Skyler watches stars twinkle in the spaces between her splayed fingers as she raises them against the velvet expanse of sky. The crackling of the nearby fire bathes them in warm amber, pushing against the encroaching darkness with stubborn resolve. 

The eve of the end of the world finds Skyler heedlessly indulging in whatever slakes her greediness. Booze. Warmth. Freedom. Sex. Angelo.

From beneath dark lashes, a silver gaze drags itself languidly up Angelo's silhouette as he approaches, framed against the canvas of her fingers.

"And I'm the bad influence." Sammy is looking distinctly pink-hued. The captain idly wonders whether that is due to Figyberry properties or just the alcohol. Maybe both. "Reckon he'll be hungover tomorrow?"

A brief glance at her own arm reassures her that, at least for the moment, she's still her usual sun-kissed self. Nevermind the flushed cheeks and the liquor-tinted lips.

Sand granules stick to the back of her neck when she rises into a sitting position. A hand reaches out to her husband, eyes flicking to the bottle in his hand in silent request - or demand.

With Skyler, you could never really tell.

angelo vestri

☉

Dorado opens a malevolent yellow eye to watch Sammy's slow shuffle in his direction. Despite the initial disgruntled huff, and after a few reluctant seconds, the feline eventually makes space by his side for the Gulpin to rest.

Atalanta and Ankaa watch the whole spectacle from the nearby greenery, amused, the beginnings of what could be a nest craddling the two together. Junior snores loudly in-between.

By the fire, however, war is waged. Skyler's brows knit together in apparent displeasure at Angelo's lackluster response. A familiar tension pulls taut between them, far warmer than the crackling flames and the liquor in his possession.

Skyler has never been one to be denied; what would not be given could very well be taken.

And given the glint of challenge in his eyes, her husband was well aware of it. Expecting it, probably.

Well, who was she to deny him?

Her movements are deliberately languid when she twists to cage Angelo between her arms. Giving him all the time to move away. "I remember a night like this, long ago, Angel," is breathed along the line of his jaw, "remember what happened then?"

Then, too, he'd withdrawn something from her. She still remembers his expression vividly as she'd straddled his torso and taken the drink to her mouth. Proud. Victorious.

This time, however, when she lays claim to what is hers she does it by taking it directly from Angelo's lips.

angelo vestri

☉

She doesn't bother denying Angelo's statement, especially when his taste is a lingering taunt on her tongue. He pulls away to the sound of her annoyed whine turned breathy when nails dig into the back of her neck. 

Silver eyes peel open, darkened mercury alight with threat and flickering flame - hers and the fire's alike. 

"No." Skyler allows the provocation to slide down her spine like a caress, leisurely follows its trail to the too-smug curl of her husband's mouth. It looks far better, she knows, busy with far more pleasurable activities. 

She traces every inch of it with her eyes first, entranced, then with the rough surface of her thumb. She better give it something worthwhile to do.

Skyler offers no resistance when Angelo invites her to his lap. Sliding her legs onto either side of him is a natural thing, and caging him between the warmth of her thighs more so.

His brown locks are gilded amber by the nearby campfire, she notices, but it's his eyes that ensnare her.

She sees herself in them, or some part of herself he’d stolen for himself. Just like he did her Figyberry Liquor, and which he was purposefully keeping out of reach. Daring her to take it.

"I want the future, not the past." His. Hers. Theirs.

"Now, will you give me the bottle, Vestri?" Her teeth nip on the flesh of his bottom lip as she looms over him, casting a shadow on the pilot. "Or will I have to force you to heel?"

They both know where this is going.

angelo vestri

☉

The taste of Figyberry Liquor, when she takes it to her lips, has the sweet tang of victory. She takes her time with it, not knowing which pleases her more: the warmth that coats her tongue or the weight of Angelo's gaze while he remains beneath her.

Both. All. Skyler has never made an effort to curb her desires, greed and lust and pride intertwined in an unholy crescendo. Silver finds Angelo over the lip of the bottle, glowing brightly with a smug sort of satisfaction.

And she'd never apologize for it either.

A drop of liquor drops down her chin and Skyler wipes it off with the back of her hand. The other remains steadfast around the neck of the bottle. It seems, for all intents and purposes, that it wouldn't go back to Angelo anytime soon if Skyler had anything to say about it.

