Honey wherever you go, I know
He's in trouble, he realizes, the moment her leg starts to wrap against him on its own. He had only meant to tease, to leave her with a lingering buzz of what they could be before fitting in behind her and letting them both drift into a much needed rest where they don't have to think, or talk, or do anything for a while.
She's got too much pull though, and that idea feels further and further away with each shift against him she creates. The bow of her towards him, the graze of her breasts, even that grasp on his shoulder, each one seeking more. More contact, more of him, more of them. Then, her voice, gods her voice—smoke vibrating against his ear, winding down his mind and curling warm and wicked against his ribs so every heartbeat stirs it up again. He turns into her neck with a groan skimming over its slope, desire starting to argue with sense. With his mouth parted just enough to nip, he delivers one as she drags him against her, want pulsing fresh and eager where they meet. He tilts his hips, grinding into her even as he bemoans her with a dragged out "Flooora."
A hand slips down to cup her chest, the sweep of his palm appreciative of the supple roll of it under his grip. Definitely better than tits made out of stars and thoughts. "You're entirely too addictive, you know that?" he laughs low and soft against her collarbone, unable to believe how easy it is to get lost in her already. He presses in meaningfully again, fingers tweaking her nipple with a curt twist, before he abandons ship and flops back into the bed at the side of her, one hand clutching the growing response of his dick like an apology.
"I don't want to give you anything subpar," he mutters, especially now. "C'mon," he urges with his other hand, beckoning her to become the little spoon. "Let's nap before anything else has a chance to happen today."
She's got too much pull though, and that idea feels further and further away with each shift against him she creates. The bow of her towards him, the graze of her breasts, even that grasp on his shoulder, each one seeking more. More contact, more of him, more of them. Then, her voice, gods her voice—smoke vibrating against his ear, winding down his mind and curling warm and wicked against his ribs so every heartbeat stirs it up again. He turns into her neck with a groan skimming over its slope, desire starting to argue with sense. With his mouth parted just enough to nip, he delivers one as she drags him against her, want pulsing fresh and eager where they meet. He tilts his hips, grinding into her even as he bemoans her with a dragged out "Flooora."
A hand slips down to cup her chest, the sweep of his palm appreciative of the supple roll of it under his grip. Definitely better than tits made out of stars and thoughts. "You're entirely too addictive, you know that?" he laughs low and soft against her collarbone, unable to believe how easy it is to get lost in her already. He presses in meaningfully again, fingers tweaking her nipple with a curt twist, before he abandons ship and flops back into the bed at the side of her, one hand clutching the growing response of his dick like an apology.
"I don't want to give you anything subpar," he mutters, especially now. "C'mon," he urges with his other hand, beckoning her to become the little spoon. "Let's nap before anything else has a chance to happen today."
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
