the sleepover clause

Kaisel

Kaisel huffs as he scrubs ruthlessly at his face. The skin feels flawless in the wake of the mask's work, but he can't even appreciate it properly while his eyes roast in their sockets. He forces an eyelid open between a thumb and forefinger and lets the shower stream against the chemical burn directly; OSHA approved. Flora's outrage trembles down the hall, her humiliation a raw flame that licks against his own embarrassment. "Pretty sure anywhere you can lay down works, Majesty!" he roars back, the sound duller than hers, but no less full of ire. Fucking ridiculous she needs a four-post bed and mood lighting to finish and has the audacity to blame him for it.

The shower slams off as his eyes finally recover, though there's a bloodshot tinge to them that'll likely linger for a bit. Glitter pools around the drain and some of it still glints across his skin here and there as he fusses with his hair in the mirror again, a fresh towel on hand. Deciding moisturizing isn't worth seeing his friend playing her own fiddle again, Kaisel shimmies back into his golden toga and stalks back to his room, pointedly turning his head away from her's as he does.

He flops into bed facedown, a pillow gathered under his arms. Amid the pungent coconut aroma, Kaisel begs sleep to take him.

And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed