[ M ] in my head, i get lonely sometimes

you speak like constellations—

Tonight, Baptista has left the Drunken Seagull alone. The alcohol had done little to improve his sour mood, despite his efforts to make the best of his situation while he still has time—of which there is painfully little left. The fate of his future looms like a stormcloud overhead, and the weight is heavy on his shoulders; it is a burden he has no wish to bear. It’s selfish, he knows. Augustine never asked for his burdens, after all. Baptista never has been very good at thinking past anyone but himself, unfortunately for his brother—and everyone else who has the misfortune of coming to trust him.

He departed the bar with a considerable number of drinks in his system, and now the pale wolf walks the water’s edge beneath a full moon, its light illuminating the light complexion of his fur. The frigid waves that lap across his toes are a freeing and familiar comfort—and they ground him where the alcohol might have otherwise left him swaying and staggering. Of course, it takes a substantial amount to render Baptista Scowcroft shit-faced drunk.

Avoiding the path that will lead back to town, Baptista heads further along the beach with a slow swagger, his head slung low at the level of his shoulders and his fur ruffled by the persistent breeze off the waves. He hums softly—some tune that a bard had been playing the other night, though Baptista’s rendition is far less coherent and on-beat; he doesn’t know half of it, and he doesn’t care. He just wants to take solace in what moments of freedom he still has within his grasp.

@Amelia

—but you're just a black hole

code & art

Dark eyes were on the man for quite some time. He was easy to spot, his pale coat splotched sparsely with those gorgeous pastel colors - and those eyes! I simply salivated in my corner. The shadows had enveloped me entirely, keeping to the darkness as much as possible. My job was to observe, mostly anyway. Lachlan much enjoyed when I came home with useful information. So naturally, my eyes were glued to the handsome man who stank of the imperials, but wore the musk so well, it swelled a sense of excitement in me.

A small grin played at the edges of my lips as I watched him depart from the bar, many drinks downed, wobbling out. Quietly, i slithered forward. I made a great effort to remain as hidden as possible, up until we reached the water’s edge. He walked along the sand, his body hulking and caressed by the breeze. His cologne wafted behind him, filling my nose and coaxing the grin into a rather eager smile.
"My, my. You are so handsome,"
Dark emerald eyes soaked him in as I walked with a feminine saunter, catching up to his side.
"Might a lady know his name?"
Eyes gleaming, ears forward, eccentric body poised, I was ripe for the picking - as usual. So I treaded these waters with him for now, to see how the waves might take us.

you speak like constellations—

Baptista is not an easy wolf to startle. He isn't entirely certain if she'd been trying to be discreet, if the waves had muffled her approach, or if he's just too inebriated to notice until she's beside him. He doesn't particularly care, either. He just tips his head somewhat to the side to take her in, and offers a crooked half-smile. "So I've heard," he drawls casually, not breaking pace as he follows the line where the waves meet the sand.

"Forward, aren't you?" Baptista answers with a huff of a laugh, his eyes glinting in a show of amusement. He's spent his life around the sorts of wolves that frequent the Drunken Seagull—he's friends with a good number of them, and there is no amount of alcohol that will thoughtlessly loosen his tongue. Out here, he'll sooner assume anyone on the beach is a member of the guild than isn't; it's smart business to be cautious.

That doesn't mean that he can't play, however.

He sways a little closer on his next stride, until his shoulder is just shy of touching hers while they walk. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you follow me all the way out here because you wanted my name," he all but purrs, his muzzle leaning in so that his breath can coast over the base of her ear, "or because you wanted something else?"

—but you're just a black hole

code & art

He wasn’t overbearingly cocky but his confidence was attractive. His allure was worn by the half smile he offered and the way his attention latched onto me in the moment. If I could, I’d blush. To his comment of how forward I was, I released a bubbly giggle.

