[SE] Promise me that I dont need a parachute

Colt

Love's just one of them words
That gets thrown around
So I ain't gonna say it, no I ain't gonna lie
If you were my last breath, I'd just wanna hold ya

The offer he gives her is like the twin of one she didn't put to voice the first time they'd met. She recognizes it as soon as he says it, and it feels like standing back on that meadow with him, dusk at their backs and nothing but some idle curiosity between the two of them. Strange to think he'd come to mean so much to her, all of it starting because he wandered in the right field at the right time on the right night. What if she'd just asked him then?

She won't ever get to know that, but she grabs hold of the opportunity now. "Just tell me when and where and I'll be there, honey." She says it easily, because she's already up part of the night with him anyway, might as well make it count. "I'm only accepting blame for half of those unicorns by the way," she warns him with a raised finger, her hand lifting up from its hang on her pocket. "The other ones you chased around all on your own." There's no heart to the words, a tease wreathed with a smile, one that breaks into a laugh over Nova wriggling free of her binds.

"Mmm, they seemed happy enough with the boys," she counters, but his meaning sticks. He doesn't stifle them, but he keeps a mindful watch, so he must have been out of it to leave them with a known birthday ruiner. What little she saw throughout the night seemed like they were fine enough, but she doesn't miss the way the dragoons rankle him more than the giant toad had, both of which had access to at least one of his siblings. Given how easily Nova had handled the toad, perhaps that's the correct order of concern.

The steady wash of amusement falls away with the shake of his head. His words do more than land, they echo into all the spaces she'd tried to sweep him out of, scattering all the gathered piles back into the crevices. He may as well have held a dandelion to her ear right before answering. She pulls her hand from the corner of her pocket again, but now she reaches out to gather up his knit sweater and tugs. "You found me, Ves" she says as she yanks him to her, head tilting up a bit to keep her eyes fixed on him, a tiptoe away from his lips. Maybe she could settle for medium.

If you were my last shot of whiskey
I'd press you to my lips, take a little sip
Swirl you around and around and around
Then I'd shoot ya down

if you try and chase the sun you're never gonna catch it

Vesper tips his chin in easy agreement, like she’s just saved him the trouble of persuading her. "End of the week’s the full moon," he says, voice even. "Could stay out on your porch for it, if that ain’t too domestic a third date for you." There’s no shift in his expression to betray that he’s already weighing how easily she slid that into her plans, not as a maybe, but as something she’ll make work.

The dragoons, though—her saying his sisters seemed happy enough—draws a quiet, unamused sound out of him. He wrinkles his nose, the sort of expression meant for something he’d rather not taste. He’s got a clear enough picture of what those two were thinkin’, and none of it’s the kind of company he’d leave his sisters to keep. Still, there’s no neat way to voice it without showin’ more than he’s willing, so it stays in the grumble and fades there.

He feels the decision land in her mind before she moves, intent settling like a hand on his collar, and lets her have the satisfaction of closing the gap herself. The sweater bunches under her fingers, but before she can pull him all the way in, his mouth tilts in the faintest smirk. "What's Edith gonna think?"  he murmurs, the words brushing close enough to count as a touch.

Then he goes, unhurried and certain, a palm finding her hip through the paint, the edge of his thumb brushing idle circles like he’s been there a while. Her eyes are fixed, warm and whiskey-dark, and he takes his time meeting them, letting the pull between them stretch just enough before leaning in. The kiss is slow, not for lack of want but because there’s no reason to rush it. He’s aware of how much space he takes up in her mind, of how deliberately she’s tried to keep him from overrunning it, and of how this—this deliberate giving in—undoes all that work in a single breath. And he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

And now it's turning out to be the worst of my bad habits

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Colt

Love's just one of them words
That gets thrown around
So I ain't gonna say it, no I ain't gonna lie
If you were my last breath, I'd just wanna hold ya

Her head cocks a bit, looking at him with a slightly altered light, the movement shifting the little hairs that refused to get tied up with the rest. "Gonna be tight timing to make it back to my porch from Torchline," she lays it out like a map that he'd been the one to sketch an alternate route on, pointing to the line where he'd earlier suggested they detour. He built a fine enough case for the wonders of the fountain, and she'd be not much better off here honestly, just getting under the skin of everyone she knows instead of everyone she doesn't. She shrugs faintly, like it's his call, but her mind's made up on the matter now. Maybe there'd be something inbetween beds and boredom, somewhere in the middle of the dial she could maintain the needle.

If she bothered to think about it at all, she'd come to find that he's always given in to her pull. Often she imagines he's the only one with the gravity to manage it, but she just doesn't usually put her's to work, a little too afraid to face it should it fail.

