// Start a tiny riot //
Over. She can push him over. Walk up and down him if she wants, he's at her mercy and she frequently has none of that to offer.
She shimmies out of his hands with all the eventuality of trying to hold a wave to shore. His fingers trail after her, reluctant to lose the contact, then grasping for anything steady as her touch shivers down him—impossibly faint yet echoing through him like a tremor that might unseat him. He sucks in a breath the moment her knees hit the floor, reverent and defiant, and he aches for her in every way he never knew he could. The water she wears like a halo, the flash of her eyes from the bank of his hips, the heat of her mouth—every part of him braces with anticipation and arousal that strains against her hand.
The first touch of her tongue nearly folds him in half.
He leans back against the wall of the shower to keep himself upright as a guttural noise drags free of his chest. His head tips back against the tile, jaw slack, neck taut with the demand of holding still when every instinct begs him to move. As if understanding, her grip urges him forward, the encouragement tugging all the breath from his chest as he slowly meets her pattern and sinks against her fully.
"Fucks sake, Flora," he breathes, hoarse with want. One hand threads gently into the wet crown of her hair, not to guide, not to control—but to let her know he’s here, undone and unraveling by her whims alone. Every slide of her mouth over him, every flick of her tongue, cracks his composure further. His thighs tremble under her coaxing hands, the tension rising tight and bright and unbearable, until the whole world narrows to the feel of her, the look in her eyes, the pleasure she gifts so freely. He’s barely holding onto the edge of himself, and then she draws him deeper, seals her mouth around him with purpose, and that fragile edge crumbles.
"Flora—I'm gonna cum," his groan breaks open as his body locks. His hips stutter helplessly as he spills into her, every nerve seizing with a final jolt of intense sensation as his climax crashes through him. He slumps against the wall, blissfully wrecked, panting and incoherent for a beat. The hand still buried in her hair slips down to cup her cheek gently, or so he aims, but it flops around a bit boneless, "you're definitely gonna have to carry me out now, I don't think I can move after that." Marking himself a liar, his other hand reaches out for her—to draw her up, to bring her to him where he can cradle all of her. For that, he’ll always find the strength.
She shimmies out of his hands with all the eventuality of trying to hold a wave to shore. His fingers trail after her, reluctant to lose the contact, then grasping for anything steady as her touch shivers down him—impossibly faint yet echoing through him like a tremor that might unseat him. He sucks in a breath the moment her knees hit the floor, reverent and defiant, and he aches for her in every way he never knew he could. The water she wears like a halo, the flash of her eyes from the bank of his hips, the heat of her mouth—every part of him braces with anticipation and arousal that strains against her hand.
The first touch of her tongue nearly folds him in half.
He leans back against the wall of the shower to keep himself upright as a guttural noise drags free of his chest. His head tips back against the tile, jaw slack, neck taut with the demand of holding still when every instinct begs him to move. As if understanding, her grip urges him forward, the encouragement tugging all the breath from his chest as he slowly meets her pattern and sinks against her fully.
"Fucks sake, Flora," he breathes, hoarse with want. One hand threads gently into the wet crown of her hair, not to guide, not to control—but to let her know he’s here, undone and unraveling by her whims alone. Every slide of her mouth over him, every flick of her tongue, cracks his composure further. His thighs tremble under her coaxing hands, the tension rising tight and bright and unbearable, until the whole world narrows to the feel of her, the look in her eyes, the pleasure she gifts so freely. He’s barely holding onto the edge of himself, and then she draws him deeper, seals her mouth around him with purpose, and that fragile edge crumbles.
"Flora—I'm gonna cum," his groan breaks open as his body locks. His hips stutter helplessly as he spills into her, every nerve seizing with a final jolt of intense sensation as his climax crashes through him. He slumps against the wall, blissfully wrecked, panting and incoherent for a beat. The hand still buried in her hair slips down to cup her cheek gently, or so he aims, but it flops around a bit boneless, "you're definitely gonna have to carry me out now, I don't think I can move after that." Marking himself a liar, his other hand reaches out for her—to draw her up, to bring her to him where he can cradle all of her. For that, he’ll always find the strength.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
