Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
"Flora!" he admonishes, choking out a laugh because what!?. "Pretty sure that'd be an 11/10," he considers thoughtfully, "Or maybe a 12, 11 is just a happy, no ending."
Then it comes, and much like the exposure of her tits yet again, he expects it, and is powerless to actually endure it. His skin shivers away from the drips of sunscreen that splash like abstract design across his back. He tenses and squirms, and has half a mind to reach back behind him and toss the bottle overboard as hard as he can. She does it for him though, albeit with much less gusto, but the slap of her hand clear across the middle of his back is no improvement. He jerks forward, jaw clenching against the cool splatter of lotion sent scattering all along his bare skin. It had been a poor choice of words, he realizes now, but there's no take-backsies if he has any hope of saving a modicum of face.
Expecting her hands to remain along the expanse of his back, the only place he actually needs her help with, he's surprised when her fingers instead coast along the edges of his ears. Sensitive in an unexpected manner at such delicate, atypical touch, the hairs along the back of his neck lift up, goosebumps racing across his skin. The feeling of her pressed against him forces his eyes shut, a deep breath brought in and held, like she's about to have him walk the plank instead of reaching up on her tiptoes to finish his ears. Fuck, he needs to get a grip. He can't be reduced to such juvenile weakness. This is Flora he reminds himself—it's harmless. An accident, most likely, in this case.
His breath spins out, an audible quiet as she returns to her heels and winds the cream down his spine. Her hands are masterful in a different manner as they knead and roll ache and tension from him in deliberate design. With each swipe of her palm and press of her finger, more of him seems to melt under her, and his head sinks forward in surrender to her touch. The hunger that curls up low in his gut can appreciate what more her deft hands might do, what else she could unwind, but he wrestles those ideas away as he forces himself to think of sand-covered toes instead—a distraction to avoid any strain against the front of his shorts.
Under Flora's hand, what's taut soon turns supple, and Kaisel exhales deeply, peacefully. That is, until she lingers at the edge of his swim trunks, her question drawing a glance over his shoulder at her. "I think I'd need more than one sunning to fix that," he laughs, and steps away from the heat of her with an appreciative smile, feet images only able to take him so far with the threat of her behind him. "Perfect, thanks Flo-ro, now let's lay out before the sun is gone," he says as he spreads out a towel. "Don't forget to do your front," he reminds as he plops down, looking pointedly at the bottle she'd tossed.
Then it comes, and much like the exposure of her tits yet again, he expects it, and is powerless to actually endure it. His skin shivers away from the drips of sunscreen that splash like abstract design across his back. He tenses and squirms, and has half a mind to reach back behind him and toss the bottle overboard as hard as he can. She does it for him though, albeit with much less gusto, but the slap of her hand clear across the middle of his back is no improvement. He jerks forward, jaw clenching against the cool splatter of lotion sent scattering all along his bare skin. It had been a poor choice of words, he realizes now, but there's no take-backsies if he has any hope of saving a modicum of face.
Expecting her hands to remain along the expanse of his back, the only place he actually needs her help with, he's surprised when her fingers instead coast along the edges of his ears. Sensitive in an unexpected manner at such delicate, atypical touch, the hairs along the back of his neck lift up, goosebumps racing across his skin. The feeling of her pressed against him forces his eyes shut, a deep breath brought in and held, like she's about to have him walk the plank instead of reaching up on her tiptoes to finish his ears. Fuck, he needs to get a grip. He can't be reduced to such juvenile weakness. This is Flora he reminds himself—it's harmless. An accident, most likely, in this case.
His breath spins out, an audible quiet as she returns to her heels and winds the cream down his spine. Her hands are masterful in a different manner as they knead and roll ache and tension from him in deliberate design. With each swipe of her palm and press of her finger, more of him seems to melt under her, and his head sinks forward in surrender to her touch. The hunger that curls up low in his gut can appreciate what more her deft hands might do, what else she could unwind, but he wrestles those ideas away as he forces himself to think of sand-covered toes instead—a distraction to avoid any strain against the front of his shorts.
Under Flora's hand, what's taut soon turns supple, and Kaisel exhales deeply, peacefully. That is, until she lingers at the edge of his swim trunks, her question drawing a glance over his shoulder at her. "I think I'd need more than one sunning to fix that," he laughs, and steps away from the heat of her with an appreciative smile, feet images only able to take him so far with the threat of her behind him. "Perfect, thanks Flo-ro, now let's lay out before the sun is gone," he says as he spreads out a towel. "Don't forget to do your front," he reminds as he plops down, looking pointedly at the bottle she'd tossed.
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
