COLT
Usually, I ain't the type to stay up all damn night
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
Thinkin' 'bout someone else
It's hard to be fine when your heart's on the line
And the truth is I'm goin' through hell
In an instant, everything that'd been languid and slow as syrup in Deepfrost is removed. He's there suddenly, claiming the space between them, and that barely has time to register before he's shoring her up to him in a loop of his arm. Her breath catches, then is gone entirely beneath the kiss she tilts into. The spark of surprise fades, melting into something that meets him, then reaches for more. Each and every time he's kissed her it's stolen her away, but this time, this time she's trying to take him too. One hand fists in the fabric of his chest, while the other curls around his neck, fingers threading into his hair. She leans in like she might press him back with the force of it, corner him against the rail and climb into his arms completely, as though that's always been the place she should be.
Unfortunately, they need air. Her hands fall into her back pockets as they separate, breaths audible for a moment as she glances around, trying to remember where the hell she's even at much less what she'd been doing. Right—her porch—wine glasses, dogs, and dinner.
A 'brow arches up at his remark. "You sayin' I'm a bad influence?" She tries for her usual tease, but the slant to her grin is softer, shier, and her voice only manages the lilt of the question and no other edge to it. She's still half swept away from that embrace and trying to drag herself back in full.
The dogs are a helpful distraction, his damn reminder is not. A blush rises anew at it, and that's about all she can afford to respond with if she has any hope of making it inside. The screen door swings shut behind her and she has just enough time to unload her arms and catch a breath. She braces a free hand on the counter and leans into it, her other dragging a thumb slowly over the electric tingle that's still ghosting along her lips.
She straightens up at the sound of the door parting for him and busies herself with her drink, brownies, and silverware. Some part of her is still adamant about patience, about sitting down for this meal, but gods, it's growing weaker every time she looks his way. "I have to hand it to you, that looks delicious." She intentionally sets the island between them as she glances across at the plating he's arranged. It'd be a shame to let all that time go to waste by ignoring the meal now. That's what she tells herself to disperse the thoughts that rise up, the ones of him leaning back against the counter while she eases all his burdens with her mouth. "Bartender and top chef," she grins instead, blinking the image away.
Unfortunately, they need air. Her hands fall into her back pockets as they separate, breaths audible for a moment as she glances around, trying to remember where the hell she's even at much less what she'd been doing. Right—her porch—wine glasses, dogs, and dinner.
A 'brow arches up at his remark. "You sayin' I'm a bad influence?" She tries for her usual tease, but the slant to her grin is softer, shier, and her voice only manages the lilt of the question and no other edge to it. She's still half swept away from that embrace and trying to drag herself back in full.
The dogs are a helpful distraction, his damn reminder is not. A blush rises anew at it, and that's about all she can afford to respond with if she has any hope of making it inside. The screen door swings shut behind her and she has just enough time to unload her arms and catch a breath. She braces a free hand on the counter and leans into it, her other dragging a thumb slowly over the electric tingle that's still ghosting along her lips.
She straightens up at the sound of the door parting for him and busies herself with her drink, brownies, and silverware. Some part of her is still adamant about patience, about sitting down for this meal, but gods, it's growing weaker every time she looks his way. "I have to hand it to you, that looks delicious." She intentionally sets the island between them as she glances across at the plating he's arranged. It'd be a shame to let all that time go to waste by ignoring the meal now. That's what she tells herself to disperse the thoughts that rise up, the ones of him leaning back against the counter while she eases all his burdens with her mouth. "Bartender and top chef," she grins instead, blinking the image away.
I keep it dark, I keep it quiet
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
But then you come around and light me up
Takin' up space like a hyphen
You're on my mind and I can't fight it
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.
