candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
Flora leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed loosely, her aqua eyes fixed unapologetically on Jack as he worked. The strength in his forearms was utterly captivating as she watched the muscles shifting under sun-kissed skin with every deliberate motion. His calloused fingers moved expertly over the dough, sprinkling flour and rolling it out into a perfect square, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the juxtaposition of him—wild and dangerous, with hands seemingly as accustomed to being covered in blood as covered in flour and sugar.
Her gaze lingered on the messy half-bun he’d thrown his hair into, a few loose strands brushing against his neck as he leaned over the counter. The sweatpants hung low on his hips, his movements casual but deliberate, and Flora was not above appreciating the way the soft fabric clung to him as he worked, her gaze trying to slip down the muscular v as if she might follow it like a drop of water.
The air was thick with the sweet-spiced scent of cinnamon and sugar, and Flora found herself smiling despite the heat still curling at her core from his earlier antics as much as his recent ones. She tilted her head, letting her curls fall over one shoulder as her gaze followed the deft motions of his hands slicing the dough into perfect spirals. "Mm," she mused aloud, her voice light but carrying just enough edge to let him know he hadn’t escaped her scrutiny. "You’re very...precise. I didn’t realize you had such an eye for detail." She did, of course, but she wouldn't have thought it would extend to baking.And if she were Feyre, she'd absolutely be thinking about painting him just like this.
Pushing off the counter, she stepped closer, her grin turning sly as she leaned in to inspect the little cinnamon rolls he’d laid out. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve done this before," she quipped, aqua eyes flicking up to meet his. Reaching out, she lightly brushed her finger over one of the rolls to swipe a bit of the cinnamon sugar that had spilled onto the counter. With deliberate slowness, she brought her finger to her lips, tasting it as her gaze held his. "A solid nine out of ten," she teased, licking the sugar from her fingertip. "I’d give you a ten, but I feel like you’d let it go to your head."
Her gaze lingered on the messy half-bun he’d thrown his hair into, a few loose strands brushing against his neck as he leaned over the counter. The sweatpants hung low on his hips, his movements casual but deliberate, and Flora was not above appreciating the way the soft fabric clung to him as he worked, her gaze trying to slip down the muscular v as if she might follow it like a drop of water.
The air was thick with the sweet-spiced scent of cinnamon and sugar, and Flora found herself smiling despite the heat still curling at her core from his earlier antics as much as his recent ones. She tilted her head, letting her curls fall over one shoulder as her gaze followed the deft motions of his hands slicing the dough into perfect spirals. "Mm," she mused aloud, her voice light but carrying just enough edge to let him know he hadn’t escaped her scrutiny. "You’re very...precise. I didn’t realize you had such an eye for detail." She did, of course, but she wouldn't have thought it would extend to baking.
Pushing off the counter, she stepped closer, her grin turning sly as she leaned in to inspect the little cinnamon rolls he’d laid out. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve done this before," she quipped, aqua eyes flicking up to meet his. Reaching out, she lightly brushed her finger over one of the rolls to swipe a bit of the cinnamon sugar that had spilled onto the counter. With deliberate slowness, she brought her finger to her lips, tasting it as her gaze held his. "A solid nine out of ten," she teased, licking the sugar from her fingertip. "I’d give you a ten, but I feel like you’d let it go to your head."
