drink in the wild air

VESPER

Vesper shrugs, slow and unapologetic, swirling what’s left of his drink as though it’s merely the weather they’re discussing. "Didn’t have a fixed address to send the invitation," he murmurs, casting a glance over Mateo like he’s trying to measure whether the man could have broken the shelves on purpose just to make a point. "Didn't know where you'd be moored to come and hand deliver it, either." He'd glanced about the harbour, having no idea at the time that Mateo had chosen to park his schooner above Flora's old home.

The smile that follows is full of lazy promise, curling at the corners as he considers Flora’s supposed leniency. "Fifteen minutes," he echoes, tasting the number like it’s a wager. "Sounds fair." His shadows agree—pressing slick and slow across Mateo’s thighs, puddling warm and deliberate in his lap like they’re scouting real estate.

Still, it’s only once Vesper finishes his drink that he moves. Smooth as spilled oil, he slides out from behind the bar, silver chains glinting with every step as he approaches the tavern’s front. One hand flips the sign from open to closed with a faint click. His shadows slink like silk cords, coiling into the belt loops of Mateo’s trousers with unmistakable intent. There’s no rush in their pull, no demand—only the kind of slow, assured drag that says you’re coming with me, whether Mateo stands up or not. Vesper doesn’t look back as he heads for the once-supply-closet, before turning the handle pushing open the door. The walls have been painted a deep, velvety plum, lit by a single, dim star-shaped lantern that hangs lazily from the ceiling and casts soft constellations across the room. One wall is mirrored—just the right height to catch certain angles—while the shelving has been reinforced and polished, their edges padded discreetly. There's even a narrow, well-worn bench tucked along one side, draped in black linen and clearly not for sitting.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Mateo tuts as if Vesper's answer is a source of hurt and disappointment, though his thoughts betray him, flush with the image of the other man tangled with another person. The farthest thing from jealous that someone can be, the botanist, if anything, finds the imagined tryst a turn on, his mental gymnastics sending a trill of heat down his spine. "Well, hopefully that will not be a problem any more. You can see exactly where I live from outside these doors." There aren't many personal skyships draped in lavender hovering above houses, after all.

"It does sound fair," he agrees, eyes darkening ever so slightly over the rim of his glass as he feels Vesper's shadows continue to taunt him, and he purposely doesn't look over his shoulder as the demigod crosses the bar to ward off any potential customers. The drag and caress of those same shadows are what finally draw him to his feet, Mateo ferried lazily along in Vesper's wake towards the newly created private space. 

As he opens the door, the botanist sidles past - a little too close for it to be accidental, but what of it - to admire the room; his fingers brush across the padded edges of the shelving, dancing along the deep plum paint and gripping at one of the fixtures to give it a teasing shake. It doesn't budge, and he flashes a catlike grin over his shoulder at Vesper. "Very nicely done," he agrees. "The mirrors are a great touch."

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

VESPER

As Mateo brushes past, Vesper inhales slow and deep, the scent of liquor, lavender, salt curling like a promise through the air between them. His fingers twitch at his sides—restrained, barely—but he lets the botanist explore. Watches him with heavy-lidded eyes and a laziness that’s far too calculated to be real.

He leans against the closed door, arms folded, shadows coiling at his heels like a patient tide. As Mateo turns, the catlike grin tossed over his shoulder is all the permission Vesper needs. He moves like a tide pulling loose from the dock—no warning, no chance to brace. A hand slips into the soft tumble of curls at the nape of Mateo’s neck, cool rings pressed flush to his scalp. Shadows slip up his calves, over the backs of his knees, catching and pulling just enough to tilt him into the oncoming crash.

His kiss is not gentle. It lands with the same quiet violence as a summer storm, all salt-wet heat and silvered teeth. His hips press Mateo back against the nearest shelf, just hard enough to make it clear the room’s been reinforced for a reason. His fingers tighten in the curls at the base of Mateo’s skull, keeping the angle sharp and needy. One knee slides between the botanist’s thighs, coaxing them wider, bracketing him in heat and shadow.

