There's a flash of understanding in Skyler's eyes, following memories of a night that could've been her last had she been found wanting. Her fate had hung between the jaws of a primal ocean deity whose hunger would swallow the world if left unchecked.

Somehow, against all odds, she'd survived. But not without a price.

The thought would've been enough to assuage the flames of Skyler's temper, pulling her away from the edge and miraculously back in reasonable territory. A rare feat for certain, but one that happened on occasion. Unfortunately for the pilot, his next words reignite the flames as surely as gasoline.

You can see it in the way she braces herself for a fight, feet set into the sand like they've grown roots. In the flash of a mercurial gaze grown dark with the weight of a ferocious temper. Nostrils flare, and her cheeks grow a dusky pink.

"That an invitation for me to leave you alone, Vestri? Finally had enough?" It's a miracle that words get through her clenched jaw. "Too bad, huh, that I don't feel in a very giving mood right now." 

Which means that they're stuck in this Arceus-forsaken island. Skyler, of course, blames Angelo entirely. In her head, she finds a littany of far less PG-13 rated words to call him.

"As if playing mechanic is a better alternative." 

angelo vestri

☉

She doesn't realize it until it happens, and a shiver of satisfaction mingles with her own mercurial temper.

Not until Angelo faces her with the full bite of his glacial stare - and suddenly they're stripped of everything but furious heartbeats that echo too loud in their ears and blood that runs too hot in their veins.

And damn the man, it proves far more intoxicating than any liquor in the world.

When Skyler smiles, it is an ugly thing of a provocation. It's all sharp edges and promises of shipwrecks. I dare you, it beckons to him in a familiar siren song. Ruin me, it challenges.

She feels his resolve unravel, and pulls at the remaining threads like a virtuoso. 

If the urge to throttle him hadn't been so great, she would've shoved him against the seaplane and to hell with the rest.

"What I want," she says instead, with a voice that is only vaguely ragged, "is for you to get your head out of your ass so we can leave this Arceus-forsaken island behind."

A step is taken in his direction, crossing over invisible battle lines. Proud shoulders are pulled back to fill empty space. "Or are you too afraid?"

angelo vestri

☉

“Or can you really not do anything without me?”

She tastes him on her lips even though he's still inches apart. The mocking curve of his smile is as sharp a weapon as any, and she finds herself dragging a hungry gaze across its edge. Allowing herself to be cut because she doesn't know - doesn't care - to back off.

(Nevermind the way blood rushes to the surface in breathless fury, splashing pink across sun-kissed cheeks.)

There is nothing that he'd throw at her that she wouldn't be able to handle, but she thinks she'd like to watch him try. To quench her thirst on the taste of his frustration, to pit herself against the storm beneath his cerulean blues. 

To fuck it out of his system. Out of hers.

"I thought you - and your beloved toolbox - could fix this without any outside help? Least of all mine."  

She leans into the rush with all the reckless abandon of someone with a glorious disregard for consequences. 

Or too knowledgeable of them. 

Her foot fits nicely between his as she steps into his space, palm splayed over his abs, nails digging in. 

"Are you going to say please first, Angel?"

angelo vestri

☉

Skyler was a great many things. Nice was not even close to being one of them.

A frantic heartbeat thunders against the press of Angelo's fingertips as she's pushed against the plane, sun-baked metal warming the exposed skin of her thighs. Behind her, she feels the rough scratch of his jeans.

Her breath hitches, stalls. Turns shaky. Pupils are blown wide, darkness devouring the surrounding silver.

Fuck. Rational thoughts scatter away on an oceanic breeze. Fuck, Angel. Please.

In this moment, under the hungry reflection of blue eyes, she's a wild creature that thrives on the whisper of digits digging into her skin.

Teeth flash under the midday sun as she willfully pushes back against the challenge rasped against her neck with a languorous roll of her hips. 

"Right here, Angel?" Her voice is a smoky purr sharpened on the remnants of previous aggression. Her free hand reaches back, finding the sun-tanned curve of his neck and dragging nails upwards into his hair. Commanding him closer.

