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+---- Thread: nothing on but the radio (/showthread.php?tid=11341)
nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-16-2025
After the drag of heat, the grind of sand, and the long, relentless hush of the desert, the Spillwave glistens like salvation. Gentle waves lap at the shore with soft, welcoming sounds—no roar, no crash, just a hush and a pull, as if the water itself is sighing in relief at their arrival—and Vesper doesn’t even hesitate.
One look and he’s already shrugging out of his tattered shirt, the sweat-slick fabric peeled from his skin with a sound like tearing paper. The salt clinging to his curls glints in the light as he kicks off his boots and fumbles with the fastenings at his hips. [say]"Fuck if that ain't a sight for sore eyes,"[/say] he huffs over his shoulder, voice rough but bright, already grinning like a man who’s glimpsed the gates of heaven and found they’re made of water.
The rest of his clothes hit the shore in a damp pile, and then he’s down to dark briefs and sun-marked skin, bruises fading into copper as he takes off at a sprint across the shallows. His body, long and lean and all sea-born tension, moves like something made for this—like he’s shed not just layers, but the weight of the entire fucking desert. There's a whipcord grace to him as he launches into a wave without hesitation, diving beneath the surface in one clean arc.
For a breath, he disappears, then the water breaks with a laugh as he resurfaces, slick hair thrown back from his face and eyes bright as polished sea glass. Gone is the heat-hung smirk and slow-drawled sharpness. For a moment, he’s just a man in his element, spinning once in the shallows before floating back lazily, arms spread and shadows forgotten. The ocean doesn’t just cool him—it returns him. Makes him whole again.
He turns toward the shore, hair plastered to his brow, grin wide. [say]"You comin’, or you need me to drag you in?"[/say]
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-16-2025
There's a weight that's been removed now that the task is complete. Though home still remains far away, at least it's somewhere they can return to now, instead of being locked in the dusty wasteland with stubborn resilience, forced to wander and shamble like people who've been exiled. So it's with a lighter tread that she crests the sandy hill that unfolds to the glittering expanse of the Spillwave. Still sand, still salt, but somehow immeasurably better.
Vesper is an arrow racing for a target, unbound from a quiver of exhaustion. He's shucking cloth mid-run like a man who's heard the siren call of the sea and is enthralled, and nothing in that moment could stop him if it tried. Colt saunters after him, stretching with newfound peace against the breeze that lazily rolls by. While he embraces the sea like a long lost friend, she stills along the shore, content for the moment to admire the push and the pull of the living thing that is the ocean, each wave a pulse against the beach. She doesn't have the same familiarity with the saltwater that he does, and though she doesn't fear it, she can respect its immense potential to harm as much as it can delight.
He breaks the surface like he's been remade. It's an envious idea, and paired with his unrestrained glee it's something too contagious to resist any longer. [say]"Don't you dare!"[/say] she threatens half-heartedly, already stepping out of her boots as she sets toe to heel. Her clothes join the sand alongside his pile swiftly, leaving only the white of her bra and panties. After wearing the those clothes so long with heat and sweat baked into the fibers, the revealed skin feels new underneath as the air brushes against it, like it's the first time she's ever laid it bare.
There's no sense of modesty as she moves to the wet sand—they crossed that bridge days ago. Maybe not like this, but close enough that her usual confidence is made all the more bold, and her intent is too focused on wading into the sea and letting it pull away all the aches she still carries. Not so urgent as him, she strides into the water steadily, embracing the waves against her shins, her hips, her chest as she sinks deeper and deeper until it cradles all of her.
[say]"I don't think I've ever felt happier than this moment,"[/say] she murmurs, each layer of built up struggle gradually stripped away, a sting set against every hurt in the best way possible. Maybe its not wholly true, but gods does it feel like it in the wake of everything they endured, that something as simple as this could be bliss.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-17-2025
The salt clings to his lashes like stars as he watches her wade in. Vesper’s grin softens—not dulled, but reshaped—by something quieter than victory. Not triumph, not teasing, just a kind of peace that drifts through him with the tide. She doesn’t run like he did, doesn’t throw herself in headlong. But she moves, and that’s what matters. The way she strips down with zero ceremony, the way her steps carry her steadily into the water like she’s answering some slow, magnetic pull—that might just be the most beautiful thing he’s seen all day.
