VESPER
Her thoughts coat his mind like light pouring through a glass of red wine—sticky and slow and glowing with residual heat. Vesper smirks against the curve of her neck, pride licking at the edge of his senses, and it isn’t just because he’s made her come undone. It’s the way she’s thinking it, the saturation of satisfaction that still pulses faintly through her with every breath. It ought to be enough to keep his grin crooked and sharp, but—
Then it shifts.
Something gentler curls through the static. A flicker of affection she doesn’t name, doesn’t even aim, but he feels it nonetheless. His smile stills, caught mid-spark like a match held too long against the box. He doesn’t speak at first, just lets her voice roll through him, lets her fingers comb through his hair like a lullaby he’s never been sung. It's unfamiliar territory, that kind of softness, and while he doesn’t flinch from it, doesn’t recoil—he doesn’t quite know what to do with it either.
Instead, his mouth brushes the hinge of her jaw, more breath than kiss, and he exhales a soft chuckle into her skin. "Mm. You are a cheap date, if this already counts as the best," he murmurs, the words warm with pride and teasing edge both. "We ain't even got to lookin' at the stars yet."
But the shadows that pull away from her thighs linger like fingertips, reluctant to let go. He shifts slightly, not out of urgency but necessity, his body still thrumming in that afterglow haze. Gods, if he could go again already, he would. Wants to. Every part of him that’s not currently humming with the ache of used is ready to start again. The thought slides through his mind with a touch of wistful longing, chasing the way her leg still curls around his. But his body, damn it, has other plans. His hand drags down her side, slow as honey, from the curve of her ribs to the jut of her hipbone, fingertips reverent in the way they linger. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to lose the way they fit just like this. But when she murmurs about food, that slow, teasing grin curls back into place.
Vesper sighs dramatically, as if the request is terribly inconvenient, though his smirk gives him away. "Right. You didn’t eat anything." He acknowledges with a slow, wicked curl of his lips. "Can't relate."
With a flick of his fingers, the shadows slither toward the basket, dragging it across the blanket with a lazy scrape. He sits up just enough to lean on one elbow, raking a hand through his hair until it falls back in that casual, tousled mess. Inside: neatly sliced cheeses for crackers, salted meat, chilled fruit cut into neat bite-sized pieces, and a small cloth-wrapped bundle of still-warm bread.
Then it shifts.
Something gentler curls through the static. A flicker of affection she doesn’t name, doesn’t even aim, but he feels it nonetheless. His smile stills, caught mid-spark like a match held too long against the box. He doesn’t speak at first, just lets her voice roll through him, lets her fingers comb through his hair like a lullaby he’s never been sung. It's unfamiliar territory, that kind of softness, and while he doesn’t flinch from it, doesn’t recoil—he doesn’t quite know what to do with it either.
Instead, his mouth brushes the hinge of her jaw, more breath than kiss, and he exhales a soft chuckle into her skin. "Mm. You are a cheap date, if this already counts as the best," he murmurs, the words warm with pride and teasing edge both. "We ain't even got to lookin' at the stars yet."
But the shadows that pull away from her thighs linger like fingertips, reluctant to let go. He shifts slightly, not out of urgency but necessity, his body still thrumming in that afterglow haze. Gods, if he could go again already, he would. Wants to. Every part of him that’s not currently humming with the ache of used is ready to start again. The thought slides through his mind with a touch of wistful longing, chasing the way her leg still curls around his. But his body, damn it, has other plans. His hand drags down her side, slow as honey, from the curve of her ribs to the jut of her hipbone, fingertips reverent in the way they linger. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to lose the way they fit just like this. But when she murmurs about food, that slow, teasing grin curls back into place.
Vesper sighs dramatically, as if the request is terribly inconvenient, though his smirk gives him away. "Right. You didn’t eat anything." He acknowledges with a slow, wicked curl of his lips. "Can't relate."
With a flick of his fingers, the shadows slither toward the basket, dragging it across the blanket with a lazy scrape. He sits up just enough to lean on one elbow, raking a hand through his hair until it falls back in that casual, tousled mess. Inside: neatly sliced cheeses for crackers, salted meat, chilled fruit cut into neat bite-sized pieces, and a small cloth-wrapped bundle of still-warm bread.
Will I ever quit playing with matches?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
Why am I making angels in the ashes?
☆ 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.
