Dark skin. The rich cacao-creme of expensive coffee, lightened in many places by age-old scars. They seem to accent him, however, instead of marring him. The softness of them, their smooth, sometimes wrinkled suface, and their contrast to the rest of him, make them more of an accessory to his dangerous perfection. His hands are soft, surprisingly; he's a working man, and uses them a lot. For what...you don't want to know. Or perhaps you do. Perhaps he's doing it to you right now, and that is why you aren't startled by their smoothness. Anything else, and it wouldn't be nearly as perfect. His hairless scalp, smattered with the tinge of sharp stubble, is much rougher than his hands could ever be, though its scars are smaller, less noticeable. You notice them easily, though, when you're this close.
His eyes pierce into your very heart, as he gazes at you with utter longing, something dangerous flowing inside them as an almost sweet undertone to it all. They're lighter than most may have imagined, a calming, buttery hazel, which burns like golden fire in the mantle of his face. You would never imagine that under that perpetual reflection lies so much emotion, so much passion; you can read him like a book...only because he lets you.
His movements are like a panther's - so much more graceful than is expected of someone of his size. He is predatory, but tamed, that wild and ravenous creature capable of so much damage, made into something soft and gentle in your presence. Raw energy flows under his skin, through his body and his trained muscles, threatening to burst out against you as he moves, a threat you do not fear so much as long for. The very heat of him melts through to your very core, and you too are made into something soft and malleable. But you trust those strong hands, and move on.
His voice is rich and dark, like everything about him. It flows deep and strong as a river, raging with emotion one moment, and calm as a brook the next. Sometimes, ever so rarely, it dips into a ravine and bursts out like a waterfall, subdued in nature and hidden but still so powerful, something much more husky and rugged. There are a million sides to him, a million layers, and you feel each one of them when he is this close. You can sense them, and he melts into you, becomes one with you body and soul, letting you seep into his pores and know all of him. His touch, his taste, even his masculine smell, a natural musk that is so much like cologne. You lose yourself in him, and he lets you.
His face is the last impression he leaves upon your mind, a burning visage of cut lines and strong, baser masculinity. A face that seems to break across the inner eye, as an afterimage, as the rest of him floats like smoke in your mind, distant and so surreal. Yet you know that he is real...and that when you close your eyes and see that face, sense him and smell him and know him, that the prefect chord will be played again. He is yours, your everything, and he leaves you breathless and smiling.
A perfect tiger, swimming in the mist.