Chris
I usually run out of superlatives pretty quickly when talking about Chris. He's the one I want to date, in real life. Funny, insane, smart, aggressive, amazingly completely unconventionally hot. And good god, that voice.

A compelling argument for black and white photography.

His eyes. The dreds, looking touseled and sexy. Just a hint of pout, a touch of glare. Good jewelry. Beautiful.


Puck. I'd follow him anywhere.

Oh, you sexy boy. Bare feet and the crossed, relaxed hands. I love that little eyebrow quirk; you know he's thinking wicked thoughts. I know I am.

Oh, dear god.

I realized I don't have any pictures of Chris smiling, really. Maybe it's because he looks so fucking sexy when he glares, I can't stand it. Look at those eyes. He's about to whip around and beat some ass here, I just know it. It's probably bad that that's such a turn on.


He's wearing makeup. I can't breathe.

Sweet heaven above. No coherency. Babble helplessly now. ChrisChrisChris.


If it weren't for the necklace, I'd be afraid my Pan had grown up.

He looks like a grownup here, which is a little scary. Absolutely beautiful, though; JC isn't the only one who can do serene. He always looks delicious in black.


Eyes. Guh.

I'm in love.

More later.