I'm reminded of a couple of characters I've based on RL folks though. There's Sean:
Someone had spent the night sewing. Sean’s new attire bore his personal banners, black with green trim. The pendant bumped against stiff, black leather armor buckled tight under his shirt. The knives he’d chosen from the armory were encased in new arm braces that covered the top of his hand to the crease in his elbow. Mail sleeves protected his upper arms. The entire get-up felt damnably awkward, though Jaim assured him that in time, and with a great deal of sweat, it would form to his body like a second skin. Sean thought that hardly seemed encouraging.
A thick woolen cloak hung from Sean’s shoulders and draped over the rump of his horse, the way Tyrolean’s did. While the captain’s cloak was plain Escort green, Sean’s black cloak had been adorned with two green stripes across each shoulder to the hem.
Before leaving, he’d washed in Elena’s tub and shaved two weeks of beard from his face with a straight blade. He couldn’t do anything about his hair, which had been past due for a trim before he’d stepped foot in this world. He kept it shorn tight to his head for the sake of convenience, but wiry waves were emerging. He ran a hand over it ruefully, knowing without looking that it was edged with gray, and he looked away from Tyrolean’s pristine, black tail.
Sean is based on a guy from my gym. He was a marine, "retired" special forces (legend had it he still worked. He certainly would disappear for a few weeks at a time). Best. Body. Ever.
And then there's this hottie, also from the gym:
Ereq wore his straight hair, brown but streaked with sun, cut to his chin. His was the sort of body that might lean toward softness with age, but in youth was all hard-edged muscle. Old, pale scars crisscrossed his tanned back. He had taken a bad beating once, or many of them.
Finished, Ereq wiped his face with a towel and trailed his fingers along the edge of the ornate bowl, his back glistening with water droplets.
“I found you in the desert, so I’ll call you Ashetan. It means desert-scrap in Tosquin. Unless you’ve a better idea?” Ereq reached for loose trousers, pulled them on, and finally turned to face him.
“It suits--” But his throat closed over the words when he saw Ereq's face.
He shared the Prince’s finely drawn features, though the broadness of his face marked them as masculine. The corners of his mouth tipped up with the same belying half-smile. However, his eyes were all his own. Topped by expressive eyebrows, they were brilliant blue, even by lamplight. His oblong irises widened in the dim light of the tent, but by no means would they ever be round, ordinary.