His black pants clung to rock-hewn thighs, and his blue-black hair was slick and wet, running over his collar.

Her pants were wet and clinging around the wound.

His pants and long underwear clung to him where he'd wet himself.

With him so near she could see the way his wet pants clung to his muscular thighs and smell the sea-and-wind scent of his cologne.

His pants clung to his legs and I thought of the Fourth of July parade they used to have back home in Gates Falls when I was just a little kid.

Her red knit pants clung to her famous long legs and her red jacket sported epaulets of gold braid.

His sword fell from his hand, but he didn't notice; his pants, soiled, clung to his thighs, but he didn't notice.

His wet pants clung uncomfortably to his legs.

A YEAR ago, pants clung tenaciously to the hips - not everybody's finest point.

The shirt came off easily, but the pants clung to her clammy skin.