// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //
He glances up at all her mischief on display, one of the best looks on her, and it's impossible to stay tangled in the past. Her eyebrows are a theater all their own, but it's the slip of her foot that summons a dry laugh as he attempts to pin her delving limb between his legs and keep it. "Definitely not, hope that's not a deal breaker, but I will still get pedicures with you."
The grip of his legs slackens, head craning to look at her, mouth ajar in a quiet and prolonged gasp. "What, you saying you wouldn't come beat up some fucker for me if he was going for my toes again? Chivalry is really dead." The shape of his mouth is a full tease as a hand flops to his forehead and he 'faints' back into the full grasp of the floor. He's already in a dress, why not pay damsel too?
All of the pretense of being wounded fades the moment the one word slips free. His eyes fly open, and he jolts up onto an elbow, nearly knocking his head into hers. "Girlfriend?!" It's loud and hushed all at once, a question and an exclamation, but mostly it's happy. "Girlfriend," he laughs, a bit stunned by the feel of it. Maybe it's obvious, but she'd said slow, even offered not to say much about it, so it felt strange to label it as anything other than Flora. It didn't really matter what they called it, because in the end it's just love, but the title still evokes a certain finality to it all. His grin absolutely runs off with his face, making it difficult to speak over it. "I'd love to watch my girlfriend kick some ass. That'd be so hot." Not that he'd want to be a slug in the corner and have her fight everything, but they're a team, and he's never doubted her ability to handle things. He fetches up one of her hands and rolls a kiss over the back of it, glancing up at her over her knuckles as he holds the last one down. "Sadly I might never get to see it in action, since your boyfriend is just—aah—so big and strong." He grins around her fingers, dropping the hand to his forearm partway through as proof, although he's no doubt she'd still take him in most, if not all, physical challenges. A man can dream though.
He slumps back down to the ground, just in time to truly appreciate the display she offers. Much better goods than his—the dress is depressed. "Wait, I didn't see, do that again," he asks, gaze clearly locked on the sway of her chest, the line only breaking as she smacks him. The deterrent is brief, but effective, and the threat of his hands subsides as he folds them around her waist instead. He'd forgotten that beneath the hang of her shirt there's practically nothing, but the reminder returns as his fingers graze skin instead of cloth beneath the hem of her shirt, dragging over the lip of her panties every so often as he traces her shape. He doesn't try to work them off, just content to hold her as she leans in closer.
He watches her with a lazy sort of admiration as she explains. It's the kind he tries to keep a little hidden, so she isn't inclined to duck from the shine of it, never afraid to stand in a spotlight except when it comes to congratulating herself on a job well done. His thumbs keep a steady contact on the dip of her hips, slow and smooth, while the rest of him is drawn into the daring adventure of her shaping the crime here into something that's been leashed without even realizing it. "No way, you have a legit secret door and everything?" In The Hanged Man, of all places now, the location she gave up, because of him. "Might need to move it to your new house," he murmurs, although that's not quite so easily explained away in terms of foot traffic as a bar, even with as many rooms and friends as Flora would have.
The grip of his legs slackens, head craning to look at her, mouth ajar in a quiet and prolonged gasp. "What, you saying you wouldn't come beat up some fucker for me if he was going for my toes again? Chivalry is really dead." The shape of his mouth is a full tease as a hand flops to his forehead and he 'faints' back into the full grasp of the floor. He's already in a dress, why not pay damsel too?
All of the pretense of being wounded fades the moment the one word slips free. His eyes fly open, and he jolts up onto an elbow, nearly knocking his head into hers. "Girlfriend?!" It's loud and hushed all at once, a question and an exclamation, but mostly it's happy. "Girlfriend," he laughs, a bit stunned by the feel of it. Maybe it's obvious, but she'd said slow, even offered not to say much about it, so it felt strange to label it as anything other than Flora. It didn't really matter what they called it, because in the end it's just love, but the title still evokes a certain finality to it all. His grin absolutely runs off with his face, making it difficult to speak over it. "I'd love to watch my girlfriend kick some ass. That'd be so hot." Not that he'd want to be a slug in the corner and have her fight everything, but they're a team, and he's never doubted her ability to handle things. He fetches up one of her hands and rolls a kiss over the back of it, glancing up at her over her knuckles as he holds the last one down. "Sadly I might never get to see it in action, since your boyfriend is just—aah—so big and strong." He grins around her fingers, dropping the hand to his forearm partway through as proof, although he's no doubt she'd still take him in most, if not all, physical challenges. A man can dream though.
He slumps back down to the ground, just in time to truly appreciate the display she offers. Much better goods than his—the dress is depressed. "Wait, I didn't see, do that again," he asks, gaze clearly locked on the sway of her chest, the line only breaking as she smacks him. The deterrent is brief, but effective, and the threat of his hands subsides as he folds them around her waist instead. He'd forgotten that beneath the hang of her shirt there's practically nothing, but the reminder returns as his fingers graze skin instead of cloth beneath the hem of her shirt, dragging over the lip of her panties every so often as he traces her shape. He doesn't try to work them off, just content to hold her as she leans in closer.
He watches her with a lazy sort of admiration as she explains. It's the kind he tries to keep a little hidden, so she isn't inclined to duck from the shine of it, never afraid to stand in a spotlight except when it comes to congratulating herself on a job well done. His thumbs keep a steady contact on the dip of her hips, slow and smooth, while the rest of him is drawn into the daring adventure of her shaping the crime here into something that's been leashed without even realizing it. "No way, you have a legit secret door and everything?" In The Hanged Man, of all places now, the location she gave up, because of him. "Might need to move it to your new house," he murmurs, although that's not quite so easily explained away in terms of foot traffic as a bar, even with as many rooms and friends as Flora would have.
Kaisel
// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
