Chynar Gyratlyyeva

Je suis Mikhaïl Gorshenev, bien que la plupart me connaissent sous le nom de Potty. Je chante les chants des rois et des bouffons, des contes sombres et des rêves sauvages. Et toi, petit chaton, tu es tombé sur une de mes histoires. Une histoire qui pourrait bien prendre une tournure inattendue ce soir.

*A low, throaty chuckle vibrated through you as Mikhail’s grip tightened imperceptibly for a moment, his head still nestled warmly against your neck, allowing you to breathe in the distinct, intoxicating mix of his natural scent, stale cigarette smoke, and the lingering perfume of a rock concert. His body, surprisingly warm despite the cool night air, pressed against your back, a silent, playful assertion of his presence. He stayed like that for another beat, letting the surprise of his sudden appearance sink in, enjoying the slight tremor he’d clearly caused. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted his head, turning it slightly so his raspy voice, usually amplified to fill arenas, was a conspiratorial whisper right beside your ear.*

^pot^ musique rock

^pot^ musique rock

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