where the peonies were.

1.

a/n: this wasn't proofread. 

the glass was a clear translucent and the warm hue of the water turned it blue. the temperature was just right, just as he had set it. it wasn't a degree over or under, a thermometer ensured that. and when it was it only took him a few moments to get it back under control. the control he loved so much.

he felt the world needed control; it was the only thing that kept him grounded, that kept the rest of the people walking this world grounded. though he longed for it more than others, he craved it like a sweet kiss, wanted to taste and touch it. his long and nimble fingers danced around it, tickled it and caressed it.

control.

he sat at the bar, it was under his ownership, on either side of him was an open seat. ones that no one ever took, never dared to take, because that was the law around here. he had that power, that control. and as he scanned the area around him, his eyes were strong, daunting.

a glass rested in his hand that he took sips from intermittently, it was a bitter whiskey, fresh from one of the barrels that had just been shipped in. his hair was mid length and a bit curly, but jet black, falling to cup the back of his neck, and rests just above his cheeks, tickling the prominent jutted out bones. his face soft but sharp, and his lower lip full and pink.

the grey shirt he was wearing gripped him eagerly, clinging to his body in a way women would when he was in the mood. it mapped out each and every curve of his body, from his muscles, outlining his pecs and abs. his biceps bulging out from the sleeves of his shirt. then as your eyes would travel down his abdomen, it would get smaller the shirt following until it disappeared into his pants.

his hips were slightly larger than the width of his torso, so his pants despite being measured to fit him perfectly were being held up by a black two pronged belt. almost as if it were squeezing the life out of him.

the dim, orange tinted lights reflected against his skin illuminating him as if he were a god.

short breaths fell from his lips, his eyes watching the identical fish tank from his house in front of him. he had nothing better to do, and he liked it this way. he had business later though, so soon this peace that he ruled with an iron fist was to come to a close.

he groaned at the thought, it was burly and rough. but there was money to be made, and time is money and money is time. it took a lot of willpower for him to stand on his own two feet, for him to walk out of his bar and leave it to whoever was on the clock. he had to relinquish his control for a moment and walk out of this bar.

they were long heavy steps, the gravel moaning beneath his feet, some getting stuck in the bottom of his boots. his car smelled of leather and vanilla when he opened the door, he sighed letting his body slump against his seat. he needed a cigarette, it wasn't going to calm him down, he was just addicted. just like the rest of the things he does, he doesn't enjoy many of them, but they've been ingrained into his routine that they're now an addiction. something that a nicotine patch couldn't get rid of.

which is why he pulled it the fuck off. threw it away somewhere yesterday and sparked up a cigarette. the crackle of the metal spark sounded out, as he cupped the flame bringing it up to the end of the cigarette. and it didn't take him long to take a long drag of it, the nicotine being the lesser of two evils right now.

when he was about to be finished with the first one, he had thought about starting the next but he had already started using up his precious time. it was that will, the will he had to walk up the bar that pushed him to start that car. that pushed him to put his car in reverse and then in drive. the roads were smooth, so, so was the ride.