the most part as he laid under the car on a metal creeper checking the wiring.[/font]
The wind tried to whip at his hair—tried. But, he’d been smart enough to wind the length of it in a leather banding that fell to his waist. Still, the bells woven into the length of it chimed as bits of it came undone around his ears and temple; little strands that refused to be tamed.
The engine revved under him, rumbled between his thighs, as he sped up once the light changed from red to green. The black goggles on his face kept his eyes from drying out, but there sat no helmet atop his head. Truly, not like the bastard would need it; but, maybe he liked to tempt death a little too much. Maybe.
The 1969 BMW R69S prowled like the vintage beast it was; all combustion and beast. It wasn’t quite a big as some of the newer models, but it suited him just fine. Got from point A to point B, growling the whole while in the night air as it coiled around him like a swath.
The moon was high, half covered in black. He’d never been motivated by the fullness of it, or lack thereof; though, he imagined what wandering garou were about were itching for the more fullness it proclaimed from time to time. Not that he cared right then. Not with the rock music blaring in his ears from the earbuds he donned.
He stopped the bike rather suddenly, booted feet resting against the ground to steady it as he looked up at the house. Mismatched hues of emerald and sapphire, icen in shade, were curious if he had the right one. The number looked right.
He drew the bike up and got off in the garage, propping the kickstand with a swift motion that happen in the same instance. For moment, he wondered if he had come to the wrong place; however, then he remember the button Likereal had mentioned him. He hit it and followed the ramp downward.
Hands reached up and tugged the goggles down to hang about his neck, ear buds too, to half resting on the forest green shirt with an unbuttoned neckline to reveal a hint of his hard chest. Sleeves were drawn up to his elbows, which he adjusted further before digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans; jeaned that were covered in black leather chaps.
He gave a grin as he looked about, wandering closer to the man under the car lying on a mechanic’s creeper. “Sexy beast,” he purred, only half referring to the car he was under—the Camero. It was nice too, all slick curves and angular edges.
He took a seat on Aya, his bottom pressing into his crotch while his legs bent and his booted feet pressed flat on the concrete floor. He let his elbows rest on his knees even as the creeper rolled under them both with the movement.
“Transmission trouble?” he asked, eyeing the space of flesh on his abdomen that was revealed between the red shirt he wore that was riding up and the jeans.
<font color="#e6c519]Likèreal had left the garage door open for Saint, knowing that it was likely he wouldn't hear the doorbell beneath the car he was working on. It was for that very reason that he'd provided the vampire all the knowledge necessary to slip his way into his garage unaided. Well that, and he trusted Saint.
The first sign that Saint had arrived was the soft rumble as the stone wall slid open, opening up the path between his visible garage and his underground car park. The second sign that he was there were the soft jingle of bells. How he loved the other male's long inky strands and the tiny bells that he wove through them. Most would think it too feminine, too strange...but it worked so well with Saint and Likèreal loved the soft chimes.
Once he was inside the Fallen slipped one hand into his pocket and pressed a button - closing the gate that connected to the iron work fence that surrounded the property. Moments later he made a soft sound of surprise as the creeper shifted slightly under the additional weight and he arched slightly beneath the body that settled against his.
Only instinct stopped him from hitting his head on the car above him.
Hands shifting up automatically to slide over thighs covered in denim and leather. Smoothed along Saint's thighs and he groaned quietly in enjoyment as the bottom pressed into a certain part of his anatomy that came to attention quite quickly. Saint was so good at distracting him. That voice like dark velvet against his senses and he hummed quietly, "Mm...I have been rebuilding the engine."
He slid the creeper back so that he was free from being under the car which showed a few smudges of grease, oil and dirt on the tanned skin from an evening of mechanics. Once clear the golden eyes slid over the forest green shirt and the expanse of smooth milky skin and the tight fitting jeans and chaps, "Mm...mi noche you are teasing me already and you only just arrived? Though I must say...you look very handsome this evening, as always. Is your vehicle inside?"[/font]
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