VESPER
His mouth curves lazily against her jaw as she laughs, a low sound slipping through his teeth like smoke. "My bad," he murmurs, voice a little wrecked still, like he's been drinking her in and hasn't quite come up for air. "Guess I was distracted."
Colt is flushed and golden, her hair a sun-slicked mess where it falls around her shoulders, bits of starlight catching in the strands like they want to stay close to her too. There’s a crooked pin still tangled behind her ear, and as she tugs the rest free with those deft, dirt-slick fingers, the flower he stuck there earlier tumbles loose again—only for her to press it back into place as his fingers drift slow across her skin. The glare she gives him is sharp, but not serious; nothing about her is ever just one thing. She’s wild and amused and glowing from the inside out, skin still humming with what he’s done to her, and what she's done to him.
"Mm, not me," he says softly, eyes hooded as he stares up at her from where he’s still sprawled on his side. "Didn't see anything but you."
As her thighs tighten again, brief but deliberate, it sends a jolt through him, one he doesn’t try to hide. His lashes flutter, tension cutting a faint line through his jaw as his body hums with the cruel knowledge of what she wants—what he wants—and the fact that neither of them are quite ready for another round. It’s a unique kind of torment, to feel her arousal rising like smoke through his mind and not be able to do a damn thing about it.
She shoves at him with a laugh, not enough to move him, but enough to earn his grin. He doesn’t bother sitting up like she does, just shifts closer, slouching with boneless grace until he’s leaned against her knees. One arm hooks loosely around her calf, casual as a curl of shadow. "Haven’t gotten my fill, no," he murmurs, silver rings catching against her skin. "Not even close."
When she steals the basket, he lets her. His shadows slither free, uncoiling like smoke, only to pour up her legs instead—curling around the curve of her thigh, the slope of her shoulder. "Help yourself," he drawls, watching her fish for a cracker like she’s elbow-deep in contraband. "But if you think I’m not gonna steal it back..." He lets the threat hang there, teeth flashing as his gaze drops to the hollow of her throat, still faintly marked by his mouth. Gods, she looks good like this. Ruined and smug and already plotting. His kind of trouble.
Colt is flushed and golden, her hair a sun-slicked mess where it falls around her shoulders, bits of starlight catching in the strands like they want to stay close to her too. There’s a crooked pin still tangled behind her ear, and as she tugs the rest free with those deft, dirt-slick fingers, the flower he stuck there earlier tumbles loose again—only for her to press it back into place as his fingers drift slow across her skin. The glare she gives him is sharp, but not serious; nothing about her is ever just one thing. She’s wild and amused and glowing from the inside out, skin still humming with what he’s done to her, and what she's done to him.
"Mm, not me," he says softly, eyes hooded as he stares up at her from where he’s still sprawled on his side. "Didn't see anything but you."
As her thighs tighten again, brief but deliberate, it sends a jolt through him, one he doesn’t try to hide. His lashes flutter, tension cutting a faint line through his jaw as his body hums with the cruel knowledge of what she wants—what he wants—and the fact that neither of them are quite ready for another round. It’s a unique kind of torment, to feel her arousal rising like smoke through his mind and not be able to do a damn thing about it.
She shoves at him with a laugh, not enough to move him, but enough to earn his grin. He doesn’t bother sitting up like she does, just shifts closer, slouching with boneless grace until he’s leaned against her knees. One arm hooks loosely around her calf, casual as a curl of shadow. "Haven’t gotten my fill, no," he murmurs, silver rings catching against her skin. "Not even close."
When she steals the basket, he lets her. His shadows slither free, uncoiling like smoke, only to pour up her legs instead—curling around the curve of her thigh, the slope of her shoulder. "Help yourself," he drawls, watching her fish for a cracker like she’s elbow-deep in contraband. "But if you think I’m not gonna steal it back..." He lets the threat hang there, teeth flashing as his gaze drops to the hollow of her throat, still faintly marked by his mouth. Gods, she looks good like this. Ruined and smug and already plotting. His kind of trouble.
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.
