Running

[rhiannon_lee]

Nighttime in Cottonwood Cove was a spectacle: a pale, pebble-strewn ground underfoot, ghostly Joshua trees twisting against a barren landscape, and a sky so black and velvety that Rhiannon longed to touch it. The moon hung low and full as she knocked at the front door of Cian’s little cottage, which had been built by a wealthy contractor as a getaway spot for his family during the construction of the Hoover Dam in the 1930s. With all that was temporary or mobile in this part of Clark County, Rhiannon appreciated the historical aspects of its framework, and how it lent a sense of time and place to an otherwise transient community.

The slayer’s dark hair was combed into a ponytail. After the sun went down, the desert temperature dropped sharply, and so she wore a loosely knit sweater over her tank top, jeans, and boots. A delicate crucifix glinted on her collarbone. She crossed her ankles and slipped her thumbs into her hip pockets as she waited for the Were to answer.

Comments

Re: Running

[cian_oneill]

Cian laughed softly, his arms wrapping around her, his feet moving slightly to adjust his stance as her legs wrapped around him. His face pressed against her neck, and he could feel hers against his.

He could sense the turmoil she had struggled with, his skin having felt like spikes were being jabbed at him, as if questions were being asked though no answers were expected. And just like hitting one's fist against a brick wall, it felt good when it stopped.

"Didn't realise it was a race," he murmured softly, the teasing clear in tone. "Next time I might try harder."

Re: Running

[rhiannon_lee]

“Huh-unh, not a race,” she said against his hair. “It’s a thumb war.”

That was the thing. She’d struggle like hell, give in, and he’d claim he wasn’t even out of breath. One day she’d manage to knock him on his heels, just to see how he liked it. But that required Cian to loosen up a bit. So far, she was pretty sure he hadn't.