Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
He breathes out a laugh at her remark, softly saying "sorry," before continuing the work. He only hesitates briefly at the groan that slips from her lips, both the carrot and the stick upon him. He stills as her fingers drift across his, hovering over the sealed damage without fear or shame. "I like them," he admits with a frail smile, only half aware of what hell she must have endured to earn them. In comparison his skin felt too unmarked, too soft and fresh, untested with pain and tenacity like hers had been. Even the one he'd worked through when they reunited, her healing touch had done too good of a job—all for the best, it wasn't one worth wearing like pride for the rest of his life.
They both seem to breathe and his eyes flick to hers over her shoulder. His 'brows furrow in confusion at first, because she can reach her damn legs. He almost says as much, almost tosses the bottle at those stupid eyelashes fluttering there, but he's certain if he does that she won't. So with a sigh, as if this is the hardest task she's ever given him, he drops to a crouch. Only when he looks up from the sunscreen on his hands to ascertain where to start, does he realize he's at the perfect height to regard the curve of her ass. In this new perspective it's impossible to deny the gravity it holds, and he finds himself unable to resist curling his hand at the point where the bottom of her shorts meets the skin of her leg. For the first time, he's grateful for her preference in short length.
Harmless, the word grinds unspoken between his teeth as he pulls his hand down from that tower of sin and lathers the sunscreen against the pillar of her leg to her heel, certain not to miss the tops of her toes either. Thinking perhaps this would be easier if he was blind, untempted by the gleam of sunlit skin that's normally covered, able to picture it belonging to someone other than his cousin's ex, his good friend, he pinches his eyes shut for the next leg. A good idea in theory, but more difficult in practice as he fumbles briefly to find the top of the other leg, fingers brushing ass instead of thigh. The bite of her jean against his skin has him jerking away though, huffing as he cracks an eye and sets his hands against the back of her leg and drawing down on the other one as he had before.
"Hows that?" he demands, glancing up for approval before rising back to his feet.
They both seem to breathe and his eyes flick to hers over her shoulder. His 'brows furrow in confusion at first, because she can reach her damn legs. He almost says as much, almost tosses the bottle at those stupid eyelashes fluttering there, but he's certain if he does that she won't. So with a sigh, as if this is the hardest task she's ever given him, he drops to a crouch. Only when he looks up from the sunscreen on his hands to ascertain where to start, does he realize he's at the perfect height to regard the curve of her ass. In this new perspective it's impossible to deny the gravity it holds, and he finds himself unable to resist curling his hand at the point where the bottom of her shorts meets the skin of her leg. For the first time, he's grateful for her preference in short length.
Harmless, the word grinds unspoken between his teeth as he pulls his hand down from that tower of sin and lathers the sunscreen against the pillar of her leg to her heel, certain not to miss the tops of her toes either. Thinking perhaps this would be easier if he was blind, untempted by the gleam of sunlit skin that's normally covered, able to picture it belonging to someone other than his cousin's ex, his good friend, he pinches his eyes shut for the next leg. A good idea in theory, but more difficult in practice as he fumbles briefly to find the top of the other leg, fingers brushing ass instead of thigh. The bite of her jean against his skin has him jerking away though, huffing as he cracks an eye and sets his hands against the back of her leg and drawing down on the other one as he had before.
"Hows that?" he demands, glancing up for approval before rising back to his feet.
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
