C-4, I do that damage—My ego is titanic
He'd once told Flora he cries when he masturbates as a joke, but now it seems like Frey is trying to make it reality. The surge of desire running in amid the current of despair creates an oddly brackish pool of horny mourning. He exhales against its intrusion, gaze flicking up briefly at the telltale sign of Frey's arrival, but he has no desire to really look into the face they wear today.
Not usually one prone to wallowing when action can create results, Kaisel is still a bit lost about what action he ought to take next. He's got a few ideas still tossing back and forth in his mind like music on shuffle, not certain what he wants to listen to but positive what he doesn't the moment he hears it. This at least is something he can do, wrapping up something that still matters to him, it just didn't feel like nearly enough any more, and just serves as a reminder of what he could have avoided if he'd been quicker, smarter, better.
Maybe too lost on internal reflections and indecision to actually understand, Frey's words drift over uselessly to him. Speed sometimes yes, but sometimes no. Slow can be good, but also bad. Beneath it all, a sense of double meaning, serious and humorous. His 'brows pinch a bit, wondering if the god of sex just advised him on moderation when they arrive nude and wreathed in arousal every time, which seems to only be an extreme. Or is this...advice on fucking, since that seems to be the only thing he's capable of doing to his life lately?
The confusion cracks beneath the sudden spill of syrup sweetness and cold. This must be what bittersweet is at it's core, because the flare of sugar is surely there, but the residue of all that'd been said at the flower fields lingers still like a bitter taste he can't be free of. He swallows against the mixed flavor, the feel of it steadily fading as the spoon pulls free. "Mmhmm," he agrees, "but not always easy." The admittance is quiet around the idea, because in a fresh light he realizes he'd gone for easy. Not intentionally, not with that in mind, but in the end that's what it had been.
His attention does lift up from the tray and the sweep of Frey's legs and hands as the praise and the prize is offered. Still, he tries not to linger, snagging over gold and teal edges like Frey is a gorgon. "Really?" a touch of excitement creeps in, some sugar layering in over the bitter until it outweighs it. He considers the choice for a moment, lips moving silently as he seems to draw different conclusion and possibilities to whispered life. "Sound," he decides, because if in person is best and written is a hold over, then sound would fall solidly in-between, a voice memo instead of a call, which is better than a text.
Not usually one prone to wallowing when action can create results, Kaisel is still a bit lost about what action he ought to take next. He's got a few ideas still tossing back and forth in his mind like music on shuffle, not certain what he wants to listen to but positive what he doesn't the moment he hears it. This at least is something he can do, wrapping up something that still matters to him, it just didn't feel like nearly enough any more, and just serves as a reminder of what he could have avoided if he'd been quicker, smarter, better.
Maybe too lost on internal reflections and indecision to actually understand, Frey's words drift over uselessly to him. Speed sometimes yes, but sometimes no. Slow can be good, but also bad. Beneath it all, a sense of double meaning, serious and humorous. His 'brows pinch a bit, wondering if the god of sex just advised him on moderation when they arrive nude and wreathed in arousal every time, which seems to only be an extreme. Or is this...advice on fucking, since that seems to be the only thing he's capable of doing to his life lately?
The confusion cracks beneath the sudden spill of syrup sweetness and cold. This must be what bittersweet is at it's core, because the flare of sugar is surely there, but the residue of all that'd been said at the flower fields lingers still like a bitter taste he can't be free of. He swallows against the mixed flavor, the feel of it steadily fading as the spoon pulls free. "Mmhmm," he agrees, "but not always easy." The admittance is quiet around the idea, because in a fresh light he realizes he'd gone for easy. Not intentionally, not with that in mind, but in the end that's what it had been.
His attention does lift up from the tray and the sweep of Frey's legs and hands as the praise and the prize is offered. Still, he tries not to linger, snagging over gold and teal edges like Frey is a gorgon. "Really?" a touch of excitement creeps in, some sugar layering in over the bitter until it outweighs it. He considers the choice for a moment, lips moving silently as he seems to draw different conclusion and possibilities to whispered life. "Sound," he decides, because if in person is best and written is a hold over, then sound would fall solidly in-between, a voice memo instead of a call, which is better than a text.
Kaisel
I woke up in self-destruction mode—Watch me go, I'ma do it again
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