Faint breathless laughter curls against Mateo’s lips as Vesper breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur, voice low and hoarse, "The mirrors might be a good touch, but yours is the only one I'm interested in." Then his mouth is back on Mateo’s again—deeper, dirtier this time, all slow-burning indulgence as if he has no intention of keeping time at all.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Vesper is on him almost before he's turned around properly, the demigod's mouth crashing into Mateo's with a possessiveness that the botanist can't help but appreciate. His moan is muffled as his back hits the shelving, an arm curling around Vesper's neck for balance even as the fingers twisting through his curls tug his head back further. Left panting in the small breath of space between them, every nerve crackles with eager impatience, begging to be touched or bruised or taken. 

"Did you practice that while we were kissing?" he quips - just - before their lips meet again, but this time at least, Mateo is very much invested in giving Vesper what he's asked for. His hands drop to the other man's belt, snaking it out of the loops to toss it aside, and its with practiced grace that he manages to open his shirt even while his lips and tongue and attention are very much occupied elsewhere.

Vesper tastes like heat and spice and the dark fire of good liquor, and only when Mateo's lungs are screaming does he draw back again, only for his lips to drop lower. Sucking a bruising kiss against the side of his neck, the botanist tugs him closer still, grinding his hips - and the very obvious evidence of his arousal - against the other man.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

VESPER

Vesper lets Mateo’s quip slide past with a low, breathless chuckle, his teeth dragging softly along the corner of the botanist’s jaw as he shifts to grant him room. Shadows slip away just enough to let that belt fall, but they linger like hungry things—curling at Mateo’s waist, brushing against the soft underside of his thighs as if they too, want a taste.

He doesn’t need to press for access when Mateo’s hands are already busy. Instead, Vesper slides one palm beneath the thin linen of his shirt, splaying his fingers wide across the smooth heat of the botanist's torso. He maps him like a constellation—thumb grazing the sharp line of a rib, the gentle dip of a waist. His other hand remains buried in Mateo’s curls, anchoring him there while his mouth devours the sounds he draws out.

There’s something intoxicating in the lack of resistance—in how easily their minds and bodies fall into rhythm without preamble. Vesper pulls from the heat-thick current of Mateo’s thoughts, guided by every flicker of arousal, every memory-turned-fantasy he stumbles across like treasure half-buried in velvet. When Mateo rolls his hips, Vesper hisses through his teeth, jaw flexing as his grip tightens in the curls at the base of the botanist’s skull. "Fuck," he breathes against his throat, his voice hoarse with want. His shadows—obedient to nothing but desire—slither higher, slipping open Mateo’s pants. They work with silent ease, parting fabric and tugging loose fastenings until nothing’s in the way but time.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

"I hope you will, yeah," Mateo whispers in response to the curse that tumbles from Vesper's lips, smiling one last kiss against his throat. Used to the addition of shadowy tendrils by now, given how many times they've collided with one another in a confined space with only minutes to spare, his body shifts and arcs to assist in the removal of his clothes - as much as is reasonable, anyway. It allows him the mundanity of his own hands to reciprocate, the botanist's thoughts rich and crimson and hungry, like a fire stoked to a heat it can't contain. 

Pushing Vesper's pants down over his hips and leaning in for another quick, hard kiss, he parts this time only so he might turn in the other man's arms, pressing back against his chest and bracing against shelving he's been assured has been tested for sturdiness. But another test can't help, right? It would only be wise to be thorough. "Tick tock," he whispers, his voice rough and playful, his thoughts begging for the same treatment.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

VESPER

Vesper grins like a man starved and handed the meal he’s been dreaming of, his shadows liquid-slick and obedient, peeling away the last scraps of fabric between them. His hips jolt as Mateo turns, the sudden heat of the botanist’s bare skin against his cock wringing a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat. His fingers tighten, one hand bracing at Mateo’s hip while the other slides up; cool rings and warm palm closing possessively around the botanist's throat. He tilts Mateo’s head just so, leaning down to drag his teeth along the vulnerable edge of his neck, letting his breath scorch over flushed skin before he growls, "Fuck if you aren't just what I needed this evenin'."

Then—he shoves. Not cruelly, but firmly, just enough to pitch the smaller man forward so his forearms catch on the shelving, so that the tension lines the length of his back like a drawn bow. It gives Vesper room to press forward, his cock sliding between Mateo’s thighs with a friction that has him grinning wolfishly.

His palm trails down the slope of Mateo’s spine with aching patience, down to the curve of his ass, fingers spreading to knead and approve every perfect inch. And only when he’s traced the line of heat between them does he reach down to wrap his hand around his own cock, guiding it forward—slick with want and shadow, aligning with intent.

