the highway won't dry your tears
Her touch is soft—too soft. Not for lack of confidence, not from hesitation, but because it holds no echo. No weight of thought, no flicker of intention beneath the skin. Just warm fingers on a body that's suddenly deaf. Vesper feels it like absence, like wind where a voice should be.
In this shape, her mind is locked to him, and it leaves him raw. There’s no cadence of her confidence, no smirk curled around a thought before it spills from her lips. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking when she says you are something, and it itches at him in a way no bridle ever could.
He hates it.
But he loves it, because the feel of her hand, sliding down the line of his flank, is something real, something she'd never have done normally. It burns where it shouldn’t—just below his ribcage, where even his shadows don’t quite reach.
He doesn’t react until she swings up. The movement is smooth, capable, a practiced thing, and he waits until she’s settled before he twists his neck back. His nostrils flare as he snorts gently at her boot, then nudges it with his nose—pointedly, with the same dry sass he might wield with a lopsided grin. No spurs, then. Lucky him.
When her thighs press, he moves. Not at a jarring trot, though. He’s done that before on her gelding and has no interest in bouncing her off of his back and into a dune, even though she's clearly a much more accomplished rider. Instead, he lifts into a fluid, upright canter—hooves whispering over sand, muscles rolling beneath her like slow thunder. The rhythm is steady. Ground-eating. Purposeful. It gives her time to adjust. Gives him time to feel her move with him, legs shifting to the motion, spine softening until she melts around him.
Only when she does—when he feels her settle like the final piece in some quiet puzzle—does he stretch out his neck and allow his pace to increase.
Astride his back, she becomes part of the desert’s breath. His strides lengthen, each hoof finding purchase with precision even in the shifting terrain, the faintest glow of starlight still tracing his skin. He cuts across the dusk-drenched sands like a constellation loosed from the sky.
In this shape, her mind is locked to him, and it leaves him raw. There’s no cadence of her confidence, no smirk curled around a thought before it spills from her lips. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking when she says you are something, and it itches at him in a way no bridle ever could.
He hates it.
But he loves it, because the feel of her hand, sliding down the line of his flank, is something real, something she'd never have done normally. It burns where it shouldn’t—just below his ribcage, where even his shadows don’t quite reach.
He doesn’t react until she swings up. The movement is smooth, capable, a practiced thing, and he waits until she’s settled before he twists his neck back. His nostrils flare as he snorts gently at her boot, then nudges it with his nose—pointedly, with the same dry sass he might wield with a lopsided grin. No spurs, then. Lucky him.
When her thighs press, he moves. Not at a jarring trot, though. He’s done that before on her gelding and has no interest in bouncing her off of his back and into a dune, even though she's clearly a much more accomplished rider. Instead, he lifts into a fluid, upright canter—hooves whispering over sand, muscles rolling beneath her like slow thunder. The rhythm is steady. Ground-eating. Purposeful. It gives her time to adjust. Gives him time to feel her move with him, legs shifting to the motion, spine softening until she melts around him.
Only when she does—when he feels her settle like the final piece in some quiet puzzle—does he stretch out his neck and allow his pace to increase.
Astride his back, she becomes part of the desert’s breath. His strides lengthen, each hoof finding purchase with precision even in the shifting terrain, the faintest glow of starlight still tracing his skin. He cuts across the dusk-drenched sands like a constellation loosed from the sky.
the highway don't need you here
☆ 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.
