burning blue smoke

the sea speaks a little more honestly

He’s happy to provide, especially as she moves with him in such a perfect way. Each rock of his hips, the way she grinds to meet him, sparks rougher, more pleased hums from the Flood’s throat. Ones he gladly pours into her mouth with the crashing of their lips. Her hand at the back of his neck against dark rain slick curls and against tattoos where the northern point of his compasses aim directly at her have goosebumps rising within them, but he’s collected enough to be able to pull back, the words barely there between their shared breaths. “Keep saying my name like that.” He purrs in a low and delighted growl.

He can feel the way that tension within her builds, but he’s so focused on ensuring that she cums first that he doesn’t notice the straying of her hand - that is, until it’s skimming lightly against his wings with feathers that flex and flare at her touch and shiver in a twitchy kind of need. The response is immediate, the flush to his freckled cheeks darkening, his cock throbbing inside her as his wings press in tight for a few seconds and loosen again like a breath. “Fuck,” his breath is shivery as it is husky.

And when she speaks, he knows for a fact he can certainly provide just as she’s doing for him. His hands skin down her sides, cupping her ass to help hoist her up just enough - her weight nothing in his hands. It does have her chest and head pressing in closer, both of them torso to torso, her head pressed against the tattooed crook of his neck. His breath is hot where it pants against her ear, an almost more intimate sound of his accented groans whispered for her ears only as he holds her in such a way that he can drive himself both faster and deeper into her, hoping to find that perfect rhythm and place to make the rising tension of her arousal snap.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

His request carves a grin against her lips, a seal of promise. When he shifts, hoisting her up, it sends her tumbling closer toward the edge, and her body folds into his in surrender. Her hand presses tight to the heat of his inked skin, her head shifting along the crook of his collarbone where the storm clings like cologne. The power in his groans, the hot exhale against her sensitive skin, the curl of his hands along her body—he's her only gravity now.

Each thrust drags a moaned variant of his name, “Sunjata—gods—Sunjata...Sun... Jata—S...ata....” A breathy chant, part groan and part praise, torn between the ache of pleasure and the pressure building to break. She reaches again for the soft base of his wing, trying to bring him with her, coaxing him into the same descent with a purposeful graze of feathers—but she can’t hold on to the tease for long. She barely knows her own name, only his, and the way he fills her.

She is pulled under completely into the flood of him. A moan stretches from her throat as the tension finally breaks, pleasure overtaking her like a flash flood breaching its banks. Her back arches into him, body trembling with the force of it. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and his wing, trying to hold herself steady as the torrent of her release drowns out everything else. His name tears out of her like a gasp from someone surfacing after being underwater too long. Her hips roll instinctively, a slow grind into the fullness of him, wringing out every drop of sensation she can before she collapses into him—breathless and soaked in every sense of the word.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

She really gives it her best shot, broken up as they are, it hits each and every chanted syllable that the Flood is hoping for. It sparks more fire within him, the electricity zapping through his veins, one that’s held back for the most part while she tries to grant more purchase. At least, that’s what he thinks she’s trying to do with the way she grips his wings. A shiver vibrates through him, more groans and moans escaping him as he rocks his hips into her. The sound is one that’s the low thrum of her name, of praise that trickles from his throat, how she’s found just the way to rile him up by toying with his wings as she has.

And that’s when he feels her break, the waves of it encompassing him and spurring him on, riding them out with her as his pace stutters for a moment. His fingertips dig in, short of bruising but leaving reddened marks behind, curving into her as he aims to hold and cradle her for his own end. And gods does it work.

Shortly after her own relief does Sunjata’s arrive, the sensation sparking enough of an emotional charge that each one of those scars on display, near and far from her face and down his arm sparks with a lightning strike hue beneath his skin, golden as it races down toward his heart like a lightning strike of its own. He rides his own out, lips finding her cheek and neck and shoulder, panting hard breaths against her skin wherever his mouth touches.

