COLT
Reason has long since melted into something slick that slides right off her, leaving nothing except the feeling of his hands and all the places he puts them, all the places she wishes he would too. The potential of it all is like a vibration that sings in her blood, its pitch changing with every teasing stroke of his fingers playing across her skin.
The promise of it tangles up in her throat as he pulls her closer still, a harsh breath panting free as she feels every bit of him against her anew. The ache to have him drives her leg further over his hip, reaching instinctively for the seat her body knows is waiting. The swell of his want sliding against her is a pulse she feels in its absence, throbbing in the space he hasn’t yet filled. It causes her hips to tilt along his side as she stifles a groan for that emptiness.
His growl hums against her lips with a need she can taste, the pressure of withheld want like a bruise he'd press into her with his mouth, one she'd gladly take from him if only he wouldn't stop. The lazy trail of her hand against him has sunken into something more taut, more urgent as she grips him like he's the only thing anchoring her here and she might be stolen by the sea otherwise.
It all breaks with a rush, like surfacing from cold water. Colt pulls in a sharp breath between them, wild and flushed, as she tilts her head back against his shoulder. A short, pained laugh cuts free at his plea for comfort amid this wild landscape that has given them everything but this one freedom. Colt might’ve found pleasure in a roll in the hay—sweat-stained, dust-coated, pressed to straw and pestered by flies—but this isn't a hard day of work being cast off in the shade of a shed. This is sand and salt and bone-biting exhaustion that might leave them burning in all the wrong ways for days to come if they submit. She knows it, but every bit of her resists it like the possessed do the preacher.
Gods he's pulling her back in with that damn mouth of his though, be it kisses or murmured sentiments she's utterly powerless against it. Her tongue runs against the linger of the bite he left, the sting delectable and echoing in the hollow places of her like a bell being rung. "Gotta have a reason," she barely manages to say against the hitching of her breath with the draw of his thumb. "If you didn't undress me afterwards I'd consider it a complete failure," she laughs gently, shivering into him, the idea of committing to a better evening with him like the only respite she can have among this hell where he's so close but still too far from her.
But that means stopping. That means the long return across the wastelands to the skyship—an unthinkable task when every part of her is still reaching for him.
The promise of it tangles up in her throat as he pulls her closer still, a harsh breath panting free as she feels every bit of him against her anew. The ache to have him drives her leg further over his hip, reaching instinctively for the seat her body knows is waiting. The swell of his want sliding against her is a pulse she feels in its absence, throbbing in the space he hasn’t yet filled. It causes her hips to tilt along his side as she stifles a groan for that emptiness.
His growl hums against her lips with a need she can taste, the pressure of withheld want like a bruise he'd press into her with his mouth, one she'd gladly take from him if only he wouldn't stop. The lazy trail of her hand against him has sunken into something more taut, more urgent as she grips him like he's the only thing anchoring her here and she might be stolen by the sea otherwise.
It all breaks with a rush, like surfacing from cold water. Colt pulls in a sharp breath between them, wild and flushed, as she tilts her head back against his shoulder. A short, pained laugh cuts free at his plea for comfort amid this wild landscape that has given them everything but this one freedom. Colt might’ve found pleasure in a roll in the hay—sweat-stained, dust-coated, pressed to straw and pestered by flies—but this isn't a hard day of work being cast off in the shade of a shed. This is sand and salt and bone-biting exhaustion that might leave them burning in all the wrong ways for days to come if they submit. She knows it, but every bit of her resists it like the possessed do the preacher.
Gods he's pulling her back in with that damn mouth of his though, be it kisses or murmured sentiments she's utterly powerless against it. Her tongue runs against the linger of the bite he left, the sting delectable and echoing in the hollow places of her like a bell being rung. "Gotta have a reason," she barely manages to say against the hitching of her breath with the draw of his thumb. "If you didn't undress me afterwards I'd consider it a complete failure," she laughs gently, shivering into him, the idea of committing to a better evening with him like the only respite she can have among this hell where he's so close but still too far from her.
But that means stopping. That means the long return across the wastelands to the skyship—an unthinkable task when every part of her is still reaching for him.
Baby, don't fall for me, I'll tell you right now
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
You're gonna hate me when we hit the ground
Think you're gonna fix me, think we're making progress
You'll be broken with me somewhere in the process
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