"There’s a time for rushin’," Vesper murmurs, voice low and lazy like a summer storm just beginning to gather. He rolls his hips just enough to tease, to make Mateo feel every ounce of restraint he’s holding back. "And there’s a time for takin’ my goddamn time."

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Satisfaction blooms in Mateo's mind like budding flowers on a hot morning, unfurling with every touch of Vesper's fingers, every sound dragged from his throat. "I was thirsty," he says roughly, the words framed by a wicked smile and hitching as he's suddenly shoved forward, left braced against the shelving and arched perfectly into the other man's hands. "I just didn't know it was for more than a drink." Gasping at the liquid fire of Vesper's touch, patient in a way that has his thoughts writhing and thorny for more, the botanist shifts to welcome the other man between his thighs in whatever capacity he's decided is enough for now.

"Is that - nn - so?" He pants, tongue running across his teeth as he lets his imagination run wild with the promise of so much more. He conjures the image of Vesper's hand across his mouth to cage the sounds of his pleasure, of fingers digging hard into his hips, of their bodies splayed out in the mirrored reflections like they've accidentally walked in on their doppergangers at work. "Well," he huffs. "You do own the bar. Who am I to say how long you take for a break?"

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

VESPER

Vesper hums low at the admission, a wicked sound that smoulders in his chest and crackles down to where his cock teases just shy of home. His fingers tighten at Mateo’s hip—hard, unyielding, leaving behind a press of pale marks shaped like stars just beneath skin. And then he thrusts, slow only in the way a storm rolls in—inevitable, devouring. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed inside the botanist, hips flush, chest trembling with the restraint it takes to keep from coming undone right there.

Mateo’s answering moan is stifled before it ever hits the air. Shadows crawl up his chest and pour over his mouth, muffling the heat that rises in tandem with every inch of Vesper inside him. The demigod hisses through his teeth at the tight, searing welcome. "Fuck, you’re gonna make this quick with how tight you are," he murmurs, teeth grazing the shell of Mateo’s ear as he grinds in place, breath ragged.

But then—because he owns the bar, because Mateo had the audacity to offer him time—Vesper shifts them both, dragging the botanist a half-step sideways. It’s messy, graceless, just enough that only one of Mateo’s arms can keep him propped against the shelving—but now the mirror takes them both in. The long lines of their bodies. The flush high on Mateo’s cheeks. The look in Vesper’s eyes, dark and low and full of sin.

He pulls back slowly, letting the friction rip its way up both their spines. Instead of thrusting his hips forward, instead he drags the other man hard against him again, a low, lust-drowned moan echoing into Mateo’s neck. "You look so good like this," he breathes, shadows curling around the botanist’s ribs and thighs now, clutching and cradling like they’ve all grown just as possessive as their wielder.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Mateo's lips part at the slow and unyielding press of Vesper's cock inside him, but the moan that drags its way from his throat is stifled into something muffled and desperate by the clinging shadows, his fingers biting into the shelving as if he might be able to write his pleasure into them instead. Exhaling roughly through his nose and relishing the feel of the other man's hot breath against his neck, the soft tremble against his back, he can't help but to roll his hips teasingly into the grinding pressure. 

The crackle of pleasure from that small movement alone has his thoughts catching like dry kindling in the small space, and another stifled moan punches out of him and into the pressure of the shadows as he's readjusted, shifting sideways and faced, quite suddenly, with their reflections. Unable to speak but more than capable of offering his praise and approval in other ways, as the shadows continue to writhe and curl around his body and he's pulled back against the other man's cock, Mateo's breath hitches and his eyes catch Vesper's gaze in the mirror. Harder. More. Please.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

VESPER

Vesper drinks in the flush of Mateo’s thoughts like holy fire, greedy and reverent in the same breath. Harder. More. Please. The echo of it wraps around his spine like a noose and a prayer both, and he doesn’t hesitate—not when the botanist offers himself up so beautifully, braced and willing, every inch of him begging to be ruined in Vesper’s hands.

His hands clamp down hard, one against the curve of Mateo’s hip, the other spreading flat across his lower back as if to pin him in place, to claim him as wholly as the bruises he’s planting there. The angle drives him deeper, rougher—designed not for grace but for impact, for the kind of fucking that makes one remember.

