// Start a tiny riot //
He wants every kiss she will give. The cautious ones, that press in gentle and slow. The teasing ones that skim and entice. The needy ones, that can barely linger before the press in elsewhere. Long, wet, deep, brief—he’ll catalogue them all, each one unique as a snowflake in the snowfall of Flora’s affection.. It's one such kiss now that he's keeping, a lazy smile spreading beneath it as her words land with that familiarly smug taunt. "Making sure I don't wake up is more like it," he chuckles, lighter than usual with all the bliss that's attempting to make him float.
The towel smacks against his chest and he barely catches it in time, still feeble from the haze of her touch. He drags it half-heartedly over himself, more autopilot than an attempt at drying. He holds it around his lower half as he watches her saunter away, still dripping, a trail of steam and devastation left in her wake. He exhales a half-laugh, completely enthralled by her. He follows, her beckoning hardly necessary. He already told her, he'd go wherever she went.
He pauses back at the doorway, taking in the sight of her sprawled on the bed again, and though it's the same night it feels like a lifetime ago that he'd last been here and found security in the drape of her room, the promise of her presence. That's still plenty, for him, but the euphoria of this version, where she's laid bare on the bed, inviting him to her completely, it's undeniable. He tosses the towel aside and sinks in beside her, grabbing her arm and holding it along his as he positions himself behind her. He nestles in against the sheets and pillows, tugging her back to his chest, fitting her in against all the spaces of his body while he take their linked arms and folds them across her front, bracing along her chest.
He exhales against her hair, utterly content—maybe this is already home. He presses one last kiss to her shoulder in goodnight before the quiet closes around them like a second sheet—breath slowing. "Sweet dreams, Flora," he murmurs, stifling a yawn as sleep finally claims him—swift and full, with her warmth tucked into every breath.
The towel smacks against his chest and he barely catches it in time, still feeble from the haze of her touch. He drags it half-heartedly over himself, more autopilot than an attempt at drying. He holds it around his lower half as he watches her saunter away, still dripping, a trail of steam and devastation left in her wake. He exhales a half-laugh, completely enthralled by her. He follows, her beckoning hardly necessary. He already told her, he'd go wherever she went.
He pauses back at the doorway, taking in the sight of her sprawled on the bed again, and though it's the same night it feels like a lifetime ago that he'd last been here and found security in the drape of her room, the promise of her presence. That's still plenty, for him, but the euphoria of this version, where she's laid bare on the bed, inviting him to her completely, it's undeniable. He tosses the towel aside and sinks in beside her, grabbing her arm and holding it along his as he positions himself behind her. He nestles in against the sheets and pillows, tugging her back to his chest, fitting her in against all the spaces of his body while he take their linked arms and folds them across her front, bracing along her chest.
He exhales against her hair, utterly content—maybe this is already home. He presses one last kiss to her shoulder in goodnight before the quiet closes around them like a second sheet—breath slowing. "Sweet dreams, Flora," he murmurs, stifling a yawn as sleep finally claims him—swift and full, with her warmth tucked into every breath.
Kaisel
// Stop being so goddamn quiet //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