[say]"Careful,"[/say] he murmurs, tipping his head back to float for a moment, arms out, hair slicked back. [say]"That almost sounded like real sentiment."[/say] The words are playful, but his voice is low, hoarse in that way it gets when something brushes too close to real.
His eyes follow the line of her body as it disappears beneath the surface, not with hunger but a kind of reverence. They’ve seen each other ragged.; broken open by heat, dirt, sleep-deprived, and whatever the fuck those plants were. And still, she steps into the water like it’s not trying to cleanse her—but crown her.
Vesper kicks lazily beneath the surface, letting himself drift closer until the current brings them within arm’s reach. [say]"If this is your happiest,"[/say]” he says, quiet now, [say]"then I’m glad I got to see it."[/say] Then, because he’s Vesper and can’t leave well enough alone, he adds with a glint in his eye, [say]"'Cause I doubt I'll ever see it again since we're never takin' another trip like this."[/say] He flicks water at her with a slow sweep of his hand, like it’s punctuation. Like it’s affection. Like it’s proof they’re alive, and they did it, and now they can be done with chasing bullshit through the desert.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-17-2025
A smirk answers him before she fully submerges, a glance afforded to the island his body makes amid the surface of the water lapping up the sides of him. He always has a bit of a glimmer to him, like something catching low light amid the dark, just asking you to reach out to see what it might be that can still shine in the shade. Maybe it ought to feel like a trick, bait for a bite, like it's nothing more than a fang caught out from under a pulled back lip, the only warning you'll get. She rather thinks it's something more valuable though. Something that might be a bit cold, a bit sharp, sure, but worth the brush of a hand all the same.
That's typical though—that muted glint to him—this is something else. In the sea, sun soaked skin adorned with saltwater diamonds, the map of constellations across him on (nearly) full display, languid as a rainy morning keeping you under the covers—he's dazzling.
Inhaling deeper than needed she lets the soft growl of the sea vanish to the quiet hum of the world beneath. The current rakes through her wind-tired hair, eddies around her body until she can feel the pull of it in her core. Only then, when she's got it memorized into every speck of her, does she go back up for air.
She keeps one foot where it can just barely touch, content to let the sway of the tide sweep her to and fro in a hypnotic pattern rather than expend any more energy by treading deeper water. [say]"Of course you got to see it,"[/say] she says with equal quiet, the press of gratitude too heavy to manage anything louder. [say]"Sugar, you're the one who made it."[/say] The streak in his gaze is the only warning she gets, and she heeds it with a tilt of her chin as the water spills over like a curtain. She laughs as it breaks over her like a private storm. [say]"Just put me in the ground the next time, save us both the trouble."[/say] Her chin lifts, the appetite for payback a devious wrinkle on the edges of her mouth as she launches a pair of splashes back at him.
[say]"At least now you have a grand adventure to regale your sisters with,"[/say] A bit of kelp drifts past and she plucks it up, fingers gliding along the slick edge for a minute. [say]"Although you might owe them pony rides if you do, so I'd be careful."[/say]
RE: nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-17-2025
The thoughts rolling off her now—light and sun-warmed and sea-slick—are so different from the cracked-earth ones he’s grown used to wading through. Vesper doesn’t try to pull them closer, doesn’t prod or push, but instead just lets them soak into him like saltwater. For once, he’s not digging for anything; it’s enough just to feel them—the shape of her satisfaction, the way the tide of her relief curls against the inside of his mind like a lullaby hummed through a busted radio.