It's a relief when he drifts in, removing all the effort it takes to hold him back. She likes to think herself strong, he's just so damn heavy. Since everything's giving in right now, so too does the control over her laugh, startled free by Edith no less. It's bright and free, empty of all the points or protection she sometimes threads into it. "Bet she'd like it," she hums with humor, the tremble of it still in her shoulders. It's barely chased off by the fit of his hands on her, but those always have a way of snuffing out most other thoughts. "Should we give her something worth watching?" The ask comes playful, but hushed with the anticipation of the gap he's slowly closing, his patience an offensive thing sometimes.

When he finally erases all the remaining space her fingers loosen against his chest, dropping to hook into his pants' pocket like she's anchoring him to her. Everything that'd been loud or shaky turns quiet and still beneath his kiss, leaving nothing but the warmth of it to creep steadily through her, as comforting as any sip of spirits. This she doesn't mind slow, pressing back with the full intention of finding out if he tastes like forever. Her other hand abandons its secure grip on the ladder, preferring the stability of him as it loops around his side and flattens against his back.

Eventually when breath his needed and she tilts to the side of him, she sighs long and loud. "You're the worst painting help I've ever received."

If you were my last shot of whiskey
I'd press you to my lips, take a little sip
Swirl you around and around and around
Then I'd shoot ya down

if you try and chase the sun you're never gonna catch it

He humours her point about Torchline with a tilt of his head, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s sketching the route in the air. It’s all performance though, because when he finally shrugs, it’s weighted, the kind of movement that carries more than it lets on. "Best not go too far, then," he drawls, the words slipping easy.

Her remark about Edith earns a crooked smile that tugs up one corner of his mouth. "Guess it depends if her eyesight’s worth testin’," he murmurs, his tone a shade too sly to be mistaken for innocent. And then there isn’t much room for conversation at all, because she’s already pulling him in close enough that the only thing left to answer with is his mouth.

The kiss folds over him like nightfall, her thoughts dimming until they’re nearly silent, leaving him standing in a rare and delicate hush. Most minds are loud, spilling colours, words, shapes he never asked for. Hers usually hums with a steady energy, busy with movement, guarded even when playful. But now it goes still, quiet as snow, and the absence of sound feels like stepping onto sacred ground. It steals something out of him in return—the sarcasm, the guarded ease—leaving only the raw want to press deeper, to chase that silence until he can drown in it. His hand slides from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her close enough to taste the heat she’s trying to hide in that quiet, while his other hand slides down to claim her thigh, pitching her back just enough to feel her weight suspended in him as he dips her.

He draws her upright without breaking the kiss, drinking in the rare stillness she’s offered him. If Edith was watching, well, he’d happily make a spectacle of it. When breath finally pulls them apart, his blue eyes hold hers, sharp and soft all at once, and he raises a brow at her complaint. "Am I?" The words curl warm in his throat, though the answer’s already painted over the wall. Because if she glances past her shoulder, she’ll see his shadows busy with brushstrokes, steady as if they’d never paused, painting the house in silence.

And now it's turning out to be the worst of my bad habits

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3

Colt

Love's just one of them words
That gets thrown around
So I ain't gonna say it, no I ain't gonna lie
If you were my last breath, I'd just wanna hold ya

There's a moment where her grip tightens against his back and her breath hitches, spine rigid against the sudden tilting of the world, which is normally just figurative whenever she's around him and not quite this literal. For someone who spends most of her day riding balance and maintaining control, having it stolen from her is startling, to say the least.

It doesn't last long before she's yielding to the angle of him, giving in to the trust that he's fed into her bit by bit with each time he's had her steady. The butterflies it stirs, as any recovery after a rush is like to do, tips her smile further. Only he could still manage to make something as simple as a kiss feel like such a thrill. Gods help her, this boy isn't doing her lead foot tendencies any favors, even with the speed limit in mind.

The paint is just an excuse to lay off the gas, but even that he's found a way to keep floored. She knows even before she looks, though her head tilts over her arm anyway, her gaze sliding from him to the side wall where a spectacle is certainly on display. "Poor Edith won't be able to trust her eyes at all after this. She's going to have a time at her next glasses appointment." Her smirk keeps breaking free while she tries to maintain nonchalance, and eventually she gives up and captures part of her bottom lip beneath her teeth for a bit to calm it.

Turning back to him with a fully devious look, she leans in to steal another kiss, this one fleeting though. "Good," she says low and rough into the space between them, lingering just enough for her nose tip to brush his, gaze finding his from her lashes. She unhooks her hold on him though, leaving just a dual pat on his chest before she fully steps away. "Then you can handle the others while I go pack. Edith was just the first house." A daring laugh slips free as she gathers her jacket from the fence, utterly pleased with herself. He's the spitting image of neighborhood help, however sour he might be about the arrangement. There's something to be said about watching a man at work though, and she does stall by the gate to fully drink him in, her teeth finding her lip for an entirely different reason now before she leaves him to it.

[FIN]

If you were my last shot of whiskey
I'd press you to my lips, take a little sip
Swirl you around and around and around
Then I'd shoot ya down