#prob won't post this for a while cause i want to finish ichthyological studies first

[beskars]

once more; vander x reader

"One more?" Vander suggested when the kitchen was clean, nodding toward the bottle of tequila and the remaining limes on the counter. "Seems a shame to waste it." You hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Why not?" He reached for the bottle, pouring a single shot with practiced precision. From a small bowl, he selected a lime wedge, his large fingers handling the delicate fruit with surprising dexterity. "Have you ever done it properly?" he asked, his voice dropping to that lower register that never failed to send heat spreading through your body.

"Properly?" you repeated, watching as he reached for the salt shaker.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Salt, tequila, lime. In that order."

"I know the basic concept," you replied, though the truth was your experience with tequila had been limited to mixed drinks and the occasional hurried shot at overcrowded bars.

Vander seemed to read your uncertainty. "Let me show you," he offered, extending his left hand palm up, then turning it slightly to expose the space between his thumb and forefinger. With deliberate movements, he sprinkled salt onto the tender skin there.

"First, salt," he explained, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted the shot glass with his right hand. "Then tequila." He gestured toward the lime wedge on the counter. "Then lime. Cuts the burn."

Your throat felt suddenly dry as you watched him demonstrate, licking the salt from his hand with a swift motion before downing the shot and immediately biting into the lime wedge. The entire sequence was efficient, practiced, and somehow the most intensely sensual thing you'd ever witnessed.

"Your turn," he said, his voice rougher than usual as he poured another shot.

With slightly unsteady hands, you accepted the glass, then extended your left hand as he had done. Vander took your wrist gently, turning your hand to the proper position. The heat of his fingers against your skin made your pulse jump.

"Hold still," he murmured, reaching for the salt shaker.

The gentle cascade of salt crystals against the sensitive skin between your thumb and forefinger sent a shiver up your arm that had nothing to do with temperature. Vander's eyes met yours as he set the shaker aside, something darker than usual in their depths.

"Salt first," he reminded you, his voice so low it was almost a physical sensation.

You brought your hand to your mouth, maintaining eye contact as you licked the salt from your skin, the sharp taste dissolving on your tongue. Without breaking his gaze, you downed the shot, the tequila burning a path down your throat.

Before you could reach for the lime, Vander was there, holding the wedge between his fingers, offering it to you with an intensity that made your breath catch. You leaned forward, taking the lime directly from his hand, your lips brushing against his fingertips in a contact so brief it might have been imagined.

The tart juice flooded your mouth, cutting through the burn of the tequila as promised. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with unspoken possibility.

"Again," you said finally, breaking the silence. "But this time, I'll hold the salt for you."

Something flashed in Vander's eyes—surprise, desire, a momentary hesitation quickly overcome. He nodded once, pouring another shot with a hand that wasn't quite as steady as before.

You took the salt shaker, suddenly bold as you reached for his left hand. His palm dwarfed yours as you turned it slightly, exposing that same tender space between thumb and forefinger. The skin there was rougher than yours, marked by years of work and training, yet somehow vulnerable in its exposure.

With careful precision, you sprinkled salt onto his skin, hyper-aware of how his pulse had quickened beneath your touch. When you finished, you didn't immediately release him, instead running your thumb lightly over his wrist where his heartbeat was visible.

"Your turn," you echoed his earlier words, reaching for a fresh lime wedge.

Vander's eyes remained locked with yours as he brought his hand to his mouth, the motion somehow more deliberate than before. You watched, transfixed, as his tongue swept across his skin, collecting the salt in one fluid movement before he downed the shot with practiced ease.

When you offered the lime, you held it differently than he had—between your thumb and forefinger, but close enough to your own lips that he would have to draw very near to take it. The invitation was clear, even if unspoken.

For one breathless moment, Vander hesitated, his eyes darkening as they dropped to your lips, so close to the lime you offered. Then, with careful restraint, he took the lime from your fingers without letting his lips brush yours, though his fingertips lingered against your hand longer than strictly necessary.

The almost-contact hung in the air between you, vibrating with possibility even as he maintained that final, crucial distance.

"Once more," he suggested, his voice a rough whisper as he reached for the bottle. "Together this time."