Honey wherever you go, I know
The day two Floras appear in a heatwave of sin, literally divine in its touch, and he doesn't cum, would be the day he died.
He doesn't need her confirmation. It's clear on her face, on the aversion of her gaze, and the chance to see her so shy about something is rare indeed so he soaks it in without mercy. "Well," he starts, voice dropping low again, rough with the memory of want. "I had a wet dream about you that night. Ruined Frey's toga, so guess we're even." Not that he's particularly keeping score of who masturbates about what, but if he did, he would be winning.
With the arrival of her skin back upon his, he happily wraps her back up. The wreath of his arms is lazy around her lower back, fingers curling with the shape of her ass, pressing in firmer, especially when she leans in. Gods, what did he just say about his endurance, yet there's no denying the rekindling of heat that responds to the squish of her along him. "Some of fucking should be hard," he objects, and he rather thinks she'd agree to that. Besides, next time he'd be free of his pants, not half broken hearted over her, and show her exactly how much he could endure.
He glances back as the water finally stills and stops. He'd rather thought now they'd have a proper shower, but they have begun to prune, and standing upright for longer than needed is something he'll definitely avoid right now. A smile drifts in easy at her soft stare, and one hand retreats from her behind to tilt her chin into his lips. "Ro, you could convince me of a lot, but that isn't one of them." His words hang intentionally ominous in the small space he makes between them, lingering nose to nose as he brushes the tip against either side. "That's just a given."
He loosens his grip, and as his hand falls from her face, his fingers seek hers, light but hooking. "After you." He knows he'll have to let go sooner or later, to grab towels, to dry off, but he'll hold it as long as he can.
He doesn't need her confirmation. It's clear on her face, on the aversion of her gaze, and the chance to see her so shy about something is rare indeed so he soaks it in without mercy. "Well," he starts, voice dropping low again, rough with the memory of want. "I had a wet dream about you that night. Ruined Frey's toga, so guess we're even." Not that he's particularly keeping score of who masturbates about what, but if he did, he would be winning.
With the arrival of her skin back upon his, he happily wraps her back up. The wreath of his arms is lazy around her lower back, fingers curling with the shape of her ass, pressing in firmer, especially when she leans in. Gods, what did he just say about his endurance, yet there's no denying the rekindling of heat that responds to the squish of her along him. "Some of fucking should be hard," he objects, and he rather thinks she'd agree to that. Besides, next time he'd be free of his pants, not half broken hearted over her, and show her exactly how much he could endure.
He glances back as the water finally stills and stops. He'd rather thought now they'd have a proper shower, but they have begun to prune, and standing upright for longer than needed is something he'll definitely avoid right now. A smile drifts in easy at her soft stare, and one hand retreats from her behind to tilt her chin into his lips. "Ro, you could convince me of a lot, but that isn't one of them." His words hang intentionally ominous in the small space he makes between them, lingering nose to nose as he brushes the tip against either side. "That's just a given."
He loosens his grip, and as his hand falls from her face, his fingers seek hers, light but hooking. "After you." He knows he'll have to let go sooner or later, to grab towels, to dry off, but he'll hold it as long as he can.
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