Shadows, obedient and hungry in equal measure, slip away from Mateo’s mouth with a sticky reluctance. They coil instead around his throat, not quite choking, but constricting—tight enough that every breath becomes something sharp and earned. Vesper’s own breathing is shallow and filthy in the quiet between thrusts, chest pressed flush to Mateo’s back as he slams the man forward again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he pants, catching Mateo’s dazed reflection in the mirror with a snarl of pleasure curling at the edge of his mouth. Their reflections are a tangle of shadow and skin and sin, and Vesper watches Mateo’s face in the mirror—slack with pleasure, begging with his eyes even when his mouth can’t form the words—good. Vesper doesn’t want to hear it. He wants to feel it in the desperate clutch of Mateo’s body, in the clawing heat of his mind. He wants to drag it out of him, over and over, until there’s nothing left but the echo of his own name.

Yet more shadows drip down the botanist's body, coiling around his cock and banding at the base of his erection like a firm hand.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Oh, Mateo's body and mind will both remember this little tryst, from the bruises he'll boast in the days to come to the way he'll never again be able to glance at this former-supply closet without needing to adjust his pants. Gasping out a ragged breath as the shadows slip from around his mouth, he gazes at Vesper's reflection in the mirror, sultry and defiant and needy all at once, like an addict craving a fix daring him to do his worst.

And gods does he deliver, the botanist dragging in another breath as shadowy tendrils reconvene around his throat, as Vesper's cock drives into him again, hard and relentless and causing his fingers to flinch around the shelving. "Only because you know how to fuck me so well," he grates out, as if whatever pleasure the other derives from him is well deserved and then some. "Fuck--" 

The shadows, slinking ever slower, reach their destination and completely dissolve any witty responses Mateo might have. Grinding back hard against Vesper as if to create his own friction, it's with a broken moan that he silently begs the other man to fuck him until they're both little more than scattered nerve endings and hoarse cries of pleasure, until he doesn't know where he is or how long it's been, only the possessive feel of him all around.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand

VESPER

Mateo’s thoughts crackle like kindling, each flicker of lust another invitation Vesper doesn't hesitate to accept. The shadows pulse tighter around his throat in time with the rhythm of Vesper’s thrusts; not enough to cut off his air completely, but just enough to make every gasp sharper, needier. Vesper can feel the way the tension spirals tighter inside him, the way his thoughts stutter into half-formed words and raw sensation. Pleasure. Ownership. More.

Vesper obliges.

He slams into him again, harder this time, the sound obscene in the tight space as flesh meets flesh, and the shelving behind them rattles in protest. He doesn’t care. Let the whole fucking bar hear, he's on his break, after all.

"I want you to cum for me," he growls against the curve of Mateo’s ear, voice all gravel and salt and fire. His breath is hot against damp curls, his grin sharp.

Every movement now is possessive, brutal in its precision, a slow dismantling of the man in his arms. The way Mateo grinds back, offering himself with those ragged moans, only fuels him. His shadows continue up their ministrations, stroking with maddening patience even as his hips keep their bruising pace. 

The mirror catches everything: flushed skin, bruised lips, Vesper’s pale eyes locked onto Mateo like he might devour him whole. And maybe he would, if they had more time. If fifteen minutes could stretch long enough.

wake me when it's over
like a bad dream

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Mateo

Should'a seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat

Alas, fifteen minutes is a finite amount of time, however much Mateo would like to tease each second between his fingers and stretch it into hours. Add in the brutal perfection of Vesper's fucking, the way his voice growls honey against the shell of his ear in the form of desire and demands, and the botanist is all but undone already - and that's without taking into account the intimate addition of the coils of shadow.

Hearing, distantly, the way the force of Vesper's thrusts causes the shelving to rattle and drags ever more desperate moans from his throat, Mateo watches their reflections through half-lidded eyes, his mind unravelling into sensation and snippets of half finished sentences. More and yes and gods, fuck me litter his thoughts like petals on the wind, and as he feels that tell-tale trickle of molten static race through the base of his spine, those thoughts only grow more sordid.

"Vesper--!" he bites out a second before he cums, the other man's name leaving his lips like a rough curse or a prayer, before pleasure seizes him entirely, and the rest of the world fades away for a brief, blissful few seconds.

I was the king of this hologram
where there's no such thing as getting out of hand