Flora
For all the downsides of fucking someone who isn't a telepath, there are benefits, like the fact that Kaisel can’t feel the way surprise skims down Flora's spine like sunlight through a wave. The way her nerves light up, one by one, as his hands settle with too much certainty to be accidental. If he could, he might be insulted. Not because she doesn’t want this—gods, she wants this—but because she hadn’t known to expect it from him. The last time had been a spark, reckless and tentative and dizzying. This is something else entirely, born not out of exhaustion and fear and a little bit of literal fuck around and find out.
Her cheeks flush with the realisation, her lips parting around a shallow breath as he presses in closer. She’s shivering against him now, water and heat and want all blending into something far too much to contain. Through lashes wet with spray, she lifts her eyes to his, and something in her gaze cracks open, raw and wanting. "Gods, I want you," she whispers, voice fragile with need. Her fingers flex as much as they can around him despite his clothes, knowing it wouldn’t take much—just a shift, a tug, a breath—and she could have him bare to her, all the way.
But then he speaks again in that same low voice, and it halts her, carves her into stillness. Her lips curve into a breathless smile, nearly starting to argue—it is her houseboat, after all, so if anyone is in charge surely it is her—but her retort barely forms before he’s pulling her hand away. She gasps softly, an oh caught in her throat, only for the sharp, open-palmed slap to her ass to melt it into a heady inhale. But it’s when he drops—knees to the shower floor, eyes lifting to meet hers with all the force of a rising tide—that she nearly buckles entirely.
Golden skin drips water in rivulets down her stomach, trailing into the soft valleys of her hips where faint violet constellations still bloom from Jack's hands. Her breath shudders out of her as Kaisel gathers her, lifting one leg, then the other, until her thighs are settled on his shoulders and her spine presses to the warm tile behind her. The suddenness of it, the intensity, the helpless certainty of what he means to do. She doesn’t stand a chance.
His mouth finds her like he’s known her like this all his life, and her gasp fractures into a moan almost instantly, high and startled. There’s nothing to brace on, nowhere to run. Just her fingers scrabbling for purchase on slick walls, then curling into the damp curls of his hair, as the pad of his thumb and the slow, sinuous press of his tongue begin to unravel her. "Kai—" she pants, and it’s more curse than name. Her head tips back with a soft thunk against the tile, throat arched as the heat inside her coils tighter, higher, rising wave by wave with every flick and pass. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising in rapid, shallow movements, the colour blooming downward; rosy and ripe across her collarbones, her sternum, the soft underside of her breasts.
When she finally dares to look down at him again, her mouth hangs open, eyes wide with something like awe and disbelief. There’s no cleverness left, no retort or flirtation, just Flora, slack-jawed and trembling, staring down at Kaisel like he’s rewriting her entirely from the inside out. "—gods that feels so good," she breathes, voice catching again on the edge of a moan, her thighs quivering with restraint. The admission slips out before she can stop it, dizzy with pleasure and still stunned that he’s the one making her feel this way. That Kaisel, with his ever-present backpack and shameless grin, the gummy worm-eating menace of a man is somehow also all focused hunger and devastating control, is a revelation she's finding it suddenly quite hard to breathe around.
Her cheeks flush with the realisation, her lips parting around a shallow breath as he presses in closer. She’s shivering against him now, water and heat and want all blending into something far too much to contain. Through lashes wet with spray, she lifts her eyes to his, and something in her gaze cracks open, raw and wanting. "Gods, I want you," she whispers, voice fragile with need. Her fingers flex as much as they can around him despite his clothes, knowing it wouldn’t take much—just a shift, a tug, a breath—and she could have him bare to her, all the way.
But then he speaks again in that same low voice, and it halts her, carves her into stillness. Her lips curve into a breathless smile, nearly starting to argue—it is her houseboat, after all, so if anyone is in charge surely it is her—but her retort barely forms before he’s pulling her hand away. She gasps softly, an oh caught in her throat, only for the sharp, open-palmed slap to her ass to melt it into a heady inhale. But it’s when he drops—knees to the shower floor, eyes lifting to meet hers with all the force of a rising tide—that she nearly buckles entirely.
Golden skin drips water in rivulets down her stomach, trailing into the soft valleys of her hips where faint violet constellations still bloom from Jack's hands. Her breath shudders out of her as Kaisel gathers her, lifting one leg, then the other, until her thighs are settled on his shoulders and her spine presses to the warm tile behind her. The suddenness of it, the intensity, the helpless certainty of what he means to do. She doesn’t stand a chance.
His mouth finds her like he’s known her like this all his life, and her gasp fractures into a moan almost instantly, high and startled. There’s nothing to brace on, nowhere to run. Just her fingers scrabbling for purchase on slick walls, then curling into the damp curls of his hair, as the pad of his thumb and the slow, sinuous press of his tongue begin to unravel her. "Kai—" she pants, and it’s more curse than name. Her head tips back with a soft thunk against the tile, throat arched as the heat inside her coils tighter, higher, rising wave by wave with every flick and pass. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising in rapid, shallow movements, the colour blooming downward; rosy and ripe across her collarbones, her sternum, the soft underside of her breasts.
When she finally dares to look down at him again, her mouth hangs open, eyes wide with something like awe and disbelief. There’s no cleverness left, no retort or flirtation, just Flora, slack-jawed and trembling, staring down at Kaisel like he’s rewriting her entirely from the inside out. "—gods that feels so good," she breathes, voice catching again on the edge of a moan, her thighs quivering with restraint. The admission slips out before she can stop it, dizzy with pleasure and still stunned that he’s the one making her feel this way. That Kaisel, with his ever-present backpack and shameless grin, the gummy worm-eating menace of a man is somehow also all focused hunger and devastating control, is a revelation she's finding it suddenly quite hard to breathe around.
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
