candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
The moment Kaisel moves, Flora doesn’t register it fast enough to react—not with her usual flair, not with the sort of serpentine grace that might have saved her from the sudden yank. Her spoon clatters to the floor with a sound that’s almost drowned out by her startled gasp as her leg’s seized, her body dragged off the counter like a caught fish reeled in fast and certain.
Her arms snap around his shoulders. Her legs coil tightly at his waist, all muscle memory from years of grappling and dancing through Torchline’s rougher alleys. She's not thinking, just moving—just bracing herself, pressing close to avoid the fall that never comes. And then she realizes—
Oh.
They don't fall. Not really. She's set down, yes, but he follows, chest to chest, the air between them so thin she could kiss it away. Her back meets the floor and he hovers, pinned above her with the kind of grin that should come with warning bells and fire hazards, and gods, if her heart wasn't already galloping from the surprise, it’s sprinting now from something far more dangerous.
Because she can feel him. The toga leaves nothing to the imagination, and certainly not when he's this close. Her breath catches in her throat, a hitch barely disguised by the flicker of her lashes as she meets his gaze. She’s tangled around him like a ribbon in a storm, her legs still twisted around his waist. "You absolute menace," she breathes, her voice low and uneven, one hand fisting briefly in the thin fabric over his shoulder, somehow both holding him at bay and urging him closer all at once. Frey’s lingering heat is still in her blood, pounding through her with a rhythm that urges her to forget every reason this is a bad idea. Her thighs flex just slightly against his hips, testing the tension, the closeness, the temptation; but it's Koa's fucking cousin.
Her tongue flicks across her bottom lip as her eyes narrow, sharp and glittering. "Just trying to save you from dying of blue balls."
Her arms snap around his shoulders. Her legs coil tightly at his waist, all muscle memory from years of grappling and dancing through Torchline’s rougher alleys. She's not thinking, just moving—just bracing herself, pressing close to avoid the fall that never comes. And then she realizes—
Oh.
They don't fall. Not really. She's set down, yes, but he follows, chest to chest, the air between them so thin she could kiss it away. Her back meets the floor and he hovers, pinned above her with the kind of grin that should come with warning bells and fire hazards, and gods, if her heart wasn't already galloping from the surprise, it’s sprinting now from something far more dangerous.
Because she can feel him. The toga leaves nothing to the imagination, and certainly not when he's this close. Her breath catches in her throat, a hitch barely disguised by the flicker of her lashes as she meets his gaze. She’s tangled around him like a ribbon in a storm, her legs still twisted around his waist. "You absolute menace," she breathes, her voice low and uneven, one hand fisting briefly in the thin fabric over his shoulder, somehow both holding him at bay and urging him closer all at once. Frey’s lingering heat is still in her blood, pounding through her with a rhythm that urges her to forget every reason this is a bad idea. Her thighs flex just slightly against his hips, testing the tension, the closeness, the temptation; but it's Koa's fucking cousin.
Her tongue flicks across her bottom lip as her eyes narrow, sharp and glittering. "Just trying to save you from dying of blue balls."