When she vanishes beneath the surface, he considers—briefly—sending a shadow after her, a little sea-witch tendril to wrap around her ankle and tug her back toward him. But he thinks better of it. Not because she wouldn’t forgive him, but because he'll be damned before he does anything to douse the way she's practically radiating from the inside out.
As she surfaces, her gratitude—frayed, half-shy, and whole—is enough to steal whatever smartass thing he’d been considering saying next. [say]"If you ever suggest this kinda nonsense again,"[/say] he drawls, tipping his head just enough to let a curtain of water fall from his hair, [say]"I got any number of places I’ll be puttin’ you."[/say] His smirk flares wider as she splashes him, more reflex than retaliation, and he ducks the worst of it, one hand shielding his face like he’s under fire.
He shakes his head at the mention of his sisters. [say]"Careful,"[/say] he warns, voice rich with amusement. [say]"One’s an Attuned, the other’s a hybrid. If they find out I can be a pony, they’re liable to try it themselves. And between us?"[/say] His eyes sparkle like the sea itself. [say]"Cleanin' up their hair in the shower is bad enough without addin' in a mane and tail."[/say]
Where she floats, he shifts closer—longer-limbed and taller, he’s able to touch the ocean floor with ease. Water laps at the sharp lines of his shoulder, freckles blooming like constellations across his skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head to the sky. [say]"There’s just about nothin’ better than this,"[/say] he says, and for once there’s no twist in the words. No flirtation, no mask. Just truth. “[say]"Swimmin’ in the ocean. Feels like...comin’ home without havin’ to knock."[/say]
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-17-2025
The idea of them all being a small herd, much less stuffed into a shower, has her chuckling until she's breathless with it and has to wave the image away with a shake of her head. [say]"Oh I don't know,[/say] she manages to shape the words around the smile she's trying to fight off before it drives her back into giggles. [say]"Could be the pride of a parade like that, or corner the kid birthday party industry and become rich."[/say] She could picture him now, sour expression like he can't believe he's putting up with it...but putting up with it all the same. She has a suspicion he'd be delighted to brighten a little girl's day, though he'd keep that like a secret he'd drag to his grave. Probably even let them strap on a horn and tie glittery ribbons in his mane.
She loses her grip and goes weak with amusement again.
The mirth quiets into a huff of air curling up into just a shimmer in the corner of her eyes. As he closes some of the remaining distance, something warm sits inside her, a weight that doesn't take anything extra to carry. It'll never stop being a funny thing, the way life changes in ways you'd least expect. How was she to ever know that this midnight man meandering along her fenceline that evening would be the type she'd run wild through a desert with and find an unfamiliar comfort in his presence. He's a seed that took root that first night she met him, a weed sprouting faster and taller than anything else she already had growing. Each little moment had seemed small, but they layered until they stuck, and now she's gotta ease herself around the shape of him where he's caught inside her, where she hasn't let anyone linger for long.
[say]"I can tell,"[/say] she says with gentle appreciation, glad he could find this place to rest after spending so long in anything but. [say]"That's the saddle for me."[/say] King's End had her heart too, those open plains of sweeping green that laid out the sunsets and sunrises like artwork. The scenery wasn't as important to her though, even if she had a preference, this trip had proved that. [say]"Although...I'm surprised it's the sea for you,"[/say] she admits, folding the kelp in her fingers. [say]"I'd think it'd be the mountains, where you're closer to the stars and the clouds hang out in the morning."[/say]
She narrows her gaze slightly at him then, finally noticing something. [say]"Hang on, have you always been this tall?"[/say] Barefoot and measured by water, where there's no boot heel or slope to skew it, he's comfortably standing while she's on her tiptoes, straining to stay planted, water's top licking at the edge of her jaw where it hits his chest. [say]"C'mere,"[/say] she demands, backing up a bit to where her shoulders are out of the sea. [say]"Put your back to mine,"[/say] she motions with her kelp hand as she turns to the side, standing firm...well firm as she can with the sand shifting underfoot.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-18-2025
The images in her head—him done up in ribbons, tolerating horned headbands for the sake of squealing children—are so vivid and fucking earnest that Vesper has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too wide. Her laughter bubbles up again, unguarded and bright, and he soaks it in like sunlight hitting the tide.
