flora
He says her name like a promise and a prayer, like it means something more in the dark, and gods it feels like it does. Flora smiles, soft and sure, her voice all breath and golden heat as she murmurs, "Yeah," in that same warm tone she’d used before, when he'd asked if they could keep this.
Her breath catches as he rolls her gently, the shift of weight more intimate than any press of skin. There’s no demand in the way he moves, no conquest in the way he fits their bodies together—just reverence, like she’s something sacred he intends to learn slowly. Flora, who has always been touched like a wildfire—controlled only by hands that meant to tame or consume—finds herself stunned by the way Kai leaves her free even as he holds her. Even Koa, with all his sweetness, had never quite managed slow; their heat had always been urgent, a rhythm too fast to think through. But here, now, Kai moves like time doesn’t matter, like this night could stretch into eternity if only they breathe carefully enough. And gods, she melts for it—melts for the chance to be desired like this, to be unrushed and adored and coaxed open as if every moment is worth savouring.
And gods, how her body answers. The heat that pools low in her belly unfurls like spilled sunlight through her limbs, winding into every curve, every nerve, until she feels incandescent from the inside out. It’s not the kind of fire that threatens to burn her up, but something steadier—an ember glow that promises warmth and ache and the kind of desire that lingers long after touch has ended. She draws in a breath, eyes half-lidded, lashes catching the low light, and wonders how something that feels like this—like stars winking alive beneath her skin—could ever be harmful. Flora would never let this become something that hurt Kaisel. Would never let it slip into shadow when every part of her wants only to hold him here, safe, and golden, and his.
Their noses brush, and Flora finds his smile in the dark. "You deserve to have more of your dreams become memories," she whispers against him, each word soft as a kiss itself. He deserved more than that of course—to have his dreams become forevers if that's what he wanted—but neither of them could control the future. There was every reason to think this won’t survive the weight of what-comes-after, of tangled loyalties and complicated hearts and lives that were never supposed to touch quite like this. But if it ends, at least they’ll have this. Not a fantasy held just out of reach, but something real they can both carry like treasure—tonight made memory instead of dream.
Her lips find his again with a sweetness that aches, a depth that quiets every thought not wrapped around him. The kiss lingers, deepens, until breath becomes a thing she can’t ignore. Flora pulls back only when she must, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining as her fingers slip beneath the hem of her shirt. It’s more motion than theatre—there’s no artifice in the way she peels it off and drops it carelessly to the side. He’s seen nearly everything already, but this isn’t about sight. She wants skin against skin. She wants to feel him, not in pieces, but all at once.
"Closer," she breathes, barely more than a word, more wish than command. Not harder, not faster, but closer. More. Her hand trails down the line of his torso, featherlight and coaxing, while her other sweeps along the curve of his arm where he holds himself steady above her. She presses lightly—not demanding, but encouraging. He doesn't have to hold back. She won’t shatter, certainly not tonight with him wrapped around her holding everything together in a way no one ever has before.
Her breath catches as he rolls her gently, the shift of weight more intimate than any press of skin. There’s no demand in the way he moves, no conquest in the way he fits their bodies together—just reverence, like she’s something sacred he intends to learn slowly. Flora, who has always been touched like a wildfire—controlled only by hands that meant to tame or consume—finds herself stunned by the way Kai leaves her free even as he holds her. Even Koa, with all his sweetness, had never quite managed slow; their heat had always been urgent, a rhythm too fast to think through. But here, now, Kai moves like time doesn’t matter, like this night could stretch into eternity if only they breathe carefully enough. And gods, she melts for it—melts for the chance to be desired like this, to be unrushed and adored and coaxed open as if every moment is worth savouring.
And gods, how her body answers. The heat that pools low in her belly unfurls like spilled sunlight through her limbs, winding into every curve, every nerve, until she feels incandescent from the inside out. It’s not the kind of fire that threatens to burn her up, but something steadier—an ember glow that promises warmth and ache and the kind of desire that lingers long after touch has ended. She draws in a breath, eyes half-lidded, lashes catching the low light, and wonders how something that feels like this—like stars winking alive beneath her skin—could ever be harmful. Flora would never let this become something that hurt Kaisel. Would never let it slip into shadow when every part of her wants only to hold him here, safe, and golden, and his.
Their noses brush, and Flora finds his smile in the dark. "You deserve to have more of your dreams become memories," she whispers against him, each word soft as a kiss itself. He deserved more than that of course—to have his dreams become forevers if that's what he wanted—but neither of them could control the future. There was every reason to think this won’t survive the weight of what-comes-after, of tangled loyalties and complicated hearts and lives that were never supposed to touch quite like this. But if it ends, at least they’ll have this. Not a fantasy held just out of reach, but something real they can both carry like treasure—tonight made memory instead of dream.
Her lips find his again with a sweetness that aches, a depth that quiets every thought not wrapped around him. The kiss lingers, deepens, until breath becomes a thing she can’t ignore. Flora pulls back only when she must, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining as her fingers slip beneath the hem of her shirt. It’s more motion than theatre—there’s no artifice in the way she peels it off and drops it carelessly to the side. He’s seen nearly everything already, but this isn’t about sight. She wants skin against skin. She wants to feel him, not in pieces, but all at once.
"Closer," she breathes, barely more than a word, more wish than command. Not harder, not faster, but closer. More. Her hand trails down the line of his torso, featherlight and coaxing, while her other sweeps along the curve of his arm where he holds himself steady above her. She presses lightly—not demanding, but encouraging. He doesn't have to hold back. She won’t shatter, certainly not tonight with him wrapped around her holding everything together in a way no one ever has before.
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
