VESPER
Most of the rumours about Vesper’s shadows are wrong in the way rumours usually are, dressed up by men who need the story to sound better than the part they actually survived. Pain is easy to imagine, and death easier still, but the truth is that the same dark that can peel a man open can coax an orgasm out of someone with just as much patience, just as much precision, and with Vesper’s mind threaded through the body beneath his hands, there is very little guessing involved once he decides he wants a sound out of someone.
Finch’s pulse is still there in the dark when Vesper lets him go, caught for a second longer in the memory of shadow against skin, and the rest of him is no harder to read. Not fear, exactly. Not enough of it, anyway. Curiosity, caution, want, and that bright little strain of a man discovering where the leash ends and leaning into it just to feel the pressure back. Vesper can respect that more than he probably should, though respect does not mean trust, and trust is not the sort of charity Jack has sent him down here to offer.
His shadows slide loose from Finch’s hand and coil back around his boots as he turns away, their edges dragging through the tunnel’s dimness before sinking into it. The rock beneath them grows slicker as they move, wet with salt and mineral seep, and the warning in the cant beneath Finch’s fingers proves itself underfoot with every careful step. "I much prefer relyin’ on skill rather than luck," Vesper drawls, glancing back over his shoulder with a brow raised, his pale eyes finding Finch easily in the dark. "But we’ll see if yours holds. Should be right up here."
The passage bends, narrowing enough that his shoulder nearly brushes the wall before it opens around a shallow recess tucked under a lip of lava-smoothed stone. It is not well hidden if one knows what to look for, which means it is very well hidden from nearly everyone else. Vesper crouches just enough to look beneath the overhang, where a small lock sits dulled by salt and damp, plain enough to be insulting and therefore worth treating with caution. He could probably open it himself; however, he also likes having all of his fingers. Telepathy is useful for a great many things, but locks are inconsiderate enough not to think about whether they have teeth, so Vesper straightens and steps aside with an easy tilt of his head toward the cache.
"You’re up."
Should Finch try the lock, he will find it stubborn rather than clever, its pins stiff with age and salt but not trapped. It will take patience, pressure, and a steady hand before it gives, but when it finally opens, there will be no blade, no spark, no clever little punishment waiting inside. There will also be no ledger.
Finch’s pulse is still there in the dark when Vesper lets him go, caught for a second longer in the memory of shadow against skin, and the rest of him is no harder to read. Not fear, exactly. Not enough of it, anyway. Curiosity, caution, want, and that bright little strain of a man discovering where the leash ends and leaning into it just to feel the pressure back. Vesper can respect that more than he probably should, though respect does not mean trust, and trust is not the sort of charity Jack has sent him down here to offer.
His shadows slide loose from Finch’s hand and coil back around his boots as he turns away, their edges dragging through the tunnel’s dimness before sinking into it. The rock beneath them grows slicker as they move, wet with salt and mineral seep, and the warning in the cant beneath Finch’s fingers proves itself underfoot with every careful step. "I much prefer relyin’ on skill rather than luck," Vesper drawls, glancing back over his shoulder with a brow raised, his pale eyes finding Finch easily in the dark. "But we’ll see if yours holds. Should be right up here."
The passage bends, narrowing enough that his shoulder nearly brushes the wall before it opens around a shallow recess tucked under a lip of lava-smoothed stone. It is not well hidden if one knows what to look for, which means it is very well hidden from nearly everyone else. Vesper crouches just enough to look beneath the overhang, where a small lock sits dulled by salt and damp, plain enough to be insulting and therefore worth treating with caution. He could probably open it himself; however, he also likes having all of his fingers. Telepathy is useful for a great many things, but locks are inconsiderate enough not to think about whether they have teeth, so Vesper straightens and steps aside with an easy tilt of his head toward the cache.
"You’re up."
Should Finch try the lock, he will find it stubborn rather than clever, its pins stiff with age and salt but not trapped. It will take patience, pressure, and a steady hand before it gives, but when it finally opens, there will be no blade, no spark, no clever little punishment waiting inside. There will also be no ledger.
wake me when it's over
like a bad dream
like a bad dream
☆ 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.
