flora
Flora leans into his laughter like it’s sunlight, tipping her head back slightly as if to catch the sound on her skin and let it soak through to bone. She inhales it—greedy, fond, and full of that quiet delight only Kai seems to unearth from her in moments like these—and wrinkles her nose with the smallest, teasing shake of her head. “You should just take me up on the cards,” she murmurs, the idea feather-light and coaxing. But no sooner does the suggestion of later take root in her mind than her smile softens, blooming into something wistful. Because how can she even begin to imagine the afterwards, when the now is so golden it might collapse under the weight of wishing for more?
So she melts into him instead, cheek to chest, breath brushing skin. Lets the future curl into the back of her throat like the tickle of salt air—ever-present, but not spoken. Not yet.
As he stretches with that delicious, low groan, she slides her fingers up his sides, tracing over sex-warmed skin and muscle until her mouth finds his again. The kiss is slower this time, still heat-laced, but in the way of glowing embers tucked safely beneath the ashes—alive, sustaining, the kind you could rouse again come morning. She kisses him like she already knows she’ll want to, and gods does she know she’ll want to.
Flora’s about to tell him to shut up, because gods, that was absolutely a cheesy line—and she’d tease him for it too, if he didn’t kiss the protest right off her lips. And maybe that’s what does it. Maybe that’s the moment that breaks something open inside her, because suddenly all she wants is to stretch this evening into a thousand more. To take this soft, glowy version of him and press it like a flower between the pages of her favourite book, tucked somewhere she can always find it again.
Of course, their escapades have left more than heat tangled between their limbs, such that Kai is absolutely not wrong about their need to clean up. As the sweat cools and the air off the water drifts in with lazy insistence, she lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh that earns a grin of its own. “While skinny dipping is absolutely my preference,” she says, drawing out the syllables like silk, “and you can call me vain for it, but the thought of being out of your sight if we were to go up above? Hate it.” Her fingers draw slow patterns along his chest, languid and lingering. ”So, shower it is.”
Pushing herself upright takes more effort than she’ll ever admit—her thighs still trembling faintly, and not from any chill. She plants a hand behind her against the wall for balance, then extends the other toward him in offering. It’s a comically useless gesture, given the state of her limbs, but the point isn’t leverage. It’s contact; an excuse to keep him tethered as if she stops being fully herself anytime they part.
“The shower’s a tight fit for two,” she says with mock-innocence, glancing back over her shoulder with that smirk that always spells trouble. And then she tugs him after her, bare feet padding softly across the polished wood of the cabin floor until she pushes open a door and reveals the hidden alcove. Shells crunch softly beneath their steps, embedded like scattered treasure into the floor, and the walls are smoothed stone and moss, cool to the touch and softly glowing in the low light. Overhead, the rainshower bursts to live as Flora presses a button, its stream gentle but sure—like a summer storm that knows exactly how to soothe.
”Hope that won’t be a problem.”
So she melts into him instead, cheek to chest, breath brushing skin. Lets the future curl into the back of her throat like the tickle of salt air—ever-present, but not spoken. Not yet.
As he stretches with that delicious, low groan, she slides her fingers up his sides, tracing over sex-warmed skin and muscle until her mouth finds his again. The kiss is slower this time, still heat-laced, but in the way of glowing embers tucked safely beneath the ashes—alive, sustaining, the kind you could rouse again come morning. She kisses him like she already knows she’ll want to, and gods does she know she’ll want to.
Flora’s about to tell him to shut up, because gods, that was absolutely a cheesy line—and she’d tease him for it too, if he didn’t kiss the protest right off her lips. And maybe that’s what does it. Maybe that’s the moment that breaks something open inside her, because suddenly all she wants is to stretch this evening into a thousand more. To take this soft, glowy version of him and press it like a flower between the pages of her favourite book, tucked somewhere she can always find it again.
Of course, their escapades have left more than heat tangled between their limbs, such that Kai is absolutely not wrong about their need to clean up. As the sweat cools and the air off the water drifts in with lazy insistence, she lets out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh that earns a grin of its own. “While skinny dipping is absolutely my preference,” she says, drawing out the syllables like silk, “and you can call me vain for it, but the thought of being out of your sight if we were to go up above? Hate it.” Her fingers draw slow patterns along his chest, languid and lingering. ”So, shower it is.”
Pushing herself upright takes more effort than she’ll ever admit—her thighs still trembling faintly, and not from any chill. She plants a hand behind her against the wall for balance, then extends the other toward him in offering. It’s a comically useless gesture, given the state of her limbs, but the point isn’t leverage. It’s contact; an excuse to keep him tethered as if she stops being fully herself anytime they part.
“The shower’s a tight fit for two,” she says with mock-innocence, glancing back over her shoulder with that smirk that always spells trouble. And then she tugs him after her, bare feet padding softly across the polished wood of the cabin floor until she pushes open a door and reveals the hidden alcove. Shells crunch softly beneath their steps, embedded like scattered treasure into the floor, and the walls are smoothed stone and moss, cool to the touch and softly glowing in the low light. Overhead, the rainshower bursts to live as Flora presses a button, its stream gentle but sure—like a summer storm that knows exactly how to soothe.
”Hope that won’t be a problem.”
My house of stone, your ivy grows
And now I'm covered in you
And now I'm covered in you