[say]"Some things,"[/say] he says, shaking his head slowly, [say]"ain’t worth the money."[/say] The look he shoots her is full of exaggerated, world-weary disdain—but the glint in his eye gives him away. [say]"Though now that you mention it, my sisters and I just took over a bar back in Torchline. Maybe we start offerin’ pony rides on Sunday mornin’s. Little hangover fun for the kids while their parents think back on their choices."[/say]
The curl of her thoughts grows heavier, richer, and when she says it—that’s the saddle for me—he stutters just slightly in his rhythm, something catching in the current between them. His fingers skim the water’s surface, dragging lazy circles, but his eyes are still on her. [say]"Should’ve brought a saddle for our little desert expedition,"[/say] he murmurs under his breath. [say]"Spare your thighs my spine."[/say] His smirk returns, gentler this time, like it’s meant to cover the way something quiet tugs at his chest.
Her guess about the mountains earns a soft snort. [say]"Nah,"[/say] he drawls, tilting his head like he’s trying to dislodge a memory that’s clung too long. [say]"Once you’ve been in the stars? Really up there?"[/say] His voice lowers, almost reverent, and his gaze skims the sky above them as if he could still feel the cold burn of it. [say]"No mountain’s ever gonna come close. But the ocean—"[/say] He tips back into a float for a second, arms wide, lashes dripping salt. [say]"Ocean gets near. The weightlessness, the vastness of it. The hush and then the roar. Like bein’ rocked by somethin’ that don’t expect nothin’ from you."[/say]
Then she narrows her gaze, calling him out, and he straightens with a lazy, amused groan. [say]"Can’t get nothin’ past you, huh?"[/say] he says, wry, water sheeting off his shoulders as he trudges after her. Vesper moves behind her, obliging, letting his spine line up with hers—but just before her head would press between his shoulders, she’ll feel it: a gentle, flickering lift at her feet. His shadows, featherlight, curl around her ankles and then slip beneath the souls of her feet, lifting her. And should the incline of them have her leaning more against him, well, no reason to think that wasn't just the pull of the current.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-18-2025
[say]"Ain't that the truth,"[/say] she admits with an ill-contained bite on her grin, [say]"though I'd pay a lot to see that."[/say] The look he gives only further unwinds every bit of her control. At least, until he's mentioning a Torchline bar. She drags the humor back steadily, the hum of it still in her voice. [say]"I'll have to look for the tell-tale pony tail next time I'm in town. Sounds a helluva lot better than the Hanged Man there—got in a brawl with some pissant there."[/say] Shitty little Ancient, just the thought of him has her edging to mad again. She'd kick his ass all over again, but doubts the bar would grant her entry. She rolls a shoulder to shrug it off, not wanting to waste the energy she's gathered back dwelling on him, not when she's got pony-ride Vesper to dwell on.
At talks of home though, he takes the saddle comment rather literally. It's for the best that she doesn't freely admit, or correct him, that sitting astride him in that manner had been home enough—one of the only grounding things that kept her strong during this trip. A corner of her mouth turns up at his soft reflection and the sincerity there, at the mere fact he'd even be willing to entertain the idea, however much in jest. Any other day she might have fired back that she's tough and she doesn't need that shit, like she has to prove to the world she can keep her head up no matter what gets tossed her way. Right now though, where the salt stings against the friction burns and muscles pull at the bruising, and with him, someone who's already seen her run ragged, it doesn't seem so important to pretend.
[say]"We sure fuckin' should've,"[/say] she snorts. [say]"Doesn't matter how comfortable you are, hanging on for that long turns velvet into sawdust. You just had to keep it a secret though. Wait for the grand reveal."[/say] She could have brought tack with her damnit. Though honestly, neither of them expected to be out here long enough to need it. She's not so sure he would have accepted it back then anyway, not before the desert carved a place into each of them. [say]"Damn show off,"[/say] she mutters with no reservation of affection kept from her voice.
