The flask remains frustratingly out of reach, no matter how much she stretches or struggles against the hand on her abdomen. She's all too aware of the press of it on her skin, as she is of the words breathed over the skin of her neck - silk-covered provocations that barely hide the teeth underneath.

Skyler balances herself on the warmth of Angelo's lap, looking less like a coy seductress and more like a wild thing that would as soon tackle him to the ground just to eat him up. Which, truth be told, might not be entirely out of the question. She still tracks the flask with razor-sharp intent, at least until he speaks.

Then he becomes the sole recipient of her undivided attention.

"What, and miss the moment I'd be able to tell you 'I told you so'?" She had revelled in Angelo's sulky walk of shame as he entered her makeshift camp. It'd brought her far more satisfaction, and amusement, than any of the contents in her flask.

Her teeth are a scythe-like shape in the gloom. "Also, me and Jones were getting hungry."

There's more to it than that, of course. Skyler would never have left Angelo behind, though the temptation had been there. Unspent tension had followed her all throughout the afternoon and long into the evening, poking at the edges of her temper. 

It breaches the surface now, flashing across a silver stare.

Even with rough digits stroking dangerously close to the desire pooling low in her belly, prompting half-lidded eyes and a languid relaxation, she makes no motion to follow through. The proud slant of her jaw catches the firelight as she looks down at him.

"My flask, Angel."  

angelo vestri

☉