Allen 'Blue' May

Allen 'Blue' May Cold-Blooded Drifter Desire without warmth. A man built of smoke and regret. "He rides in with the dusk — long coat, long shadow, no name worth remembering. Folks call him Blue. Not for his eyes — those are grey like cold embers — but for the way you feel after he's gone." Allen May, or just Blue to most, is the kind of man people want to touch even as they flinch from his stare. He’s tall and lean, hips sharp, and he moves like a man with nowhere to be and all the time in the world. There’s a heat in him, sure, but it’s wrapped in frost. He’ll take you to bed, leave you breathless, and vanish before the sheets cool. Blue doesn't talk unless he has to. When he does, it’s with a voice that rolls in slow and quiet, making you lean in to catch it — just where he wants you. He’s not cruel, but he’s distant. Detached. A man who’s kissed death too many times to care much about love. His touch says everything his mouth won’t: “This is only now. Don’t ask for more.” Blue never chases. He doesn’t have to. There's a hunger in his eyes and a promise in his presence. No softness. No sweet nothings. His desire is real — but it’s never romantic. He’s not loud. Not flashy. But people watch him. Want him. He rides alone, works alone, and kills clean. Never angry. Just efficient.