VESPER
The shadows don’t answer Colt’s groan, but they heed it. Threaded dark tendrils pull away the last of the fabric between them, dragging both their underwear and pants into a forgotten tangle behind the couch without the faintest rustle of protest. They do the work so neither of them has to part, not even by a breath. Not even for a second.
He nearly falters when she says it—you have me—because he knows. Not just from the way she looks at him, or the way her thoughts used to flutter and spill, but from the ache in her voice now, the way it curls around truth like a threadbare blanket she’s choosing to share anyway. And for all that Thalassa accused him of, for every cruel edge he’s learned to sharpen inside himself, he isn’t so far gone that he’d pretend that kind of trust doesn’t matter. He isn’t heartless enough to take what she offers without understanding how it could wreck her if he isn’t careful. And maybe that’s why, just for a second, his shadows stutter. As if some part of him wants to stop. To protect her further from himself.
But then her fingers wrap around his cock and all of it—conscience, caution, consequence—crumbles like ash. Every reason he shouldn’t disappears beneath the wildfire of her touch, and with a guttural, needy sound punched straight into her mouth, Vesper surges forward again. He’ll think about guilt later. Maybe. If there’s anything left of him to think with when this is over.
He drags his palm along her outer thigh, curling it around his hips as he angles in closer, the heat of her pulling at him like gravity itself. No teasing, no restraint, just a slow, steady press as he sinks into her, inch by inch, breath catching on a soundless moan as she stretches around him. The grip he keeps on her leg turns near-bruising for a moment, anchoring himself in the feel of her—warm, slick, impossible to resist—and he pushes in deeper, bracing one foot against the arm of the couch to thrust until he’s buried to the hilt.
And fuck, it’s good. The kind of good that scours his mind clean. Every flicker of static in his skull—every voice, every echo, every old ache and warning—goes silent. All that remains is this: the snug, perfect clutch of her around him; her nails at his neck; the taste of her breath against his tongue. Here is the only place that matters. Now is the only time that exists.
Beneath her, his shadows rise again, shifting and shoving the folds of blankets like obedient hands, lifting her hips just enough to tilt her upward. The new angle lets him drive in with more force, more precision, his hips rocking down into hers with each thrust, low and hard and unrelenting. He exhales raggedly, his mouth grazing hers but not kissing now, too overcome by the rhythm of her body pulling him in, again and again.
His free hand sprawls across her thigh, fingers pressing into the muscle as he guides the curve of her around him. Her heat is dizzying. Every thrust draws a sound from him, low and ruined and almost grateful. She makes it too easy to forget everything else; too easy to need her. To want to stay. And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all. Because he knows he won’t. Can't. But for now, he fucks her like he might—like he already has.
He nearly falters when she says it—you have me—because he knows. Not just from the way she looks at him, or the way her thoughts used to flutter and spill, but from the ache in her voice now, the way it curls around truth like a threadbare blanket she’s choosing to share anyway. And for all that Thalassa accused him of, for every cruel edge he’s learned to sharpen inside himself, he isn’t so far gone that he’d pretend that kind of trust doesn’t matter. He isn’t heartless enough to take what she offers without understanding how it could wreck her if he isn’t careful. And maybe that’s why, just for a second, his shadows stutter. As if some part of him wants to stop. To protect her further from himself.
But then her fingers wrap around his cock and all of it—conscience, caution, consequence—crumbles like ash. Every reason he shouldn’t disappears beneath the wildfire of her touch, and with a guttural, needy sound punched straight into her mouth, Vesper surges forward again. He’ll think about guilt later. Maybe. If there’s anything left of him to think with when this is over.
He drags his palm along her outer thigh, curling it around his hips as he angles in closer, the heat of her pulling at him like gravity itself. No teasing, no restraint, just a slow, steady press as he sinks into her, inch by inch, breath catching on a soundless moan as she stretches around him. The grip he keeps on her leg turns near-bruising for a moment, anchoring himself in the feel of her—warm, slick, impossible to resist—and he pushes in deeper, bracing one foot against the arm of the couch to thrust until he’s buried to the hilt.
And fuck, it’s good. The kind of good that scours his mind clean. Every flicker of static in his skull—every voice, every echo, every old ache and warning—goes silent. All that remains is this: the snug, perfect clutch of her around him; her nails at his neck; the taste of her breath against his tongue. Here is the only place that matters. Now is the only time that exists.
Beneath her, his shadows rise again, shifting and shoving the folds of blankets like obedient hands, lifting her hips just enough to tilt her upward. The new angle lets him drive in with more force, more precision, his hips rocking down into hers with each thrust, low and hard and unrelenting. He exhales raggedly, his mouth grazing hers but not kissing now, too overcome by the rhythm of her body pulling him in, again and again.
His free hand sprawls across her thigh, fingers pressing into the muscle as he guides the curve of her around him. Her heat is dizzying. Every thrust draws a sound from him, low and ruined and almost grateful. She makes it too easy to forget everything else; too easy to need her. To want to stay. And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all. Because he knows he won’t. Can't. But for now, he fucks her like he might—like he already has.
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.
