VESPER
Vesper feels it before he hears it, that hitch. The way her thoughts snag like fabric on thorns, catching on the words he hadn't meant to give her. Whether or not he'd done it on purpose is irrelevant, not when her reaction is instant and piercing; reverberating through him with enough clarity to knock the air from his lungs. His breath stutters, eyes squeezing shut as if that could block out the way her mind briefly opens like a wound, soft and terrified and hopeful all at once. She hears three words instead of four. And gods, gods, he feels it bloom inside her like a flame caught in the rafters; brief, brilliant, and destined to collapse the structure.
He doesn't stop moving. Can’t. His hips keep their punishing rhythm, shadows still coiled tight against her, desperate to coax every last flicker of ecstasy from her even as something larger looms like a storm on the edge of the world. Because he knows what comes next, they both do. Her moaned no isn’t confusion or resistance. It’s grief, it’s please don’t leave yet, and it hits him like a blow to the chest, hollowing him out mid-thrust until it feels like his own body is resisting itself. He couldn’t stop the tide of his release even if he wanted to—not now, not with her gasping and burning beneath him—but as it surges through his spine and crashes into him with a full-body jolt, his mind reaches for hers. Not to speak, not to reassure, just to feel. To bury himself in the white-hot detonation of her orgasm. To steal the pleasure of it from her thoughts and make it his own. To lose himself inside the vivid, visceral glory of her as she breaks beneath him, not because he’s cruel or greedy, but because he doesn’t know what else to hold on to. Because he can’t handle what waits for him in the silence after. What waits in the knowledge that this is temporary. That every heartbeat between them is counting down to departure.
So his shadows don’t release her and neither does his hand. He clutches at her hip like he’s drowning, even as the last shudder rips through him and his moan slants open-mouthed against hers, no finesse, no softness, just breath and heat and raw, unfiltered need. He stays inside her, pressed as deep and close and still as he can manage, forehead bowed to hers like maybe if he stays perfectly still, he can delay the collapse.
But something vast and cold is already crawling up his spine. A black star devouring the light from the inside out, feeding on the warmth they’ve made. It’s not the absence of pleasure that terrifies him, it’s the absence of her, the unbearable closeness of the moment right before she’s gone; right before he leaves her, lest he force her to contort herself around him even more to fit into the shape she thinks she sees.
He doesn't stop moving. Can’t. His hips keep their punishing rhythm, shadows still coiled tight against her, desperate to coax every last flicker of ecstasy from her even as something larger looms like a storm on the edge of the world. Because he knows what comes next, they both do. Her moaned no isn’t confusion or resistance. It’s grief, it’s please don’t leave yet, and it hits him like a blow to the chest, hollowing him out mid-thrust until it feels like his own body is resisting itself. He couldn’t stop the tide of his release even if he wanted to—not now, not with her gasping and burning beneath him—but as it surges through his spine and crashes into him with a full-body jolt, his mind reaches for hers. Not to speak, not to reassure, just to feel. To bury himself in the white-hot detonation of her orgasm. To steal the pleasure of it from her thoughts and make it his own. To lose himself inside the vivid, visceral glory of her as she breaks beneath him, not because he’s cruel or greedy, but because he doesn’t know what else to hold on to. Because he can’t handle what waits for him in the silence after. What waits in the knowledge that this is temporary. That every heartbeat between them is counting down to departure.
So his shadows don’t release her and neither does his hand. He clutches at her hip like he’s drowning, even as the last shudder rips through him and his moan slants open-mouthed against hers, no finesse, no softness, just breath and heat and raw, unfiltered need. He stays inside her, pressed as deep and close and still as he can manage, forehead bowed to hers like maybe if he stays perfectly still, he can delay the collapse.
But something vast and cold is already crawling up his spine. A black star devouring the light from the inside out, feeding on the warmth they’ve made. It’s not the absence of pleasure that terrifies him, it’s the absence of her, the unbearable closeness of the moment right before she’s gone; right before he leaves her, lest he force her to contort herself around him even more to fit into the shape she thinks she sees.
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.
