flora
Laughter spills from her like sunlight through stained glass, bright and irrepressible as her fingers comb lazily through the tousled waves of Kaisel's dark hair, her touch lingering with quiet fondness. "So if we're always going to be lying around in the middle of Floraopolis like this.." she muses aloud with a grin, tilting her head as if she can already imagine the absurd city in question. "Will everyone else just have to step over us, or are there going to be designated lounging zones with signs that say beware: joy in progress?"
The press of their mouths breaks again into snickers, kisses traded like secrets between bouts of laughter, and Flora breathes in the warmth of the moment, her smile glowing with the kind of delight that only he seems capable of coaxing from her lately. "You know, the last time I wore that dress was at the Midwinter Ball a few years ago," she says, her voice lilting with amusement as her gaze roams over the ridiculous garment now tangling him up like a sentient ribbon. "Maea almost got me and all the other leaders murdered by Dahlia," she adds with wide eyes, the memory easier to laugh about now with Kaisel breathing so easily beside her. Her eyes roll with theatrical flair as she tacks on, "And I didn’t let you do anything. You could have just taken your shirt off like I asked in the first place and spared yourself the couture battle."
Still, her smile softens as she reaches up to tuck a piece of his hair back behind his ear, and the teasing glint in her eye deepens into something more tender. "I do think it looks better on you than it ever did on me, though," she murmurs, her tone playful but edged with a kind of sincerity, like a hidden ribbon of truth tied in among the laughter.
Flora watches him roll away with the kind of fond exasperation reserved only for someone she’s helplessly in love with, which is very much the case, and as he fights valiantly to reclaim his dignity from the layers of sequins and tulle, she sighs, soft and adoring. "Try doing it in heels next time," she quips under her breath, chuckling as she pushes herself upright with far more grace than he’s managing, though she’s careful not to boast. Instead, her eyes drift toward the wine glass he’d brought up for her what feels like hours ago, half-forgotten in the midst of everything else they’ve said and done. Reaching for it, she helps herself to a healthy sip before offering it to him.
The press of their mouths breaks again into snickers, kisses traded like secrets between bouts of laughter, and Flora breathes in the warmth of the moment, her smile glowing with the kind of delight that only he seems capable of coaxing from her lately. "You know, the last time I wore that dress was at the Midwinter Ball a few years ago," she says, her voice lilting with amusement as her gaze roams over the ridiculous garment now tangling him up like a sentient ribbon. "Maea almost got me and all the other leaders murdered by Dahlia," she adds with wide eyes, the memory easier to laugh about now with Kaisel breathing so easily beside her. Her eyes roll with theatrical flair as she tacks on, "And I didn’t let you do anything. You could have just taken your shirt off like I asked in the first place and spared yourself the couture battle."
Still, her smile softens as she reaches up to tuck a piece of his hair back behind his ear, and the teasing glint in her eye deepens into something more tender. "I do think it looks better on you than it ever did on me, though," she murmurs, her tone playful but edged with a kind of sincerity, like a hidden ribbon of truth tied in among the laughter.
Flora watches him roll away with the kind of fond exasperation reserved only for someone she’s helplessly in love with, which is very much the case, and as he fights valiantly to reclaim his dignity from the layers of sequins and tulle, she sighs, soft and adoring. "Try doing it in heels next time," she quips under her breath, chuckling as she pushes herself upright with far more grace than he’s managing, though she’s careful not to boast. Instead, her eyes drift toward the wine glass he’d brought up for her what feels like hours ago, half-forgotten in the midst of everything else they’ve said and done. Reaching for it, she helps herself to a healthy sip before offering it to him.
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
