just because the fog is there
A grin cuts across his mouth, lazy and sharp in equal measure, and he tips his head just enough for his words to rumble out low. "Duly noted." The mutter carries a curl of amusement, his gaze drinking in the second-guessing flicker of her thoughts like they’re poured sweet into a glass just for him. He doesn’t need to push for them—they brush against him with the warmth of a hearth fire, all restraint and impatience tangled together—and he takes them in like smoke curling deep in his lungs. Neutrality stays painted across his face, but behind it he savours the edges of her temptation, the way she imagines undoing her own patience before he even has the chance.
He shakes his head at the bottle in her hand. "That’s for dinner," he says, voice easy, shadows stirring at his heels as if echoing the tilt of his head. "Rum, if you’ve got it."
When she reminds him only one of them knows what they’re doing behind a bar, his smirk crooks wider, slow as the spread of oil over calm water. "Then I’ll keep it simple. On the rocks." The pause that follows is deliberate, smug as sin, before he leans in just a fraction closer, constellation freckles glimmering faintly in the kitchen light. "That means with ice."
And though he turns back toward the counter as if it’s nothing more than a quip, the truth of her mind lingers in him, sticky-sweet. Aprons, tables, islands—her hunger is threaded through every surface of this place, and if his eyes stray once more to the countertop, it’s with the private satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly he could make good on the pictures she’s already painted.
He shakes his head at the bottle in her hand. "That’s for dinner," he says, voice easy, shadows stirring at his heels as if echoing the tilt of his head. "Rum, if you’ve got it."
When she reminds him only one of them knows what they’re doing behind a bar, his smirk crooks wider, slow as the spread of oil over calm water. "Then I’ll keep it simple. On the rocks." The pause that follows is deliberate, smug as sin, before he leans in just a fraction closer, constellation freckles glimmering faintly in the kitchen light. "That means with ice."
And though he turns back toward the counter as if it’s nothing more than a quip, the truth of her mind lingers in him, sticky-sweet. Aprons, tables, islands—her hunger is threaded through every surface of this place, and if his eyes stray once more to the countertop, it’s with the private satisfaction of knowing how thoroughly he could make good on the pictures she’s already painted.
don't mean nothing's behind it
☆ 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.