The rowdy adoration settles into hushed attentiveness as he becomes more thoughtful. It's similar to when he described his sisters. He goes somewhere distant from here, like he wades into something deep and murky, a hidden place he prefers to keep that way. He peers in just long enough to make sure he's got the shape of it right, so that when he comes back to the surface with her, his explanation isn't some shoddy knock off. The way he talks, it feels like he's pulled her under into the gloom with him, just briefly, just so she can get a peek.
She might have stared into the sea and the sky with him all the way until nightfall then, but that threatened to edge too close to tender. Better to pick on something instead, like a thread to tug at and keep busy with, even if it unravels something.
She throws an insolent glance at his quip as she gets into place further up the sand, waiting for him to do the same. As he positions himself along her back, she presses further against him, not about to let one fraction of an inch go to waste. She pulls her free hand up to sweep it from the top of her head and hit whatever point it would on him, but something around her shifts. A sudden swell, the water seeming to exhale, a laugh perhaps at her inattention. Her hand grabs for his shoulder instead as she falls against him, a quick [say]"shit,"[/say] muttered free as she tries to regain her balance.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-18-2025
Vesper’s snicker cuts low through the sea air, rich with amusement. [say]"Hanged Man, huh?"[/say] he drawls, catching the edge of her thoughts like a leaf skimming a tidepool. [say]"Ironic, that's the one me‘n my sisters just took over."[/say] He tilts his head, water slicking off the line of his jaw as he flashes her a grin that’s all teeth and velvet trouble. [say]"You’ll have to come by sometime. Meet me for a drink. I’ll make it up to you."[/say] He grins. [say]"Though if you’re plannin’ to brawl again, warn me first so I can charge cover at the door."[/say]
Colt's thoughts curl around his like smoke, hazy and sun-warmed, laced with soreness and a wry affection she never quite puts into words. It slips through his mind like riverstone—smooth, slow, something you could lean against and feel all the more refreshed for it. So when she tosses out that mutter about velvet, his smile sharpens, a slow gleam behind narrowed eyes. [say]"Velvet, mm?"[/say] he echoes, one brow arching in a way that says he absolutely heard the subtext and intends to file it away for later. His gaze flicks deliberately toward the water where her thighs glisten beneath the blue, then back to her face, all lazy insinuation. [say]"And here I thought women liked surprises."[/say]
But then she stumbles during this little experiment of hers, and whatever smugness he’d been wearing shifts fast into fluid motion. The moment her balance tips, his shadows surge like a tide beneath her feet, gentle but firm, while his hands catch her clean around the waist. The water slaps softly against them as he steadies her, one palm splayed along the small of her back, the other curled just beneath her ribs. It's familiar in a way that hints at reciprocity; she'd just spent days glued to his side, kicking and squeezing, curling her hands through whatever part of him she felt like.
[say]"Careful now,"[/say] he murmurs, voice low and smooth. [say]"Don’t go fallin’ head over heels."[/say] He doesn’t let go right away. Doesn’t move except for the subtle draw of his thumb across her spine, slow and thoughtless before he's straightening a touch. [say]"Hate to break it to you, but I have in fact always been this tall."[/say]
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-18-2025
Color her surprised. [say]"You don't say?"[/say] She shakes her head faintly, wondering what deity saw fit to tangle all the threads of fate so thoroughly. Of all the taverns to stir trouble in, it would be his. [say]"Well, good to know I'm welcome back,"[/say] she grins. [say]"Can't promise you any heads up I'm afraid. Won't know I'm in a fightin' mood until someone does something stupid again."[/say] If that's just the customer base, maybe he ought to charge cover nightly, just to be safe.
