COLT
You put the cool in the breeze
You put the weak here in my knees
You put me right where I'm supposed to be
In your blue-eyed sea, and I wanna sail away
You put the weak here in my knees
You put me right where I'm supposed to be
In your blue-eyed sea, and I wanna sail away
Shit, she really needs to work on her threats if he won’t even bother pretending to be afraid. She means to rouse her words, to tell him outright that it’s the wrong choice, not because he can’t pay it, but because she can’t. This flower isn’t just some pretty thing tucked in her hair; it’s one she means to take home, to press between the pages of a book like a keepsake that won’t slip through her fingers or her mind. It’s the first thing he’s given her that’s real like that, because the buckle’s gone, and the sand she’d shaken from her boots for a week has all blown away. Any other flower will never be this flower.
All of it dies out under his threats.
Every point of contact is another one he levels against her. The brand of his hands, the slow curl of his lips, the deliberate tilt of his hips, all dangerous. Each one lands, leaving her more defenseless than the last until there’s nothing to do but surrender to the promise tangled in every touch. He makes it easy to yield everything when he kisses her like this. The heat of his mouth, the way it claims and devours, sweeps her clean out of thought for a moment, leaving her caught up in him entirely.
She's waiting for him to meet her there, for the last layers of cloth to give way, for the arousal he's pressing on her thigh to reach deeper. Instead, his calm stretches out, even here, even now. It keeps him from the frantic, edge-breaking pace she’s familiar with. It throws her, because she’s used to fast trysts in a back room, to racing hunger and greed until something breaks the ache open. She's used to fire, but seems he means to drown her instead, one drop at a time.
It's why confusion flickers sharp in her chest when he starts to move her instead of take her, swaddling her in his arms and shadows like something he means to keep intact instead of take apart. Her legs shift, one heel hooking over the other behind him, and her hands slide from his hair to clasp the back of his neck, fingers curling tight as if he might slip away if she doesn’t. It's only the continued sweep of his lips that assuage the worry, that and the scattered breath of his voice, the sharp look he gives, both smoking enough to reassure her that something is still lit.
Everything tilts and softens around her as he sets her down. Gone is the hard, trapped angle of the wall, replaced with a bed he arranged for them. The amber wash of candlelight spills over the lines of his hair and his cheek as he bends, blending warmly against the shimmer of those constellation freckles, her favorite stars to watch. It's only the final clatter of the wine bottle over the ground that loosens the breath she'd taken in and held onto, and with it her grip on him relaxes gradually, no longer clinging like a shutter in a hurricane.
She doesn't withdraw entirely, her thighs still an adamant halo against his hips, reluctant to relinquish the feel of him. Her hands slide off his neck though, letting her settle fully into the cradle of the quilts, and her heels uncinch from each other behind his back. Her gaze fixes on his again, steadier now, quieted with a deeper want that she keeps trying to suffocate. “Guess you’ll have to show me that time and place another night then,” she murmurs with a wistfulness that's only partially put on.
A faint smile tips in, her attention dropping to the trail her fingers have started tracing absently along the backs of his arms. Her breathing eases, falling into the slower cadence of the moment he’s set for them, as if she can finally admit this is…nice. Her hands drift down his chest, skimming the length of his shirt before gathering the bottom hem, knuckles grazing warm skin as she pulls it higher. "Though," she tsks, a smirk curling sharper at the edges, "if I don’t get to see more of you soon, I might not make it another night."
All of it dies out under his threats.
Every point of contact is another one he levels against her. The brand of his hands, the slow curl of his lips, the deliberate tilt of his hips, all dangerous. Each one lands, leaving her more defenseless than the last until there’s nothing to do but surrender to the promise tangled in every touch. He makes it easy to yield everything when he kisses her like this. The heat of his mouth, the way it claims and devours, sweeps her clean out of thought for a moment, leaving her caught up in him entirely.
She's waiting for him to meet her there, for the last layers of cloth to give way, for the arousal he's pressing on her thigh to reach deeper. Instead, his calm stretches out, even here, even now. It keeps him from the frantic, edge-breaking pace she’s familiar with. It throws her, because she’s used to fast trysts in a back room, to racing hunger and greed until something breaks the ache open. She's used to fire, but seems he means to drown her instead, one drop at a time.
It's why confusion flickers sharp in her chest when he starts to move her instead of take her, swaddling her in his arms and shadows like something he means to keep intact instead of take apart. Her legs shift, one heel hooking over the other behind him, and her hands slide from his hair to clasp the back of his neck, fingers curling tight as if he might slip away if she doesn’t. It's only the continued sweep of his lips that assuage the worry, that and the scattered breath of his voice, the sharp look he gives, both smoking enough to reassure her that something is still lit.
Everything tilts and softens around her as he sets her down. Gone is the hard, trapped angle of the wall, replaced with a bed he arranged for them. The amber wash of candlelight spills over the lines of his hair and his cheek as he bends, blending warmly against the shimmer of those constellation freckles, her favorite stars to watch. It's only the final clatter of the wine bottle over the ground that loosens the breath she'd taken in and held onto, and with it her grip on him relaxes gradually, no longer clinging like a shutter in a hurricane.
She doesn't withdraw entirely, her thighs still an adamant halo against his hips, reluctant to relinquish the feel of him. Her hands slide off his neck though, letting her settle fully into the cradle of the quilts, and her heels uncinch from each other behind his back. Her gaze fixes on his again, steadier now, quieted with a deeper want that she keeps trying to suffocate. “Guess you’ll have to show me that time and place another night then,” she murmurs with a wistfulness that's only partially put on.
A faint smile tips in, her attention dropping to the trail her fingers have started tracing absently along the backs of his arms. Her breathing eases, falling into the slower cadence of the moment he’s set for them, as if she can finally admit this is…nice. Her hands drift down his chest, skimming the length of his shirt before gathering the bottom hem, knuckles grazing warm skin as she pulls it higher. "Though," she tsks, a smirk curling sharper at the edges, "if I don’t get to see more of you soon, I might not make it another night."
You knock me out kiss by kiss
I need you baby, sip by sip
Sit back and let me drink you in
I'm fallin' for you, over and over and over again
I need you baby, sip by sip
Sit back and let me drink you in
I'm fallin' for you, over and over and over again
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.
