the rumpus and ruckus are comfortable now
The salt glitters like his gaze as he tracks her deft movements, the lime a smiling invitation poised between her lips. He’s never wondered what it feels like to be a lime—until now.
Everyone else fades as he closes in on Calypso, nothing but a moth to her glow. His hand slides to her hip, fingers spreading over the shimmering fabric that keeps her skin just out of reach, eyes roiling with want as the space between them disappears. His focus dips to the swell of her chest, his free hand (still curled around the shot) brushing the edge of her dress, yet another barrier against him. Maybe not for long, he thinks with a devilish grin, bowing over her, wholly possessive, as his tongue claims the space between her breasts. The salt lies above, so he drags his tongue upward—lips tucking a kiss here, a nibble there—tracing a path of promise until he finally sweeps up the grains with a grin.
He tilts the shot back swiftly, the least interesting part of this ordeal now, and he slides the empty glass into the pocket of her dress, right at the point where her fantastic chest forms the bottom of a heart. Free now, his hand finds the base of her neck, threading through heat and hair. He tilts, pressing into the crook of her hips as he leans to claim the chaser. Flora's voice is the only one that seems to penetrate the serenity he's found among Caly, and a marginal tilt of his head occurs, a beat of a pause before he continues as he seems to listen to what his doppleganger is getting up to now that she's back in the main room.
Caly’s exquisite lips hover close, brushing his, and he falls back into her without hesitation. He tilts one edge of his mouth to hers—red against red—while his tongue slips in from the other side, coaxing the lime free so he can have every inch of her. He tucks the citrus into his cheek, savoring a long, uninterrupted taste of her smile, teeth grazing her bottom lip before he reluctantly pulls away.
His hand slips free of her neck, but he remains close, the heat of his liquor and her body steadying him. The wedge spins lazily in his mouth, a green grin curling his lips as the rind pops free, juice puckering sharp on his tongue. "You're delicious." His voice is low, thick with pooling lust.
Everyone else fades as he closes in on Calypso, nothing but a moth to her glow. His hand slides to her hip, fingers spreading over the shimmering fabric that keeps her skin just out of reach, eyes roiling with want as the space between them disappears. His focus dips to the swell of her chest, his free hand (still curled around the shot) brushing the edge of her dress, yet another barrier against him. Maybe not for long, he thinks with a devilish grin, bowing over her, wholly possessive, as his tongue claims the space between her breasts. The salt lies above, so he drags his tongue upward—lips tucking a kiss here, a nibble there—tracing a path of promise until he finally sweeps up the grains with a grin.
He tilts the shot back swiftly, the least interesting part of this ordeal now, and he slides the empty glass into the pocket of her dress, right at the point where her fantastic chest forms the bottom of a heart. Free now, his hand finds the base of her neck, threading through heat and hair. He tilts, pressing into the crook of her hips as he leans to claim the chaser. Flora's voice is the only one that seems to penetrate the serenity he's found among Caly, and a marginal tilt of his head occurs, a beat of a pause before he continues as he seems to listen to what his doppleganger is getting up to now that she's back in the main room.
Caly’s exquisite lips hover close, brushing his, and he falls back into her without hesitation. He tilts one edge of his mouth to hers—red against red—while his tongue slips in from the other side, coaxing the lime free so he can have every inch of her. He tucks the citrus into his cheek, savoring a long, uninterrupted taste of her smile, teeth grazing her bottom lip before he reluctantly pulls away.
His hand slips free of her neck, but he remains close, the heat of his liquor and her body steadying him. The wedge spins lazily in his mouth, a green grin curling his lips as the rind pops free, juice puckering sharp on his tongue. "You're delicious." His voice is low, thick with pooling lust.
Kaisel
everybody come hang, let's go out with a bang
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
