VESPER
He’s trying not to want her. That’s the first battle, the hardest one, and he’s already losing. It’s not just the way her shirt comes off like it means nothing, though that’s enough to steal his breath; the smooth, unapologetic movement of it, the soft skin revealed without flourish, without shame. It’s the way she folds herself into his sweater, like she’s always belonged there, like something wild deciding to rest. The cableknit swallows her shoulders and hangs loose at the hem, his scent clinging to the weave; sea salt and peppermint, sharp and strange and still somehow hers now. Still, he should look away because gods if this doesn't make everything harder. Not just because of the curve of her hips or the way the fabric stretches across her chest, though his gaze does linger—hungry, quiet—but because she doesn’t know what he knows. Can’t know what he hears every time her mind brushes against his like a wound she’s learned how to walk with.
Colt doesn’t just want him; she aches for him. Even now, even here, even after all the grief and sharp edges, he can feel the half-formed thoughts she bites back, the silent cries to be held, to be wanted, to not be left alone again. Her mind is a knot of contradiction, pushing him away with every word while curling toward him in thought, begging him to stay, terrified he will.
And gods, he does want her. An image forms unbidden and visceral in his mind: pressing her to the wall, his mouth hot on hers, fingers greedy against bare skin, his sweater on the floor, coaxing moans from her throat that only he knows how to earn. He’s felt them before, tasted the shape of her pleasure, and it would be so easy to slip back into that heat, to let the ache swallow them both whole.
But Jack’s voice still echoes somewhere behind his ribs, cold and clear: You can’t ever tell her. Not about the telepathy. Not about the way her thoughts lay open to him like pages of a diary he was never meant to read. And Vesper isn’t sure how long he can pretend he doesn’t already know her better than she wants him to, not without lying every time he looks at her.
So instead of touching her, he stays still. Instead of kissing her, he just nods.
He doesn’t interrupt when she lies, though it isn't really a lie, just a softening of the truth until it's more palatable. He listens to the story she offers, about her husband, about mourning, and though the real truth hums beneath it like a bad wire, he doesn’t fault her for it. The ache blooms again as her thoughts circle him; wanting him close, pushing him away, wanting to disappear entirely. Before he can even speak, she’s turning out of his arms, offering him the chance to go, and he can feel the effort it costs her. The way she tries to make it easy for him. Here’s your out, her mind all but whispers, even as her hand clings to his.
He exhales slow, steady, raking a hand through his hair as he follows her into the kitchen. There’s a memory branded into the island, a sharp flicker of her body against the counter and the way her voice broke against his neck as she came with his name on her lips. He doesn’t let himself look at it for long.
"The Ark was louder’n all hell," he says, voice low and even, chasing levity he doesn’t quite feel. "So, bad company or not, it’s quieter here and that is a real relief. Dogs included."
Colt doesn’t just want him; she aches for him. Even now, even here, even after all the grief and sharp edges, he can feel the half-formed thoughts she bites back, the silent cries to be held, to be wanted, to not be left alone again. Her mind is a knot of contradiction, pushing him away with every word while curling toward him in thought, begging him to stay, terrified he will.
And gods, he does want her. An image forms unbidden and visceral in his mind: pressing her to the wall, his mouth hot on hers, fingers greedy against bare skin, his sweater on the floor, coaxing moans from her throat that only he knows how to earn. He’s felt them before, tasted the shape of her pleasure, and it would be so easy to slip back into that heat, to let the ache swallow them both whole.
But Jack’s voice still echoes somewhere behind his ribs, cold and clear: You can’t ever tell her. Not about the telepathy. Not about the way her thoughts lay open to him like pages of a diary he was never meant to read. And Vesper isn’t sure how long he can pretend he doesn’t already know her better than she wants him to, not without lying every time he looks at her.
So instead of touching her, he stays still. Instead of kissing her, he just nods.
He doesn’t interrupt when she lies, though it isn't really a lie, just a softening of the truth until it's more palatable. He listens to the story she offers, about her husband, about mourning, and though the real truth hums beneath it like a bad wire, he doesn’t fault her for it. The ache blooms again as her thoughts circle him; wanting him close, pushing him away, wanting to disappear entirely. Before he can even speak, she’s turning out of his arms, offering him the chance to go, and he can feel the effort it costs her. The way she tries to make it easy for him. Here’s your out, her mind all but whispers, even as her hand clings to his.
He exhales slow, steady, raking a hand through his hair as he follows her into the kitchen. There’s a memory branded into the island, a sharp flicker of her body against the counter and the way her voice broke against his neck as she came with his name on her lips. He doesn’t let himself look at it for long.
"The Ark was louder’n all hell," he says, voice low and even, chasing levity he doesn’t quite feel. "So, bad company or not, it’s quieter here and that is a real relief. Dogs included."
rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?
☆ 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.
