flora
Flora meets his grin with her own sun-laced smirk, brows lifting like sails catching wind. "Oh, sure," she croons. "You’ve got game. It’s just, y’know, tic-tac-toe." Her smile widens, bright and teasing, but there’s warmth beneath it, affection carved into every mocking syllable like a love note passed in class.
The smack of sunscreen against her back jolts her, not unpleasantly, and she bursts out laughing. "Gods," she huffs through a grin, "you're supposed to warn the girl before you do that." But the amusement fades to something quieter as his hands begin to move, the cool drag of lotion quickly giving way to heat where his palms chase across her skin.
She feels her breath hitch almost immediately. Her instinct is to arch back into his touch, like a cat curling into warmth, or a flower tracking the sun. The fingers that once gathered her curls begin to loosen, her body too focused now on sensation to maintain the pretense of nonchalance. But they’d said harmless. Harmless. And if this is harmless, she thinks, then she’ll let herself enjoy it. She’ll let herself want, because it feels good and it's harmless.
So when a soft sound escapes her lips—a low, breathy moan—it’s not meant to entice, not really. It just is; the product of warmth and touch and the way Kaisel’s fingers seem to know, without knowing, exactly how to soothe the parts of her she hadn’t realized needed tending.
And then he brushes over the scar.
Her hand comes around on instinct, curling around one hip until her fingertips find one of the old exit wounds. She inhales, shallow, her fingers brushing lightly against his own as they meet near the jagged edge of her skin. "They still ache sometimes," she says quietly, not looking back at him, fighting back the urge to scratch her fingers across the gnarled skin.
Then, suddenly lighter again, she tilts her head just enough to glance at him, her teasing smile slipping easily back into place like armour polished to a gleam. "Don’t forget the backs of my legs," she purrs, lashes fluttering over her shoulder.
The smack of sunscreen against her back jolts her, not unpleasantly, and she bursts out laughing. "Gods," she huffs through a grin, "you're supposed to warn the girl before you do that." But the amusement fades to something quieter as his hands begin to move, the cool drag of lotion quickly giving way to heat where his palms chase across her skin.
She feels her breath hitch almost immediately. Her instinct is to arch back into his touch, like a cat curling into warmth, or a flower tracking the sun. The fingers that once gathered her curls begin to loosen, her body too focused now on sensation to maintain the pretense of nonchalance. But they’d said harmless. Harmless. And if this is harmless, she thinks, then she’ll let herself enjoy it. She’ll let herself want, because it feels good and it's harmless.
So when a soft sound escapes her lips—a low, breathy moan—it’s not meant to entice, not really. It just is; the product of warmth and touch and the way Kaisel’s fingers seem to know, without knowing, exactly how to soothe the parts of her she hadn’t realized needed tending.
And then he brushes over the scar.
Her hand comes around on instinct, curling around one hip until her fingertips find one of the old exit wounds. She inhales, shallow, her fingers brushing lightly against his own as they meet near the jagged edge of her skin. "They still ache sometimes," she says quietly, not looking back at him, fighting back the urge to scratch her fingers across the gnarled skin.
Then, suddenly lighter again, she tilts her head just enough to glance at him, her teasing smile slipping easily back into place like armour polished to a gleam. "Don’t forget the backs of my legs," she purrs, lashes fluttering over her shoulder.
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