But the jig was up. He knew why I had followed him. I had spotted him in the bar, taken aback by his immaculate aesthetic, and even more so by his swagger. I couldn’t help it when dark emerald eyes scanned him up and down, the rush of his breath tickling my ear. I gasped slightly, the smile I wore becoming more sly.
"Both would be nice,"
Melodic tunes crooned.
"But you’re a smart one."
I moved into his closing, hoping to brush my hips against him in a seductive manner.
"Amelia,"
I kept my last name to myself for now, in case he knew about Lachlan. I didn’t want our spicy encounter to be interrupted just because I was the drug lord’s wife.

code // art

you speak like constellations—

"Both would be nice." Baptista's smirk widens, and he laughs softly, thoroughly amused by this woman who is unafraid to state her intentions. At least, partially. He wouldn't be surprised if there's an ulterior motive here, but isn't there always? That's just part of the fun, really.

"Kind of you to notice," he mentions at her wry compliment, tipping his head to the side as he peers down at the minx of a woman who leans into him shamelessly. He welcomes her contact, but Baptista is not starved for it—he behaves not as a desperate man, but one who isn't afraid of a little debauchery. Or a lot.

Biting the bullet of Baptista's caution, she offers her name first, and he finally slows to a standstill on the sand, his gaze drifting down her considerable curves and then back up to the sharp emerald of her eyes. "Baptista," he finally says, every bit as cagey as her. Out here, he's not a Scowcroft, he's not the mayor's brother, he's not a nobleman. His discretion, his wit, and his talented propensity for gambling have allowed him into the seedy underbelly of Sussex, and he is not keen to squander it for anyone—not even an ass as fine as the one that's practically swaying in front of him right now.

He leans closer, dropping his head until his muzzle is alongside her cheek. "So, now that you know my name," he drawls, allowing his teasing breath to coast across her skin, "why don't you tell me—" his lips trail a path along her jaw, below her ear, drift down the curve of her neck without ever quite making contact, a ghost of his promise— "exactly what else you came here for, Amelia."

—but you're just a black hole

code & art

He wanted to hear me say it. I was usually too much of a lady to let such profanity seep from my lips, but with the hunger in the glint of his eye and the play of a smirk on his lips, I couldn’t control it any longer. Dark eyes scanned him, coming from the bulge of sinew to the round of his ear, to the straight line of his jaw. I did not protest to him coming even closer, I did not protest when he stopped and I moved a few paces ahead. My chin rotated over a feminine shoulder and I watched playfully, eagerly as he continued to tease me.

Baptista was something I had heard before on the wind’s carry, but while the familiarity was present I scooted it under the sandy rug beneath us. I wasn’t concerned with social positions, so long as he wasn’t concerned with mine. We were just two lusty souls in the middle of the shore, alone – and waiting ever patiently for one of us to crack. A sound of yearning came from deep within my chest as I gave him exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Your body thrusting in mine,”

The playful glint in my eye turned to mischievous, the pretty smile became a little more wicked, and I waited for him to do with me as he pleased.

code // art

you speak like constellations—

Baptista cannot help it—he laughs. Earnestly. The only women he has known to be so truly forward are those that are being paid for their services, and Amelia's honesty is as surprising as it is entertaining. This is hardly the best use of his time, considering the weight that Augustine has settled upon his shoulders, but Baptista has never been particularly good at saying no to fun.

And the potential of getting caught in the early morning hours on the beach, in the midst of throes of passion? That sounds delightfully entertaining to him.

"Well," he drawls casually, slinging a forepaw over her hips to drag her into the bulk of his chest, his lips close to her ear, "far be it from me to deny a lady what she wants." Still, true to his trade, Baptista toys with her, teasing his lips across her skin whilst his arm bands her to him, unyielding. He finds the places that make her writhe and gasp, drags his teeth across her flesh, winding them both up until his breath is coming in heavy huffs and his resolve snaps, finally giving them what they both want. It's only a moment of reprieve, a balm against his worries—but he will gladly take any distraction, and this one is particularly sweet.

fade to black

—but you're just a black hole

code & art