just because the fog is there
Gods, Colt's thoughts are enough to set his blood ablaze. They wrap around him, hot and tangled and unfiltered, twining through his mind like the last drag of smoke before the fire breaks loose. Her desire doesn’t just echo in his head; it burns, each wild flare of need pushing him to the brink of losing what little control he has left. If not for the taste of her on his tongue—sweet and slick and impossible to abandon—he might’ve already pressed himself into her, buried so deep that nothing could pull him back.
But no. This is the moment she gives him in full, and he’s not about to squander it. His shadows, dark and obedient, melt between her fingers, curling into them like lovers instead of captors. They don’t restrain so much as hold—a reverent claim—drawing her arms back until she’s arched like a bow across the counter. His hand presses firm against the small of her back, pinning her just enough to feel the curve of his strength and the care in his control.
And then he listens. Not with his ears, but with her mind. Every half-formed plea, every flicker of yes, there and don’t stop is absorbed and translated into the language of touch. His mouth moves accordingly, tongue curling and flattening in rhythm with her hunger, pressure adjusting with inhuman accuracy. And when her thoughts spike—when her need climbs from wanting to aching—he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t tease, he just gives.
Two fingers press into her, slow but sure, complementing the flick and swirl of his tongue with the same unerring precision. Not frantic, not rushed—just right, just hers, just enough to tease her closer to the edge and hold her there until it’s all she can do not to shatter apart beneath him.
There will be time later for clever words. Time for sly smirks and the casual confidence of knowing exactly what he'd done to her. But now? Now all he wants is her voice breaking on his name, and to taste the exact moment she fucking falls apart.
But no. This is the moment she gives him in full, and he’s not about to squander it. His shadows, dark and obedient, melt between her fingers, curling into them like lovers instead of captors. They don’t restrain so much as hold—a reverent claim—drawing her arms back until she’s arched like a bow across the counter. His hand presses firm against the small of her back, pinning her just enough to feel the curve of his strength and the care in his control.
And then he listens. Not with his ears, but with her mind. Every half-formed plea, every flicker of yes, there and don’t stop is absorbed and translated into the language of touch. His mouth moves accordingly, tongue curling and flattening in rhythm with her hunger, pressure adjusting with inhuman accuracy. And when her thoughts spike—when her need climbs from wanting to aching—he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t tease, he just gives.
Two fingers press into her, slow but sure, complementing the flick and swirl of his tongue with the same unerring precision. Not frantic, not rushed—just right, just hers, just enough to tease her closer to the edge and hold her there until it’s all she can do not to shatter apart beneath him.
There will be time later for clever words. Time for sly smirks and the casual confidence of knowing exactly what he'd done to her. But now? Now all he wants is her voice breaking on his name, and to taste the exact moment she fucking falls apart.
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.