Then it's all velvet and warnings, and Colt's acutely aware of the tilt of his gaze. [say]"And sawdust,"[/say] she reminds with a huff, but damn if that stare doesn't slip right past every one of her defenses like they're just paper painted to look like steel. Trouble she reminds herself, flicking her gaze away from him before he really tears everything down. The strength of that reminder is waning, stripped away by wind and sand into something thin, something that just might splinter. [say]"Certain women,"[/say] she corrects, [say]"and certain surprises."[/say] Though him showing up able to turn into horse had to be one of her most favorite ones, but she can't let him win with that truth.
Seems the strength of it would be put to the test sooner than she thought.
He's fast to steady her. He's also strong, and warm, and all the things she wishes he wouldn't be so that leaning on him like this wouldn't feel the way it does. There's no doubt that he's got her, that's been put to the test for a few days now—but even here, when she doesn't need him to, he's quick, it's assured, and it's so damn nice to know that it's there. Women don't want surprises, Vesper, women want to be given the offer to help them stand up, with the understanding they can do so all on their own.
From shadow to limb, hand to waist, she's carefully secured upright. That alone could have been tolerable. It would have been nothing more than a moment spilling across her thoughts, unlikely to linger except alone in the dark when she had the time to wonder. It doesn't end there, though. His voice drops to that rich tone, a distillation of promise, a threat that flares warm against those edges of him she keeps tucked inside her like a secret. Too smooth, sliding too easily, and gods help her she's breathless at it. His words, too on point. His thumb, a trail of shivers that hum up her spine like an instrument string plucked too expertly, or just one that hasn't been touched so kindly in so long.
The heat, or the weariness, or the way she's let him linger all seem to reason that there's no harm. It's just the worry in her gut, the risk of caring when she's promised to never do that again, and gods how fucking old is he? Old enough, but also, not. It'd be a mistake, she's certain.
As he straightens, she leans forward, breaking away with a slap of the kelp she exchanges with him. [say]"I think you grew in the jungle, like a weed."[/say]
RE: nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-19-2025
The slap of the kelp hits his arm with a wet thwack, and Vesper doesn't even flinch. His smirk only sharpens, slow and knowing as a matchstrike in the dark. He hears every thread of her—heat-woven thoughts twisting between hesitation and pull, old promises made in dim-lit places, and the way his thumb on her spine had landed like a prayer she wasn’t expecting. He's fairly certain he could silence the whole internal storm with the simplest of gestures—his lips against hers—but he doesn’t.
He doesn’t want her quiet. Doesn’t want her retreating behind calm or steel or whatever self-preserving lie she might use to smother that fierce, ragged warmth burning through her thoughts. He wants her loud, full-throated. A storm the way only Colt knows how to be: dry-humoured, fire-eyed, and completely untamed.
So he just grins, all teeth and tide, and tugs her right back in.
One strong tug against her waist, and he’s backing up into the deeper water, the salt tugging at their limbs until the sea floor drops away. Her toes can’t reach anymore and soon his can't either. Only then does he ease one hand away, the other still firm and open on the small of her back. Not possessive. Just...available. A steadying weight, or something she can slip away from with a roll of her shoulder and a flick of her heel. No stakes. Just invitation.
[say]"Better?"[/say] he asks, voice low and amused. [say]"Now we're the same height."[/say] His eyes glitter with salt and shadow, unreadable in the way a tide always is—calm above, something deeper beneath.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-19-2025
The distance she needs to clear him from her head doesn't come. Instead, there's a resistance—nothing tight, not even a complete loop, just the weight of something still hanging on. She could shake it off with ease, but the tug of it, it's a welcome reminder that she doesn't have to be so alone.
She retreats into the deeper water with him, guided by the splay of his hands like he's slipped a bit against her. Each step gets easier—not just because the sea begins to hold more of her, but because every inch forward is a deeper surrender to the want that’s haunted her every time their eyes met. There's something about finally giving in when you've been putting up a fight that makes it feel all the better, like every bit of coiled tension can unwind into a deep relaxation.