And when he’s finally recovered enough, his gaze is heavy lidded when he withdraws slightly, they’re both soaked, but he still tries desperately to brush away the blonde strands sticking to her face as his wings tremble against her where they press in.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

His release follows hers like lightning after the thunderheads break with rain, and the light of it, the literal flash against his scars, steals her breath momentarily. Her head tilts faintly, chest still pressed to his as her gaze drags along the shimmer sparking under his skin, the golden veins of it racing through old wounds, a molten rise from the depths of something long thought dead and dormant. She doesn’t even have a word for it. Beautiful feels too soft. Fierce too sharp. All she knows is that he glows, and it's something worth watching, the way any storm is, a force so wild you can't help but reach for the edge of it.

She's still spent in his arms, but the tight grip of his hands against her keeps her from drifting away in his tide, and she holds him a little bit tighter in turn, feeling the way he curls around her as he spends himself. There’s something primal and fulfilling in knowing she’s the one who pulled that from him, gave that to him, and she huffs out a note of satisfaction.

Every place his mouth lands upon feels ten times more sensitive now—neck, jaw, collarbone—each brush of lips making her jolt with the aftershocks. Her skin is soaked, nerves a live wire, body humming like she’s still standing in the end of the storm, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans into it, into him, clutching him tighter as their pulses begin to slow.

Unexpected most of all is his hand at her face, the one tucking away the wet strands of her hair, tender in a way that unbalances the hammer of her heart. It’s too soft, too sweet, so she reaches out, gripping his chin. Her thumbs drags along the curve of his jaw, stubble rasping against her skin like a reminder. A grin ghosts her mouth, lazy and well-fucked, as she murmurs, “Frey knew what they were doing when they picked you.” She leans in to steal a kiss while they're still tumbling through the fade of the heat, something for her to keep as she takes it from him slow and sure.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

It’s the post sex bliss that overcomes him, that has him curling into her as she sags in his arms, the two of them starting to try and get their breaths under control even as he withdraws enough to move a wet strand of hair from lingering in her face, as she snags his stubbled jaw. Grey eyes find her as he stills immediately with the gentle touch, his own lips quirking up in response to the ghost of one on her own.

The kiss is one that he gladly indulges her in – pressing back into her in such a way that he can’t respond, wishing momentarily that she were attuned so he might stand a chance at sharing the thoughts bouncing around his head. Though it’s probably best he keep it down, instead, allowing himself a moment to break the kiss and brush his nose against hers as he pants softly. “It took me a little while to find my way back to them, but I’ve been better for it.” He admits honestly, through a voice laced with his korofian accent, deep and rich and uncaring if the words seem a bit garbled.

He'd spent a good amount of time masking it since his time here, but it always comes back in a flourish when he isn’t so focused on it. Because right now, his focus is her as he holds her both tenderly and contently, his hands finding their places to rest wrapped around her sides to press against her spine, bolstered by the soft but wet feathers of his wings. "Do you follow them?" He knows he'd helped her go to see Frey, but it had been the separated aspect of his deity he didn't often see. And who is he to know that she isn't like Flora, with a hand in each and every god's pocket.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

Still slack with release, breaths still unsteady, she's grateful for his support. Though, she'd not mind the grass, the way the wet and the mess don't bother, but there's no denying the increase of comfort in his hold, so she just lets it anchor her to the moment, trying not to ruin something nice by trying to prove she doesn't need it.

His voice, that deep drawl spun through with Korofi weight, makes her lips twitch again with appreciation. Not just for the sound, but the layer that's showing through, the one he normally has a better hold on. “I like the way you sound when you forget to be careful,” she murmurs, flashing a teasing smile at him. She knows this is just a moment running out between them, but he rain is still driving, so she figures she's got him a little bit longer.

