Kaisel
He snorts in protest at the imagery she crafts for him. "When you said clothes were optional? I opt for them, on me." She isn't getting out of this. He'll never leave her house if this is all he has to wear, and then she'll have to deal with him all the time, like some gaudy grouchy roommate.
He clutches his heart as she wounds the last dregs of his pride by going after his rank. His cry for mercy went unheard, it seemed. "Give me a monster over a wicked woman any day," he mutters in response, folding his arms at the sweet innocence she tries to portray as she rests against her knees. He sees the chip coming and prepares, but it doinks off his lip, a small bite and an absence of sweetness.
He watches her swinging legs, predatory for a moment as he considers. He lets the moment slide, focusing instead on her bullshit. "First of all," he drawls, the bad taste of his defeat still bitter on his tongue. "Let's not pretend like you don't have an outfit somewhat like this in your crow's nest." He tilts his head slightly towards the stairs, as if implying the second floor is the rookery of her wardrobe. "Second of all, no one would run in this. It'd chafe and you know it." He rolls his eyes at her ridiculousness, huffing, still a bit bent out of shape about her tricks.
Her leg swings away from the counter again and his eyes are on it in an instant. His hands are not long thereafter and he reaches to grab her leg, to hoist her off the counter and towards him with one solid yank. His chest, visible with his exposed shift, will take her weight if he succeeds. She'll be so light, nothing like the mass of the men he grapples with in training, so all it'll take is some easy foot work to spin and set her back flat on the ground, pinned beneath him. He can't out joke her right now, and he's got lesser spirits on his side, so he'll settle for the last victory he might have over her, his training, and the surprise. She's no freshly sprung flower, she could probably cut his head off between her thighs, to be honest, but it's a risk he's willing to take just to see the fucking look on her face.
A scoff through it all, barely heard above his world-eating grin, "I'm not gonna blow a load in your fucking bathroom Flo-ro, relax."
He clutches his heart as she wounds the last dregs of his pride by going after his rank. His cry for mercy went unheard, it seemed. "Give me a monster over a wicked woman any day," he mutters in response, folding his arms at the sweet innocence she tries to portray as she rests against her knees. He sees the chip coming and prepares, but it doinks off his lip, a small bite and an absence of sweetness.
He watches her swinging legs, predatory for a moment as he considers. He lets the moment slide, focusing instead on her bullshit. "First of all," he drawls, the bad taste of his defeat still bitter on his tongue. "Let's not pretend like you don't have an outfit somewhat like this in your crow's nest." He tilts his head slightly towards the stairs, as if implying the second floor is the rookery of her wardrobe. "Second of all, no one would run in this. It'd chafe and you know it." He rolls his eyes at her ridiculousness, huffing, still a bit bent out of shape about her tricks.
Her leg swings away from the counter again and his eyes are on it in an instant. His hands are not long thereafter and he reaches to grab her leg, to hoist her off the counter and towards him with one solid yank. His chest, visible with his exposed shift, will take her weight if he succeeds. She'll be so light, nothing like the mass of the men he grapples with in training, so all it'll take is some easy foot work to spin and set her back flat on the ground, pinned beneath him. He can't out joke her right now, and he's got lesser spirits on his side, so he'll settle for the last victory he might have over her, his training, and the surprise. She's no freshly sprung flower, she could probably cut his head off between her thighs, to be honest, but it's a risk he's willing to take just to see the fucking look on her face.
A scoff through it all, barely heard above his world-eating grin, "I'm not gonna blow a load in your fucking bathroom Flo-ro, relax."
And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
