Frey
The air at the Mourn’s shrine grows heavy as if the weight of summer heat has returned suddenly. The windchimes still sing, but beneath their notes comes a flush of something else—warmth curling low in Kaisel's belly, a soft, inevitable pull of arousal that signals Frey’s arrival before their form resolves in front of him. They step into being without preamble, bare skin aglow, every line of their body shaped into the exact amalgam of desire Kaisel would least want to admit aloud. A smile curves their lips, wicked and amused as their gaze drops to the sundae spread like it’s an altar of indulgence.
"Well now," Frey drawls, crouching smoothly, their hand hovering over the melting chaos of caramel and cream. "Speed certainly can make or break things." The grin sharpens, innuendo dripping as thick as fudge. "Slow can be unforgettable, but not always in the way you might like."
They pluck up a spoon and dip it into one of the sundaes. Rather than offering it to Kaisel, Frey slides it between their own lips, closing around the metal with deliberate slowness. Sweetness bursts over their tongue, and Kaisel will taste it too—cold shock and sugar blooming on his own tongue as though he were the one licking at the spoon. When Frey pulls it free with a little flick of tongue along the edge, their smile is dazzling mischief. "In person is almost always better, hm?"
The spoon is pointed at him like a weapon, like a joke, before being discarded into the grass. Frey leans back lazily, plucking something unseen until their hand emerges with two tightly rolled scrolls of parchment bound together. They waggle them teasingly, eyes alight. "You went above and beyond my little sugar cube, so here’s your prize: you can lace your parchment with a little more temptation. Sound or scent." They roll their shoulders, the motion languid, the promise undeniable. "So which will it be?"
"Well now," Frey drawls, crouching smoothly, their hand hovering over the melting chaos of caramel and cream. "Speed certainly can make or break things." The grin sharpens, innuendo dripping as thick as fudge. "Slow can be unforgettable, but not always in the way you might like."
They pluck up a spoon and dip it into one of the sundaes. Rather than offering it to Kaisel, Frey slides it between their own lips, closing around the metal with deliberate slowness. Sweetness bursts over their tongue, and Kaisel will taste it too—cold shock and sugar blooming on his own tongue as though he were the one licking at the spoon. When Frey pulls it free with a little flick of tongue along the edge, their smile is dazzling mischief. "In person is almost always better, hm?"
The spoon is pointed at him like a weapon, like a joke, before being discarded into the grass. Frey leans back lazily, plucking something unseen until their hand emerges with two tightly rolled scrolls of parchment bound together. They waggle them teasingly, eyes alight. "You went above and beyond my little sugar cube, so here’s your prize: you can lace your parchment with a little more temptation. Sound or scent." They roll their shoulders, the motion languid, the promise undeniable. "So which will it be?"