So she doesn’t answer his question right away. Instead, she tucks herself a bit tighter against him, soaking in the feel of his chest against her cheek, the faint rise and fall of his breath. Her hand ghosts over one of the scars along his ribs, not lingering, just acknowledging. When she speaks, it’s something quiet, but certain. "My family always followed them, Nature Frey. I figure to do the same, though after this last quest, I'm wondering if having a bit more control over the chase and the outcome might better serve me than the wildness of the natural world." She tames that enough for a job, she isn't sure she really wants to do it for extracurricular needs as well, but the idea of peeling off her clothes when it's not really her idea doesn't sit so right either. Just kinda seems like she doesn't like being told what to do.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

Her teasing smile sparks a low breathy laugh from the Flood, his gaze lingering on her face briefly before she’s tucking in against his chest, hearing both the rumble and feeling the vibration through his chest when he speaks. “Good. Maybe I’ll plague you with it randomly.” He teases her back - because he isn’t a huge fan of his accent, hence why he tries to lessen it in his day to day.

Or, maybe he’d sneak out a few korofian words for her to pick apart just to be a shithead at times.

But the subject switches to Frey and Sunjata’s pretty invested. His fingers splaying and stroking gently along her back as she returns the favor against his scars on his chest. “If it helps, they’ve always let me make my own decisions.” Even when it came down to not visiting them as much as he probably should have, or when he was forced to face the repercussions of his past. “I went from being a favorite of a god that tried to manipulate everything I did, to one that was hands off unless I sought them out from Safrin.” So, he assumes Colt could understand the appreciation and devotion Sunjata had for Frey.

“They’ve never once asked me to be different. At least, not after giving me my out.” To betray Safrin, get rid of her words literally etched into his bones. To burn it out of him and remake him anew as Frey’s own.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

His words rumble like distant thunder against her cheek, and she laughs at the feeling and the threat. The humor hums out into a lingering smile, and for a moment, it's just the rain and their breaths. Steadily his fingers begin to move, trailing idle paths that trace his thoughts against her back, and she closes her eyes against the touch as she listens.

With all the restraints he had to fight to dodge from his homeland, it's no wonder he began to yank at the ones Safrin laid down upon him. It does reaffirm that some version of Frey is who she'd most like to grant her allegiance to, though she's skeptical of how he's framing choice here. It'd also been her choice not to do the quest she'd been given, not to look for luck amid a barren wasteland with a man that's threatened to upset every easy day she's had for years. There's always that choice, the one not to, isn't there?

"That's always something a bit rare," she admits after a moment of chewing on his experiences. "Being accepted as you are." Colt eases off his chest, the heat she'd collected there dispersing as she leans back into a tall-armed stretch, lazy but movement of some kind. "Definitely picking Frey over Safrin, although I need to say hello to her soon." Colt's perhaps been avoiding it, preferring not to go knocking at the doorstep of the mother who's son she's trying to forget like a job. Not much way around it though, "she's the only one that can grant me the gravity I'm looking for. Something to fight off the void." Something to keep her a little bit better prepared than she's felt on a few occasions.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

There is definitely a means of saying no. But for him, everything he’d had to do were already things he would do. So he never had to deal with the alternative, of trying to figure out how he’d manage something he wasn’t already inclined to do. Even when he refused to see them after the war because of the sinking sensation of seeing Nate in their face, they’d gifted him a blindfold to be able to come and visit without the pain that lingered.

Or maybe he’s just special.

Either way, he’s devoted, and the smile that stretches on his face is crooked as he loosens his hold on her as she stretches, hands falling to rest against her hips and the small her back. “Yeah, don’t mention my name if you wanna be successful.” He murmurs like a warning, but there’s a playful glint in his gaze that sobers quickly.

“Gravity is good, though. Air, too.” He has neither, which means he’s essentially just there to pluck off a little bit of damage from the Void while the rest be the heavy hitters.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

She arches a 'brow at him, lips pulling down just slightly. "Whatever went wrong with you and her?" She's heard some of the story, bits and pieces, mainly the aftermath of Safrin's scorn. Never the full tale, not from him. It's something that makes her uneasy, but dealing with any god has its risks, though it certainly seems that Safrin has a sharper edge than most.

