Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
He laughs at the idea she suggests, because well it isn't bad, but gods no the idea of Flora helping wingman for him is terrifying. "What makes you think I need a star pickup line to help me out?" he quips with profound ego, casting her a dazzling smile over his shoulder as he finished ascending. "I've got game." Just don't ask Rebecca about it back in Stormbreak. He's still finding some of his clothes along the street corner where she'd chucked them out his window. They'd only been dating three weeks, and one week of that he'd spent in Torchline with Flora, which apparently was all the reason she was upset with him and took it out on his shit. Lunatic.
The sunscreen he's squeezing into his hand splurts out unexpectedly as she slides out of her cotton shirt, each delicate dip and curve of her revealed starkly and ready for his gaze. Though he half expected it, thought perhaps he could prepare for it, the sight of her like that brings back each damned moment of forbidden desire like a dog that won't stop biting. The clench of his fist against the bottle, a physical release for those reckless thoughts, has his palm bathing in excess cream. He notices and eases his death grip with a grimace.
He exhales, steeling himself as she glances over at him, a sunbeam of temptation that he cannot blame Frey for this time. "Shut up," he huffs, and smacks his lathered palm against the middle of her back like he might squish each harmless urge beneath it. His hand glides easily across the slope of her skin, skating on the pale lotion, and like a painter preparing a canvas he pulls the color across her with intentional strokes. It's easy at first, when he can smother her under the cream, a wall that separates him from the truth of her exposed body being right there. As it rubs in though, he finds himself needing to swallow, the burnished glow her tan revealed with each doubled-up pass. He could have stopped then, should have stopped then, but as if recovering her image from ruined clay his fingers continue to press against the contours of her back. His pulse is loud in his ears as he swipes the lotion near the edge of her shorts, and its careful as he winds across the span of her scar, a finger trailing off its knotted edge with tenderness.
The sunscreen he's squeezing into his hand splurts out unexpectedly as she slides out of her cotton shirt, each delicate dip and curve of her revealed starkly and ready for his gaze. Though he half expected it, thought perhaps he could prepare for it, the sight of her like that brings back each damned moment of forbidden desire like a dog that won't stop biting. The clench of his fist against the bottle, a physical release for those reckless thoughts, has his palm bathing in excess cream. He notices and eases his death grip with a grimace.
He exhales, steeling himself as she glances over at him, a sunbeam of temptation that he cannot blame Frey for this time. "Shut up," he huffs, and smacks his lathered palm against the middle of her back like he might squish each harmless urge beneath it. His hand glides easily across the slope of her skin, skating on the pale lotion, and like a painter preparing a canvas he pulls the color across her with intentional strokes. It's easy at first, when he can smother her under the cream, a wall that separates him from the truth of her exposed body being right there. As it rubs in though, he finds himself needing to swallow, the burnished glow her tan revealed with each doubled-up pass. He could have stopped then, should have stopped then, but as if recovering her image from ruined clay his fingers continue to press against the contours of her back. His pulse is loud in his ears as he swipes the lotion near the edge of her shorts, and its careful as he winds across the span of her scar, a finger trailing off its knotted edge with tenderness.
It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor
It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
