TAKE IT OFF , tristan silvers

[honey]

With a final smirk, the girl's perfectly manicured nails hit the ESC key on her laptop and closed it gently. This night had begun with her being incredibly bored, therefore forced to do some shots to liven it up. She never would have guessed that she would be throwing on a coat that reached her mid-thigh over the matching leopard lace bra and thong she was wearing. She glanced over at herself in the floor length mirror before running her fingers through her light brown hair. She made her way down the grand staircase of her family's house and slipped on her black stilettos, finally walking out the door. Once in her sleek silver convertible, she began to make her way to the house that she had ventured to during many hours of the night various times. This was just like any booty call that the pair's had before, and trust me - they've had many.

Ryleigh smirked slyly to herself as memories rushes through her mind of the numerous encounters that she and Tristan have had before. Besides the fact that they were friends with benefits, they were close, which wasn't that big of a shocker. He was cocky, arrogant and an ass; she was manipulative, egotistic and a bitch. A perfect match for friends, right? Right. A quick glance in the car's mirror was all she needed to know that she looked good tonight. Her chocolate brown eyes popped with the smokey eyeshadow that she had applied, her hair slightly messed up from the wind. Perfect; sex hair was just what she needed to make her appearance complete. Sometimes she stopped to look at what she was doing while driving to meet up with Tristan, wondering how she could ever have sex with a younger guy. Even though she held the rule "the man must be older", he was pretty amazing in bed.

Pulling up to the beautiful house that belonged to none other than Tristan Silver, she spilled out of her car and smoothed her jacket down. Ryleigh began to strut up the walkway, her stilettos clicking with each step that she took. She didn't even bother to knock or ring the doorbell once she reached the doors, she had been here too many times to count and was very at home. Closing the door behind her, she walked up the stairs that would lead to the second floor and applied one more layer of lipgloss. Her steps were slightly slower than she had meant for them to be, due to the shots of vodka she had taken earlier. However, she was glad that they were still sultry and seductive enough to work her usual magic. Not that she really had to, since she knew Tristan was very in the mood. It was, after all, a "formal booty call".

After reaching the second floor of the grand home and walking down the lengthy hallway that she knew led to Tristan's room, she couldn't help but smirk. How did people not live like this? How did they allow themselves to get caught up in the messy game of love? No, the only thing that Ryleigh let herself get caught up in was the heat of the moment when you kiss a stranger for the first time. The rush of adrenaline as you rip off their clothes quickly, not wanting to wait another second to have them. Yeah, that was Miss Ryleigh Marie Delaroux for you. Living on constant one night stands, and maybe even a fling or two. She'd never let herself get attached, that's for sure. She took a deep breath, putting on her best smirk and messing with her hair one more time. Knocking quickly three times, she called in, "Room service!" Ryleigh stood back and placed on hand on her hip, the other on the button of her coat. She was ready to get this night started.

^{STARRING : RYLEIGH DELAROUX & TRISTAN SILVERS
WORDS : 652
STATUS : FINISHED
NOTES : THIS IS CRAP, BUT ENJOY.
LYRICS USED : USE SOMEBODY - KINGS OF LEON
LISTENING TO : CALIFORNIA GIRLS - KATY PERRY
BANNER CREDIT : TANA
TAGGED : TANA}

image credited to suicide blonde @ caution 2.0

[hannah]

It was really no shock to anyone to know that Tristan Silvers was drunk off his ass. It was a perpetual state for him anymore, the delusions and thoughts of insanity his only company. He'd become so absorbed with himself and such an angry person all around he'd basically driven everyone off. Being consumed by the hurt he felt but not being able to deal with it was intense, but he worked to cover it up in the company of other people. Everyone probably thought he was getting in rather well in comparison to before, but really it was worse; he was just covering it up better. He was drunk most all of the time, and if he wasn't drinking, he was asleep. That was basically the normal since he'd returned from Morocco where the wrath of his manager didn't quite reach. As much as the suffocation bothered him, he knew it was good for him. His last few weeks in Morocco had proved to be the best for him, even though he was miserable. He was at least mature enough to respect what was a good decision. But on his own, he couldn't make them for himself and probably would never be able to, that was just Tristan Silvers. So instead of sticking to the low-alcohol regimen, he'd decided to say fuck it and drink to his heart's content, which was really impossible because the boy could drink until he threw up, then wash the taste out of his mouth with a bottle of Sherry. And when beer wouldn't do it, what was his fall back? Sex.

And that was the precise thing he was waiting on right now. After having shut his laptop and placed it off to the side, he'd jumped up onto his bed and made himself comfortable as he awaited his formal booty call. He wasn't exactly sure how a booty call could be formal, but either way, he was getting laid and he was happy about it. He crossed one ankle over the other and his arms behind his head as he stared at the plasma TV hanging on the opposite wall. He liked living the life of the rich and famous, but this new house was just too big to be comfortable in. He liked having space.. but still, the emptiness of it all was a constant reminder of how alone he was. Deep down, Tristan was afraid of being alone with his own thoughts. The more he let himself think, the more prone to making stupid decisions he was. Proof laid around every corner; his spur of the moment trip to Ireland where he got so drunk he barely made it back to the states, his drunken adventure to Oregon, getting arrested.. oh wait, that wasn't his fault. That was the bitch's fault. He growled at thoughts of her and how he still loved her. It killed him that he was so smitten with someone so cruel. Of all the women he could fall for, it had to be the one he could never have. And he wasn't even sure if he wanted her, all he knew was that he needed her, and desperately. She was his other half, and as corny as that might have been, he knew it was the solid truth. No other girl could handle him for extended amounts of time and the nights he spent alone were proof of that. He sighed, balling his fists slightly.

Salvation came in the form of a knock on the door. It took him a second or two to respond, but eventually, he clumsily swung his legs over the bed and slid off, his feet hitting the hardwood floor with a single thud. That must be Ryleigh. He liked her; she didn't expect anything but a good fuck out of him and that was good, because that's just about all he was useful for. That and playing characters that die in movies. He was under control enough to make it to the door without stumbling and falling on his face, which was pretty substantial in comparison to his condition as of late. He reached for the knob and leaned on it for a moment, putting on his game face and erasing any thoughts he had in his head. He was thinking about Ryleigh now, and her exclusively. "Password?" he demanded, but after a second realized there was no password. "Great, that was it!" he announced after having heard nothing from her. Tristan wrenched open the door and was greeted with her bright face, eyes of the deepest amber that he couldn't escape. For at least a moment.

He wasted no time, immediately grabbing her into a fireman's carry over to his bed where he basically dropped her and jumped on top of her, diving in to nip playfully at her neck. He pulled away for a second. "Hi," he greeted, just out of formality. He wasn't big on small talk, though he didn't really mind it. He could tune girls out like it was his job.. they all prattled on like senseless baboons. No wonder he was single.

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hey there, ryleigh delaroux

[/color], this is for you. it's 855 words long, and he's wearing this and lookin' mighty fine. the creds go to me for all the graphics and 3OH!3 for the lyrics. in other news, i'm sorry this sucks ass.[/justify]

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