Her hands settle overtop his, touch trailing down to his arms, tracing paths of muscle and scar alike. The strength and the power laid in there, and still not enough to make it through unscathed. Maybe if she thought about it hard enough, she'd recognize all the troubles with her heart are the same, that you're gonna end up looking worn no matter what over time, that nothing stays pristine. "You ever worry we're not gonna win?" she asks quietly, almost not sure she wants the answer. She glances up at him, motion stilling. She doesn't say it outright, but there's only one thing they're all fighting right now.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

Her question surprises him - perhaps because he’d just assumed his terrible fortune had passed vocally, that everyone in Caido knew what had happened between Sunjata and her, like it was a warning of staying on the right side of things. But.. He’s got no problem in answering her, letting his smile twist to something softer, nostalgic, a touch bitter in portions. “What didn’t?” He starts off with a huff of a laugh.

“She attuned me and I felt like I owed her. So I vowed to be her blade. And.. She hated the fact that I loved anyone else but her. She hated Nate for being Ascended. She gave me so many things at the same time that it.. was a balancing act. I would disappoint her constantly with my love and allegiance to him.” But Sunjata, having grown up as a kid that wasn’t allowed to have anything despite the influence and affluence of his family, clung to the one person that accepted him as is and expected nothing more. “So.. When the war was ramping up and I knew Nate would fight for the New Gods and I’d be stuck fighting for the Old Gods, she called me to her. And.. I stupidly made a deal with her to try and protect Nate during the war. Without talking to anyone first about it.” Shame coats his voice, not for the result of it - never the result of it - but because he hadn’t had the forethought to think about it before he’d done it. “The deal was a life for a life.” Letting that settle for a moment, he tilts his head back, focusing his gaze up to dance along her face before he continues.

“And I agreed.. And had a daughter with Safrin. And when Nate came home, he’d spent that same time becoming the Voice’s demigod.” So it made the quest null and void anyway. “But we raised Kamaria together, until Safrin started telling our daughter that Nate could hurt her in her sleep. She was… Six?” The laugh that leaves him is humorless, like he can’t believe that she would have stooped so low. “And it was.. a lot of that, over and over again. Nate and I were both spies for the opposite sides of the war. Safrin branded her name in my ribs. She was always watching. The Voice could speak through the Ascended if she so chose. And all the while Safrin kept asking me to become her demigod.” His nose wrinkles, fingers drumming light designs on her hips and back as if to keep his thoughts on track. “So when I went to Frey to get a fucking item of all things.. They offered me to become theirs. No strings attached. They’d burn her out of me and let me choose. They didn’t care that I was with Nate or which side I fought for so long as nature prevailed. Evolution, or something like that. So I said yes.. And that night, there wasn’t a star in the sky because of Safrin’s rage.” She knew much of the rest - the emotional scars that lingered from when Ronin had dragged him to the shrine to explain, how he’d tried to but he always gets tongue tied.

How she’d killed him that day. How Frey didn’t answer his call. How Ronin took pity to bring him back.

Water under the bridge, it seemed.

And with the mood fully stuffed and the rain that continues to fall, his skin starts to darken with floral patterns along his arms and neck the more soaked he gets, focusing his steel grey gaze on her face with all the determination. “I have my moments of worrying.. But I’m doing everything I can to make sure I don’t lose this time.” Because he can’t lose everything again.

He can’t.

When the last war ended and he learned Nate wasn’t coming home, he stood on Torchline’s beaches, waist deep in the water debating whether or not to test his immortality. Wondering how easy it would be to let go and let the dark cold ocean consume him.

He’d turned away, because of Ru. But if he lost everything again, he’s not sure he’d have a reason to stop.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

He doesn't just wear his scars like things he's earned, emblems of survival, reminders that tug when the skin stretches. He talks about them like they're easy too, like they didn't hurt, like they didn’t change him in ways that still mark the body, let alone the places unseen. It doesn't belittle the experiences, she can still feel the weight in his tales, still sense the agony that once lived there when her fingers trace the edges of what’s healed. He carries it differently though, and she envies that. There’s a grace to it, something settled. Her own scars, even after all these years, still feel like they’re dragging her down—anchoring her somewhere she doesn't want to be. She’s not sure how many more she can bear before she becomes fully leaden.

