Naked black bi boys his left a towering block of solid darkness loomed up out of the fog and he used it as his guide. Picking his careful way through the impenetrable gloom, he trailed long fingers against its pitted flanks, feeling the vibrations run through it like the rapid heartbeat of a living thing. A shiver of anticipation ran through his whole body; a surge of sudden adrenaline - fear black boys naked longing combined - that tightened his gut and made his own heart pound faster.
Through the shifting mist a single, piercing shaft of ultra-violet light sliced upward, cutting through the curls of smog like a blade made from pure energy, etching sharp-edged, cavorting patterns on the impenetrable field of silver-grey. He dodged backwards, avoiding it, pressing his spine to the wall behind him, sliding sideways into the gloom. Another quickly joined it, cutting across at an angle - parrying it - then a third slashed through the cloak of fog, sweeping the scene like a searchlight. Now the screaming young naked black boys blood raced. Shrill, disembodied cries stabbing through the icy mist goaded him on. Fearless, he stalked from the shadows to meet them - a king coming back into his realm - striding through the dancing light-beams, bolder with every step. young naked russian boys dodging them like a fugitive as they strafed the rolling, silvery pall that hid and protected him. The sudden, staccato rattle of sound in his ears was deafening; like the crackle and thunder of repeated gunshots. He paced onward, a seasoned warrior on the field of conflict, unperturbed by the noise, calm and ready in the eyes of all that observed him - and there were plenty of those!
Rayne heard the screams intensify as he glided gracefully through the swathes of dry ice and let the tendrils of light sweep down over him like a falling net. He was not trying to hide. Let them find him. Let them see him at last in all of his lean, wasted, street-glam glory. He stretched out a pale-skinned, long-boned hand for the only thing on this platform that was thinner than he was. Towing the mic-stand to his black-clad body, he hugged it tight as the pounding rhythm naked black bi boys Simon Hathaway’s drumkit drowned out even the most ardent screamers. Behind him, Ciaran Hart’s bass kicked in; pulsing a rich, resonant counterpoint to the percussive rattle of noise. He kept his eyes fixed forward, naked black bi boys to everything but his own breathing. |