Jones seems to be mimicking her words, because he's wandered away to study the highly fascinating sticks that have washed ashore. 

"I thought you didn't care for this island." But Skyler very much cared for the tension growing thick and heavy between them, the stroke of corded muscles against her own. "Changin' your mind?"

angelo vestri

☉

Thwarted hunger follows Angelo all the way to the guts of his seaplane, silver and furious. He'd be able to feel the weight of it on the back of his neck, even if he doesn't look back to see the flared nostrils, or the thunderstorm washing ashore. 

Hell hath no fury like Skyler's hurt pride.

Minutes later the beach is one Skyler Dross short after she'd stalked, wide-stepped and white-knuckled, all the way into the treeline. Jones happily follows after her, tail wagging and driftwood stuck between deceptively powerful jaws. 

If a wave rises just high enough to steal Angelo's footing from under him, then that's certainly just a coincidence.

Daylight dwindles rapidly after that, creeping into the warm amber glow of sunset hours before either notices it. Not too far from Angelo's beached seaplane, a wisp of campfire smoke rises above the treeline, and the smell of cooked fish follows soon after, blown in his direction by an errant ocean breeze.

And while summer lingers ever closer on the horizon, the nights are still cold and biting. 

Legs crossed over each other, and leaning back against a nearby palm tree, Skyler nurses her trusty old flask. Fish juices drip into the campfire, sizzling as they make contact with the burning driftwood. 

The resulting aroma has Skyler - and Jones, who's utterly enamored with the glistening fish - salivating. 

angelo vestri

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"Jones did, he's a natural at it." The dog in question wags his tail furiously, both from the praise and from Angelo's little pat. What Skyler doesn't say is that she'd joined Jones in this endeavor and had ended up with nothing to show for it except drenched clothes - and bruised pride.

Much like her husband right now.

"What do you mean, what did I do?" From the other side of the flickering flames comes an indignant huff. "I put a stick through 'em and placed them over the fire." As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Of course, Skyler hadn't bothered with simple things like turning them around. So while one side was deliciously charred and dripping with fat, the other was still raw and moist. 

Cue Angelo, the food savior...?

The rolled up sleeping bag is caught by Skyler, who stares at it uncomprehendingly for a few painstaking seconds before a lopsided grin takes over. While the material itself isn't quite the same, it inspires memories of a far-off island some years ago. Of dancing under the stars and badly singing sea shanties around a campfire - not unlike this one.

Skyler does nothing to mask the softening of her expression then, annoyance peeling away as she takes the fabric between thumb and forefinger.

When she looks up at angelo vestri her eyes reflect the flickering campfire - alight with both amusement and the warmth of a low-simmering affection. "You sure about this, Angel?" Despite her words, she hugs the sleeping back closer to her body. "I might just wake up and decide to throw you into a lake."

Then, as if mirroring his peace offering, Skyler offers up her flask. "Not quite a whole bottle, but it's got tequila." 

angelo vestri

☉

"Turned them?" Skyler considers Angelo from under dark lashes, then turns the intensity of her focus towards the objects in question. Firelight casts shadows across her expression of careful consideration, brows pulled together. 

Slowly, as if waiting for some invisible ambush to spring from under her feet, Skyler stretches all the way to the skewered fish and rotates them slightly. Sizzling intensifies, as does the mouth-watering aroma of cooked fish.

"Huh."

Maybe dinner could be salvaged, after all.

As if celebrating the fact, her belly rumbles loudly over the crackling of flames. Skyler grumbles under her breath and materializes a Pecha berry from seemingly nowhere. It's haphazardly cleaned on the edge of her shirt before teeth rip into its soft flesh.

There's still space for their bruised prides between them, though it doesn't last long. Skyler had never been content to stay where it was safe; and Angelo, turbulent and sharp even now, was the perfect lure.

Skyler's still cleaning juices from her chin when the berry (or half of it) is dangled from calloused fingers like an offering - or is it an invitation? "In exchange for my flask back, Angel." 

Campfire-warmed skin brushes against his own, light as a feather. 

angelo vestri

☉