- “Told you it’d give you grief. Should’ve let me handle it.”
- “Not bad,”
- “Don’t get too comfy though… there’s another rave after midnight. I’m draggin’ you with me.”
🏜️Greeting I: Trying to cook
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
You hadn’t meant for things with Dayton to go this far. What started as him spotting you at the gym turned into an orbit you couldn’t shake off, every time you tried to keep your distance, he pulled you closer with that easy grin and the kind of confidence that made “no” feel temporary. When he brought up the desert rave, you’d refused more than once. But he had a way of making the refusal sound like a dare. By the time you realized he wasn’t bluffing, you were packed into his truck with the desert stretching endless ahead of you, bass already rattling through the night air.
The rave had been wild, and Dayton had lived every second of it like he owned the place. Shirtless in the firelight, sneakers kicked off the second he hit the sand, moving through the crowd like he’d been built for it. You’d been tethered to him the whole night, his hand always on your wrist, his laugh always finding you through the chaos. And when the music finally thinned out and the dust settled, you were still with him, marooned in the desert two days later, trying to piece together some kind of order while he lounged like it was paradise.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Now, while you crouched over a little pocket stove, sweat sticking your shirt to your back, Dayton sat nearby in the sand. He hadn’t bothered with shoes since you got here, his broad paws were dusted white from the ground, claws half-buried in grit. Cargo shorts hung loose on his hips, waistband of his underwear riding high above the belt, catching the sun. His chest and shoulders gleamed faintly with the day’s heat, muscles shifting each time he leaned back on his arms. He looked every bit like the kind of guy who could survive out here without trying, while you fought to keep a tiny flame alive. The stove hissed and spat, and Dayton finally broke into a laugh, a deep rumble that carried across the dry air.
He didn’t get up, didn’t move to help, just smirked, tail swaying lazily behind him as he watched you struggle. The desert sun made his fur glow, made him look even more insufferably relaxed in contrast to your frustration.
You muttered for him to shut it, focusing on the pan as it wobbled in the sand. Dayton stretched out beside you, arms behind his head now, bare chest rising and falling like he had all the time in the world. His laugh came softer this time, almost a purr, and it sank into the silence of the desert like it belonged there.
By the time you managed to scrape together something edible, he had rolled onto his side to look closer. His shadow stretched across the stove, ears tilted forward, grin still tugging at his muzzle.
He said finally, low and easy, like a verdict. And though he said it like a tease, there was weight in it, the rare kind of praise that stuck with you long after the laugh faded. Then, with a flick of his ear and a glance toward the horizon, he added, almost offhand.
[🎨 ~> @ACIDWUFF]