Flora
Flora bites down on her lip, teeth dimpling the pink curve as laughter trembles in her chest. "Have you ever heard of laundry?" she asks, tone full of scandalised disbelief. Rolling her eyes with a theatrical huff, she adds, "Besides, I can't believe you just dreamt about it. At least I took things into my own hands." Still, her grin softens as she leans against him, his hands roving newly-familiar trails, and when he objects to the idea of nothing being hard, she flashes him a wicked little smile and tips her head. "Alright, alright. I’ll give you that one."
But then his fingers are beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his, and the smirk slips from her mouth like seafoam caught in a current. The look he gives her—close and tender and entirely unguarded—grounds her faster than a sudden tide. Her breath catches the moment he says she can’t convince him, and there’s the smallest shift in her expression, as if wondering for half a second whether he means it. But then his nose is brushing hers, and she exhales, eyes half-lidded and lips tugging into something softer, "I hate you," she whispers, the words utterly devoid of venom.
Flora's fingers slide into Kai's when he offers, wet and pruny and warm. She squeezes once, then releases with a breathy little groan as she bends fully—absolutely, shamelessly—for his benefit. The towel she retrieves from earlier is damp but servicable, and she tosses it at his chest with a flick of her wrist. Her fingers then gather her soaked curls, twisting them into a loose knot atop her head with a few quick turns before she fishes out a fresh towel from the cupboard. The effort she puts into drying off is...minimal, at best. A lazy sweep over her arms, a distracted pat down her thighs, and then she’s padding over to her bed, still bare and glowing, all cheek and no shame.
Flora flops onto the sheets with a low, luxurious sigh, her limbs sinking into the mattress. The thin sheet tangles at her hips, barely a whisper of modesty, but for once she doesn’t stretch or tease or glance back to see if Kaisel's watching her performance. Instead, she bites gently at the inside of her cheek, the motion thoughtful, her breath catching as it slips from her lips in a soft shiver. Her gaze finds him, and this time when she speaks, it’s quiet; not shy, but honest. "Last time we did this..." she murmurs, voice threaded with memory, "everything was fine until we left the houseboat the next day."
A flush rises beneath her skin, not from arousal but from something heavier. Her cheeks colour, but her eyes don’t waver, and there’s a steadiness in the way she watches him now, aqua caught in a hush of a strange sort of sadness. "This…" she says, slowly, each syllable weighted like a stone on water, "..isn’t going to be easy."
But then his fingers are beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his, and the smirk slips from her mouth like seafoam caught in a current. The look he gives her—close and tender and entirely unguarded—grounds her faster than a sudden tide. Her breath catches the moment he says she can’t convince him, and there’s the smallest shift in her expression, as if wondering for half a second whether he means it. But then his nose is brushing hers, and she exhales, eyes half-lidded and lips tugging into something softer, "I hate you," she whispers, the words utterly devoid of venom.
Flora's fingers slide into Kai's when he offers, wet and pruny and warm. She squeezes once, then releases with a breathy little groan as she bends fully—absolutely, shamelessly—for his benefit. The towel she retrieves from earlier is damp but servicable, and she tosses it at his chest with a flick of her wrist. Her fingers then gather her soaked curls, twisting them into a loose knot atop her head with a few quick turns before she fishes out a fresh towel from the cupboard. The effort she puts into drying off is...minimal, at best. A lazy sweep over her arms, a distracted pat down her thighs, and then she’s padding over to her bed, still bare and glowing, all cheek and no shame.
Flora flops onto the sheets with a low, luxurious sigh, her limbs sinking into the mattress. The thin sheet tangles at her hips, barely a whisper of modesty, but for once she doesn’t stretch or tease or glance back to see if Kaisel's watching her performance. Instead, she bites gently at the inside of her cheek, the motion thoughtful, her breath catching as it slips from her lips in a soft shiver. Her gaze finds him, and this time when she speaks, it’s quiet; not shy, but honest. "Last time we did this..." she murmurs, voice threaded with memory, "everything was fine until we left the houseboat the next day."
A flush rises beneath her skin, not from arousal but from something heavier. Her cheeks colour, but her eyes don’t waver, and there’s a steadiness in the way she watches him now, aqua caught in a hush of a strange sort of sadness. "This…" she says, slowly, each syllable weighted like a stone on water, "..isn’t going to be easy."
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