Her breath is quiet but steady as he speaks, her eyes on him the whole time, tracing all the different ways the memories trail along the edges of his features. Moments of happiness tangled in all the misery, regret and accomplishment, lessons learned and edges worn to something strong yet equally brittle. She shivers at the tragedy of it all as much as the mild touch he keeps against her skin, a way to keep them both present, to avoid slipping into memories too deeply. All the while the rain sinks in, slow and uncaring, because the world always carries on despite everything.

When he finishes, she exhales heavily, as if that simple breath could expel all that past pain. "Seems you barely made it out of something terrible yet again," she remarks, voice low like the fire that never quite dies in banked coals. There were some similarities between his homeland and Safrin's leash, like all anyone had ever done was try and mold him to their whims. She can appreciate his refusal on both counts, whatever the cost.

She glances down at the flowers that whirl along his skin, blooming where water marks him. A faint smile settling, amazed by all the ways he's had a right to turn cold and hard and yet remains this person that grants warmth and laughter to so many. It's part of why she can so firmly say, “then I reckon you won’t.” Not because the odds are good, but because she knows what people like him are made of.

A slight smirk lifts one corner of her mouth. “You'll have to show me what scar you earn from it though.” A small tease to break the tension she's accidentally built up delving into heavy things like gods and aliens. She leans forward, one palm cupping his cheek, affectionate for him in a manner that doesn't burn, but spreads through her all the same. He is good and she admires him, and every bit of him she learns more about only proves it to her again and again. "C'mon Flood, maybe you can stay out in the rain all night, but I'm going to turn into a prune soon." She slips off him, glancing around for her soaked clothes.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

“That’s kind of my thing, I guess.” He admits, his smile a touch honest as it is rueful. His luck had always been just enough to keep him from succumbing, while getting to that point had always been far too easy. Its as if his luck sat in a holding pen, available only when death was on the table, and if it wasn’t? Shit storm after shit storm.

And just when he thought it was finally starting to even out, with Ru and him, his life here in King’s End, he gets fucking infected. For over a year.

He doesn’t even notice the flowers really, not anymore. But as she focuses on them, he can only scan her face. The way the rain clings to her lashes like dewdrops before falling like tears, carving pathways down her damp cheeks. He knows what she isn’t saying. He knows she means he’s made of steel.

Better than iron like his father, ruling it with a grip much of the same material.

Focusing away from any of those thoughts to see the smirk that lifts the corner of her lip, Sunjata snorts and rolls his eyes playfully - that crooked smile on his face blooming again, lopsided with the one from his father on his cheek. “Obviously. What good are they if you can’t show them off?” He smirks, snorting again before he’s folding his wings back to let her up off his lap.

Her clothes are soaked, but as he stands and collects his - a knee popping in the process - the Flood waves a hand to get the water sucked out of her clothes and his own, pulling it from the surface of her skin to make it easier to slip it on. “Eh, I still turn into a prune. Pretty shit if you ask me.” With all that water magic and his skin still wrinkled if submerged too long.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

She finds the wet pile of her clothes and makes a look of distaste as she reclaims them. Putting on soaked clothes is far less unappealing than stripping them off, so when he takes notice and pulls the water out of them, turning them dry for a moment, a delighted noise escapes her. "Next time I spill something I know who I'm calling," she jests with a glance over to him, a brief scan of farewell to his body too, as they each dress in the rain.

A laugh escapes at the idea of him pruning. She shakes her head as she tugs her wet hair to one side, wringing out before laying it on one shoulder. "Gods that'd be the first thing I'd ask to change if I were you." How many soaks in a warm bath had she ruined with the resignation that she'd been in there too long? Well, that and the slow chill of the water. So maybe, no pruning, and an enchanted tub that'd always have warm water. Easy.

She turns to him with the expectation of his shift, prepared to ride Sunjata for the third time tonight, although if she hadn't been tired when he first came to fetch her, she sure as fuck would be by the end.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case