Honey wherever you go, I know
For one aching moment he feels suspended, waiting for the fall or the float. He imagines she'd duck away and ward him off, a harried laugh lifting in expert fashion to deflect all his advances to something that'll let him keep his pride nearly intact. She'll have realized this isn't what she wants, the markings on her a reminder of what she's leaving behind. He'll have read it all wrong, finding invitation in refusal.
The sound that parts from her sends him floating.
Reassurance cleaves through him, almost violent, a swell that shoves him deeper into the kiss. Every press of his mouth is his refusal for the thought that she could ever believe herself unwanted, that she could ever be too wrecked for him to take into his arms. Each one she returns, the way her body moves with him, it's every trembling answer he needs.
The only time he relents is for the sharp inhale of shock, stiffening as cold water sputters against the heat of her. She drives it away with her lips, with her hands, with her need that he answers in full. As she rises up into him, his hands drop lower, fingers flexing against the fabric at her hips and curling beneath the curve of her ass. He grips her, lifting her higher into him, just barely—a small stint in air jail. He tilts, locking her into the line of his belt, pulling in each of her sounds like they're air.
One hand abandons its grasp to hook against the line of her soaked panties and drag them down, rough and insistent, the end result lopsided and bunched against the press of his thigh. His fingers slip between them to find her, stroking, pressing, circling against her clit to set the word mine into every trembling nerve. He breaks away from her tongue, sliding over her lips with reluctance, head tilting to hers. "You're everything I want, Flora. Always," he breathes against her the edge of her mouth, voice low but unshakable.
This won't be the end, he's sure, but it's a damn good place to start. A place to begin dismantling the rot, beam by beam, rebuilding her with every day he loves her. He'd once thought her unmarred by such ruin, her confidence untouchable and bright, but he's since seen the dark and how it sits like a blemish on her. Moments where she dims herself for the sake of others, where she traces back the path of her choices like the starting point had always been so clear. Times where she has not been loved long enough or held tight enough, and for it she has wept and broken just to dry and reseal over and over again. He's holding onto her now, with everything he's got.
The sound that parts from her sends him floating.
Reassurance cleaves through him, almost violent, a swell that shoves him deeper into the kiss. Every press of his mouth is his refusal for the thought that she could ever believe herself unwanted, that she could ever be too wrecked for him to take into his arms. Each one she returns, the way her body moves with him, it's every trembling answer he needs.
The only time he relents is for the sharp inhale of shock, stiffening as cold water sputters against the heat of her. She drives it away with her lips, with her hands, with her need that he answers in full. As she rises up into him, his hands drop lower, fingers flexing against the fabric at her hips and curling beneath the curve of her ass. He grips her, lifting her higher into him, just barely—a small stint in air jail. He tilts, locking her into the line of his belt, pulling in each of her sounds like they're air.
One hand abandons its grasp to hook against the line of her soaked panties and drag them down, rough and insistent, the end result lopsided and bunched against the press of his thigh. His fingers slip between them to find her, stroking, pressing, circling against her clit to set the word mine into every trembling nerve. He breaks away from her tongue, sliding over her lips with reluctance, head tilting to hers. "You're everything I want, Flora. Always," he breathes against her the edge of her mouth, voice low but unshakable.
This won't be the end, he's sure, but it's a damn good place to start. A place to begin dismantling the rot, beam by beam, rebuilding her with every day he loves her. He'd once thought her unmarred by such ruin, her confidence untouchable and bright, but he's since seen the dark and how it sits like a blemish on her. Moments where she dims herself for the sake of others, where she traces back the path of her choices like the starting point had always been so clear. Times where she has not been loved long enough or held tight enough, and for it she has wept and broken just to dry and reseal over and over again. He's holding onto her now, with everything he's got.
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
