// Start a tiny riot //
He lifts his hands as she starts to turn, releasing her into her devious motion. There’s a half-smile edging in, already bracing for trouble, but the moment she presses against him, hot and deliberate, all pretense burns away. Her warmth cuts through the steam, practically scalding where she fits against him, and his body answers hers without hesitation. He can’t stop watching her, helpless to every motion—the bow of her spine, the soap trailing across the curves he's only begun to memorize, the way that damn smile blooms like she knows exactly what she’s doing. He loves it. All of it. All of her. He’s hardening again before he can stop it, the heat curling low and heavy, pulsing through him with fresh insistence.
He groans deeply as his hands bracket her hips and he steps flush to her. There’s no pretending now—not when she fits against him like this, not with the thought of what they could do here playing through his mind. "You are impossible," he mutters, voice frayed at the edges, hands gliding up her sides with slow, reverent pressure. He cages her gently against the wall, arms bracing on either side. His mouth finds the curve of her neck, kissing his way up slow and certain until he gets to the place just beneath her ear. There he sets his teeth against her skin with the faintest reprimand.
His forehead rests against hers as he drags in a breath that does absolutely nothing to calm him. "Gods, Flora," he breaths, sealing his mouth to hers in a kiss that's all restraint and aching appreciation, full of everything he wants but won't take right now. Breaking it takes effort, his jaw tightening with the resistance. "How dare you make me the responsible one here," he accuses with a harried grin, voice rough with the want that has already come roaring back. "We can barely stand. We are not going to die naked and slippery and end up the world’s worst cautionary tale."
He pulls away with all the struggle of a bird in a windstorm, slouching against the nearest wall as he reaches for the soap again. He begins to wash himself with the slow inattention of someone thoroughly distracted by the woman just inches away who's trying to ruin them both.
He groans deeply as his hands bracket her hips and he steps flush to her. There’s no pretending now—not when she fits against him like this, not with the thought of what they could do here playing through his mind. "You are impossible," he mutters, voice frayed at the edges, hands gliding up her sides with slow, reverent pressure. He cages her gently against the wall, arms bracing on either side. His mouth finds the curve of her neck, kissing his way up slow and certain until he gets to the place just beneath her ear. There he sets his teeth against her skin with the faintest reprimand.
His forehead rests against hers as he drags in a breath that does absolutely nothing to calm him. "Gods, Flora," he breaths, sealing his mouth to hers in a kiss that's all restraint and aching appreciation, full of everything he wants but won't take right now. Breaking it takes effort, his jaw tightening with the resistance. "How dare you make me the responsible one here," he accuses with a harried grin, voice rough with the want that has already come roaring back. "We can barely stand. We are not going to die naked and slippery and end up the world’s worst cautionary tale."
He pulls away with all the struggle of a bird in a windstorm, slouching against the nearest wall as he reaches for the soap again. He begins to wash himself with the slow inattention of someone thoroughly distracted by the woman just inches away who's trying to ruin them both.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
