Honey wherever you go, I know
That devious hum that whispers against his ear sends a low chuckle tumbling in the back of his throat, a sound that soon enough crumbles into a wanton groan with the angle of her against his hand. He sucks the noise back in through his teeth, fingers running down the outside of her thigh as though he could remember restraint in the shape of what he's holding already. "I definitely need to invest in velcro and snap buttons." He'd be buying new clothes weekly otherwise, and there'd start to be rumors that he's a werewolf.
The swell of her breasts only accentuates as she leans further into them, and shamelessly he glances down to appreciate the rising tide of cleavage. With all the sly smile of a cat, he tries for some nonchalance, "dunno, might have to see it a few more times, really get a feel for it."
Content for now with just the feel of her hand weaving alongside his, he listens to each fret, resisting the urge to take the corner and smooth each and every one of them out. Maybe time could set an iron onto them, but for now he'll just tuck them away for her, wrinkled and known. "No...they don't." he agrees. "That's what's nice about fantasies, there's none of that." He squeezes his fingers against hers. "Remember when you suggested I use one of the magic rooms in the House of Midnight? And I told you I'd rather have the real thing?" He tilts his head to the side, staring at her askew. "Maybe I didn't dream about all the things you don't do well, but Flora I'd rather be awake with you through it all than keep dreaming." Maybe just smooth out one of them for now.
He leans forward to press a kiss to her head when she finally settles into the nook by his throat. "I hear you," he whispers it, because acceptance and understand don't need all the noise. A pause, just holding her, breath tumbling into her hair that's started to dry into a complete mess of golden loops and wayward strands. "I think you're giving my imagination far more credit than you should though," he murmurs with a twitch of a smile. She's also not giving herself nearly enough credit for how big she is in actuality, but that's an iron for a different day. "But okay, understood, I'll stop saying nice things to you." He lifts his hand off her thigh to zip his lips and lock them, the small key clutched between his fingers, ready to be yeeted.
The swell of her breasts only accentuates as she leans further into them, and shamelessly he glances down to appreciate the rising tide of cleavage. With all the sly smile of a cat, he tries for some nonchalance, "dunno, might have to see it a few more times, really get a feel for it."
Content for now with just the feel of her hand weaving alongside his, he listens to each fret, resisting the urge to take the corner and smooth each and every one of them out. Maybe time could set an iron onto them, but for now he'll just tuck them away for her, wrinkled and known. "No...they don't." he agrees. "That's what's nice about fantasies, there's none of that." He squeezes his fingers against hers. "Remember when you suggested I use one of the magic rooms in the House of Midnight? And I told you I'd rather have the real thing?" He tilts his head to the side, staring at her askew. "Maybe I didn't dream about all the things you don't do well, but Flora I'd rather be awake with you through it all than keep dreaming." Maybe just smooth out one of them for now.
He leans forward to press a kiss to her head when she finally settles into the nook by his throat. "I hear you," he whispers it, because acceptance and understand don't need all the noise. A pause, just holding her, breath tumbling into her hair that's started to dry into a complete mess of golden loops and wayward strands. "I think you're giving my imagination far more credit than you should though," he murmurs with a twitch of a smile. She's also not giving herself nearly enough credit for how big she is in actuality, but that's an iron for a different day. "But okay, understood, I'll stop saying nice things to you." He lifts his hand off her thigh to zip his lips and lock them, the small key clutched between his fingers, ready to be yeeted.
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