The ground slips away from beneath her, and damn if that doesn't feel like taking a leap into the deep end with him. A safe one, as far as leaping goes, and perhaps it's for the best he's home in the sea instead of the slopes, where she's got water instead of air to catch her should she falter. It’s easy to do—to fall with him, to fall for him. Especially when he's gone and tilted the world for her, even for such a ridiculous reason.
She grins, finally looking at him. She knew once she slipped into that blue snare, she’d be done for—and now, her last defense finally caves. She’s not perfect, never tried to be, so if this is a mistake, well, she’ll learn the hard way. She reaches out, hand finding his shoulder, drawing herself closer through the glide of the water. Her other hand rises to cup his face, fingers gliding along his cheek to rest just beneath his ear—then she leans in, pressing a long kiss to his lips. [say]"Much,"[/say] she breathes into him, every bit of relief and need pouring into that word.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Vesper - 05-19-2025
Vesper doesn’t just feel her kiss—he hears it in her mind before it happens. The thoughts curling up to it like a wave at high tide, the way she steels herself then lets go, a surrender wrapped in that sly, slanted grin of hers. It's not a stumble—it’s a choice. A full-bodied decision that crashes through him with more impact than the desert, more clarity than the sea.
So when she presses against him, lips finding his with salt and certainty, his shadows rise like a hush around them, easing their sway so he can gather her close—one arm looping around her waist, the other sliding up her back to anchor her in place.
He kisses her back like she is the x on a map. The treasure at the end of every fucked-up journey. Long and slow, not rushed or rough, just full of all the grit and ache and heat they’ve been carrying across every mile of dust. She tastes like relief and reckless want, and gods if he doesn’t want to drown in it.
When they part, his grin’s crooked and his cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with mischief and the sea’s gleam. [say]"Well,"[/say] he drawls, voice low and wrecked in the best way, [say]"that just about made trudgin’ across the fuckin’ desert worth it."[/say] The next swell tips them just enough to break the moment, and Vesper laughs under his breath, turning in the water. [say]"Alright, darlin’—"[/say] He flashes her a look over his shoulder, all teeth and temptation. [say]"Climb on. I’ll carry you in."[/say] And with that, he offers his back again, a silent invitation made casual by long practice.
RE: nothing on but the radio - Colt - 05-19-2025
The roar of the world goes quiet the moment they connect. Every fear, each ache, all the thoughts—they just crumble away into salt and surrender. The smoke of him winds around like nightfall, his grip a sunset sinking down the landscape of her skin, each hand a splash of that rose gold ruin against the sky. His attention is exact as it sets into her, as sure as every stride he'd made across the wasteland. That unwavering return seeps into her like liquor, a bite of heat and a buzz against the senses, poison dressed up in pleasure that she's parched for. Pour her something strong if it's like this.
She expects it all to rush back in the moment they separate, but it doesn't. It's just him, shining blue and smiling in that way that makes the stars press in a bit tighter, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. She bites the edge of her lip, like it might contain the inevitable expanse of her smile, rich with the accomplishment of submitting to sin of him. [say]"Told you I owed you a favor,"[/say] she winks in response, though it's not real, and the edge of her tone that he always reads so well ought to tell him as much. She hasn't done this for him, she's done this because of him. Because he makes her feel capable even when she's worn through. Because he's never taken a thing from her but given her everything, even the things she didn't ask for but sure could use. Because he's there, always there when she needs him most, but never feels like she can't do it without him.
The affection written plainly on her face curls into newfound amusement as he provides the slope of his back once more. [say]"Still no saddle?"[/say] she smirks as she slips her arms across his shoulders, sliding into each other as a loop over his chest. Her legs echo the motion above his hips, erasing the distance between them as she presses the length of herself along him. Her chin rests on one side of his neck, breath soft as she whispers, [say]"home again."[/say] No saddle, no horse this time, but tucked against him sure feels close right now.