<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/d6/MolochMask.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: comic sans ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><em>Moloch, #2882</em></span></span><br/><strong>Where: </strong>Backyard<br/><strong>When: </strong>Friday, Dusk<br/><strong>Who: </strong>Any<br/><strong>Status: </strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/>He took the time, as Sam looked him over, to take a small sip from his glass of Scotch, his mask barely revealing the amused crinkling at the corners of his eyes.  Once he had the younger man's hand in his own, he held him imperiously within a grip that, while not tight, was undeniably commanding.  His thumb unabashedly moved along the side of Sam's thumb, mapping the ridges in his skin and the shape of the bones beneath his flesh before he released him with a curve of his lips.<strong>"I'm certain that if we had met before, Sam, I would have ensured it was an encounter you would remember."</strong><br/><br/>As Sam drew his attention to the pale beauty that had joined them in the garden, he turned toward Snow with a faint cock of his head, gaze following her form as appreciatively, faithfully and boldly as it had journeyed over Sam's.<strong>"Good evening."</strong>He nodded to her with a deepening of his smile, seeming to enjoy the change her presence had wrought in Sam, and stepping aside to retake his seat on the short column beside the stairs.  He flicked his cigarette ash, ensuring that the next languid drag would not spill ash down the front of his robe, and watched the two of them with open interest.  Sam's raised brow and unspoken assurance earned him a subtle wink and a mute chuckle, the older gentleman apparently quite happy to look on as the pretty young man wooed the woman in white.<br/><br/>As the blond turned on the charm, the horned one crossed his legs and sipped his drink, his only contribution the faint sound of a single cube of ice tinkling against the glass and the subtle, yet rich, scent of high-end tobacco and spices.  His shadowed gaze shifted between the All-American boy and the petite redhead, perhaps envisioning the contrast of her soft, pale skin against the golden tones of Sam's sculpted musculature.  He kept such thoughts to himself, if indeed he were having them, drawing silence around himself as if he could become a statue on that plinth, all-seeing and all-knowing, apart from what was happening but engaged by the action at the same time.