I'll let the flames take me high, burn down the whole damn sky
The flash of his tongue earns a delighted gasp and a swift smirk. It'd been expected, after all, but it's still a shock to know he'd heard her so clearly. It swiftly melts into a theatrical wounding, and she even clutches at her chest with one hand for effect. "Why Sunjata, if I cut off your tongue I'm certain I'd become public enemy number one." A huff of a laugh then as she drops the act to resume the task. "Not that I'd dream of doing so either way, or any other part of you for that matter." Gods know he's had enough cut out of him already.
Then there's earrings and hair to sort, in more ways than one. She sets the razor down on the tray after cleaning it, his gratitude earning a shrug. "Don't mention it." Retreating from the pull of his heat, the gravity of longing like one she's pretended she could rise above, is easy enough when there's a drive to finish, work to do. Now that the tools are clean and her hands empty though, she suddenly finds herself without the same steely defenses to shelter behind.
The laugh that meets his joke of a question is brittle with an unusual wash of nerves, and she turns back fully to him, reaching to take the towel. "I'm sure if I needed a second job, barbering would not be it, but I'll take the praise of your much improved face." He looks almost presentable now, and might even if she didn't know better. Throwing the towel on her shoulder and dousing some aftershave in her palms, the last marker of the job, she leans in again to pat it over either side of his cheeks. Only meaning to do that, dry her hands, and then move on, she finds herself once more slipping into the tide of him. A touch, only meant to skate, lingers. There's a want she's been barreling past with stubbornness and sorrow, but every day aches with a dull pain she can't fully escape.
"Fuck it," she says under her breath, as if finally giving into the pull of something that's no longer worth fighting off. She swings her leg across the chair and spills across his lap and chest, fingers still perched on the roughness smoothed away from his jawline. She pauses, just long enough to see him, to watch for whether or not he's too raw for this even if she no longer is.
He had not helped her exorcise Vesper when she'd been possessed, but perhaps the expertise of the man beneath her lies with ghosts rather than demons. She's haunted enough now to need it.
Then there's earrings and hair to sort, in more ways than one. She sets the razor down on the tray after cleaning it, his gratitude earning a shrug. "Don't mention it." Retreating from the pull of his heat, the gravity of longing like one she's pretended she could rise above, is easy enough when there's a drive to finish, work to do. Now that the tools are clean and her hands empty though, she suddenly finds herself without the same steely defenses to shelter behind.
The laugh that meets his joke of a question is brittle with an unusual wash of nerves, and she turns back fully to him, reaching to take the towel. "I'm sure if I needed a second job, barbering would not be it, but I'll take the praise of your much improved face." He looks almost presentable now, and might even if she didn't know better. Throwing the towel on her shoulder and dousing some aftershave in her palms, the last marker of the job, she leans in again to pat it over either side of his cheeks. Only meaning to do that, dry her hands, and then move on, she finds herself once more slipping into the tide of him. A touch, only meant to skate, lingers. There's a want she's been barreling past with stubbornness and sorrow, but every day aches with a dull pain she can't fully escape.
"Fuck it," she says under her breath, as if finally giving into the pull of something that's no longer worth fighting off. She swings her leg across the chair and spills across his lap and chest, fingers still perched on the roughness smoothed away from his jawline. She pauses, just long enough to see him, to watch for whether or not he's too raw for this even if she no longer is.
He had not helped her exorcise Vesper when she'd been possessed, but perhaps the expertise of the man beneath her lies with ghosts rather than demons. She's haunted enough now to need it.
Colt
I spent the night on the ceiling, drank the whole weight of my weakness
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.
