I don't know what I'm looking for
Vesper inhales slow and deep, dragging air into his lungs like it might steady him, but they both fucking know it won’t. Not with the heat of her pressed flush against him, her body radiating warmth like the damn volcano they’re sprawled across. Not with the way her thighs still cradle the sharp press of his knee, the way her breath stutters in the small space between them, teasing the skin of his throat. Every point of contact is a fresh kind of torture—the way her hips shift ever so slightly beneath his, how the swell of her chest still brushes against him with every rapid inhale, the fucking impossible softness of her body against his own tension-wound restraint. It’s a fucking wonder he hasn’t snapped.
And then there’s her mind. The unguarded flare of it, the sharp spikes of hunger tangled with stubborn pride, the frustration barely masking her need. If she had less control, she’d be whining for him. If she had less pride, she’d be clawing him closer, rolling her hips just to make him groan, just to hear the crack in his voice when he finally broke. But she doesn’t. Instead, she licks her lips, drags her fangs across them in a way that makes his fingers twitch, makes his shadows coil like restless hands aching to close back around her. Fuck. She wants him to lose this game, wants to see him crack, and gods help him, he’s going to let her.
The edges of his smirk twitch, tightening into something sharper, more strained. His thumb presses just a fraction harder against her throat before retreating, slow and deliberate, feeling the heavy pulse of her desire beating against his palm. His shadows—possessive, teasing, a dark mirror of his own self-control—withdraw from where they’d held her wrists and hips, unraveling like smoke dissipating into the volcanic air. The loss of their grip is deliberate, a show of trust, of surrender, of something else entirely. He’s still caging her in, still braced above her, still close enough that he can feel the warmth of her breath, but there’s a shift in the game now, a deliberate slide of power between them. He’s no longer holding her down. He’s offering himself up.
"Demonstrate, huh?" His voice is thick, a lazy purr dragged rough at the edges by restraint, as his gaze flickers over her face, over the wicked gleam in her eyes. The way her fang drags over her lip like she’s already savoring her victory. And fuck, maybe she is. Maybe she deserves to.
Vesper tilts his head, his platinum hair catching in the shifting glow of the lava, framing the way his smirk softens into something even more dangerous—something fleetingly close to surrender. "Alright then," he drawls, shadows finally, fully pulling back, leaving nothing between them but heat and anticipation. "How d'you want me?" It’s an invitation, a challenge, and an admission all at once. Because fuck it, she wins. Let her take what she wants from him—he’ll enjoy every damn second of it.
And then there’s her mind. The unguarded flare of it, the sharp spikes of hunger tangled with stubborn pride, the frustration barely masking her need. If she had less control, she’d be whining for him. If she had less pride, she’d be clawing him closer, rolling her hips just to make him groan, just to hear the crack in his voice when he finally broke. But she doesn’t. Instead, she licks her lips, drags her fangs across them in a way that makes his fingers twitch, makes his shadows coil like restless hands aching to close back around her. Fuck. She wants him to lose this game, wants to see him crack, and gods help him, he’s going to let her.
The edges of his smirk twitch, tightening into something sharper, more strained. His thumb presses just a fraction harder against her throat before retreating, slow and deliberate, feeling the heavy pulse of her desire beating against his palm. His shadows—possessive, teasing, a dark mirror of his own self-control—withdraw from where they’d held her wrists and hips, unraveling like smoke dissipating into the volcanic air. The loss of their grip is deliberate, a show of trust, of surrender, of something else entirely. He’s still caging her in, still braced above her, still close enough that he can feel the warmth of her breath, but there’s a shift in the game now, a deliberate slide of power between them. He’s no longer holding her down. He’s offering himself up.
"Demonstrate, huh?" His voice is thick, a lazy purr dragged rough at the edges by restraint, as his gaze flickers over her face, over the wicked gleam in her eyes. The way her fang drags over her lip like she’s already savoring her victory. And fuck, maybe she is. Maybe she deserves to.
Vesper tilts his head, his platinum hair catching in the shifting glow of the lava, framing the way his smirk softens into something even more dangerous—something fleetingly close to surrender. "Alright then," he drawls, shadows finally, fully pulling back, leaving nothing between them but heat and anticipation. "How d'you want me?" It’s an invitation, a challenge, and an admission all at once. Because fuck it, she wins. Let her take what she wants from him—he’ll enjoy every damn second of it.
but I swear to God I'll find it
☆ has a pale star tattoo beneath his left eye, and freckle-sized constellations move across his skin
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
☽ hair changes from bleached blonde to brown
☆ telepathic: Sunlit Shadows | The user can read the surface thoughts and emotions of those within a 60ft radius. Control is excellent. Note: "Thoughts and emotions" include anything written in a character's narration in a post.