"Hmmm..." His question is considered with a thoughtful frown, marred only by a breathy sigh when his nails drag over the skin of her thigh. Unbidden, her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Her thighs tense.

"I have a whole fleet of ships," she starts, gaze dragged off towards the dark ocean beyond, "that sails the Hoennian seas in the name of Nautica." In our name, goes unspoken.

"Oh! And a cabinet full of tequila."

There's more, lots more. But it stays caged behind her lips as she looks towards her husband. Expectant. Waiting. 

angelo vestri

☉

"Kitchen tools?" Of all things?

Skyler blinks down at her husband, clearly flabbergasted by Angelo's choice. Even the bottle of Figyberry Liquor pauses midway to her mouth as she squints down at him. "You're spending too much time with Sammy."

Truth be told, Skyler's kitchen had never been much to write home about. Before Angelo's arrival it had seldom been used. Her cutlery then had consisted of two forks, one knife and a slightly bent spoon. While Angelo and Sammy had given it a bit of a makeover over the last few months - year? - cupboard space had also become somewhat of a hot commodity.

"I think we might have to get a bigger kitchen for that, Angel." She thinks nothing of the casually-spoken sentence, but the idea nestles into her brain regardless.

Her hand slides up the planes of Angelo's torso with deliberate slowness, basking in the warmth under the rough pad of her fingertips. She rests some of her weight on it as she drinks from the bottle. Pensive. Enjoying the pleasant shivers from Angelo's affections.

"But since we're on the subject, let's get a bigger house. Near the ocean." A pause, then the list continues. "On the beach, preferably. With plenty of space for pokemon to run around- and a dock."

A pause, then.

"And a big enough table for us, plus Dorado, Sammy, Razz Kingsman , Locke Jamison and my family."

angelo vestri

☉

“And you're spending too much time with tequila.” Touché, Angelo.

"I did absolutely nothing wrong. Ever," she remarks with a wry smirk that says the complete opposite. "'S not my fault that your kitchen utensils are so breakable- or easily misplaced." The fact that they're only breakable or misplaced when she uses them, and that Angelo himself has been a witness to this, is skillfully brushed aside. There was a whole spatula incident that was still tip-toed around whenever Sammy happened to be in the vicinity.

The true victim here.

While Skyler spins this vision for their future on the cusp of a world-ending event, Angelo wastes no time in taking her words and building onto them. Not even the heat at her back or the alcohol that warms her throat compares to the electric zap of possibility that builds up within.

Our beach sounds quite nice indeed.

"I like it." Skyler grins, straghtening her back as Angelo sits up. The enthusiastic movement nearly knocks the bottle into Angelo's head as she gestures with it. "Somewhere more private, away from the city."

If only she'd look around.

"Blue. It has to be blue." When the pilot wraps his fingers around the Figycove Liquor bottle, he'd find no resistance from Skyler. "And it has an outside shower and a side entrance. For, y'know, when you want to go for a swim." 

A pause, mischief unmistakably pulling at her lips.

"And, y'know, a playroom for the kids."

angelo vestri

☉

"Not a chance, Vestri."

Mischief lingers, adamant against a suspicious gaze that sees past her bullshit. That single moment of surprised stillness had felt entirely too satisfying - and it'd fed into the devilish curl of her lips, kept intimate and secretive between them.

Carefully curated just for the viewing pleasure of the pilot under her.

She should've seen his response coming. Should've expected it. And she does, sort of. Just not in this way, not when her eyes are helplessly drawn to the shape of his lips. Not when his hand reaches out to catch a stray curl and secure it behind her ear.

Skyler inhales sharply, shamelessly reveling in the thick tension between them. For the moment, the whole doomed world exists solely to serve as a backdrop to this moment. Honestly, it might as well not exist.

Her hand catches his, pressing it against the side of her face. Briefly, nails sink ever so slightly into the palm of his hand.

And then he opens his mouth.

"Definitely not a chance." A storm rolls over her expression, mercurial and temperamental. The captain slipping as passionately into belligerent as she does into amorous. Maybe, for Skyler, those two things aren't that far apart. 

The palm on his chest presses down, soon joined by another as she shoves him back against the sandy beach. Her words, when they whisper raggedly against the shell of his ear, carry within a threat. "I'm afraid this is non-negotiable, Angel." 

Or is it an invitation?

angelo vestri

☉