you can call me honey if you want
There’s a curl to her grin before she even reaches him, tugged up from the sight of him standing there like he belongs in some seaside wellness magazine, all calm confidence and ludicrously themed socks. It’s one thing to see him in his soldier’s gear, the authority and swagger carved into every line of his posture, every glint of steel at his hip. That version of him is heat and hurricane, her favourite storm to sail into. But this? This almost-professional, almost-proper version, with hands that soothe instead of strike and eyes that still follow her like they’ve never seen anything more worth watching? It’s enough to make her lips twitch upward with an affection too rich to swallow down.
Her brow arches as he tells her to strip, the command delivered with that too-casual flick of his hand and the soft throne of cushions awaiting her like a dare. Standing tall in the honey-glow light of the orangery, her silhouette framed by its golden hush, Flora doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for the hem of her tank top and peels it up slowly, letting the fabric lift inch by inch, baring the golden stretch of her stomach first, then the fullness of her breasts, her skin kissed by Torchline sun and the salt of long swims, smooth where it’s whole and scarred where it’s not. Her back, once turned, tells stories Kaisel is already familiar with.
She bends at the waist, deliberately unhurried as she hooks her fingers beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, dragging both them and her underwear down in one clean motion. They puddle at her feet like cast-off surf, and she steps free with the same unbothered grace she always has when she’s naked with him, even if there’s a flicker of something else behind her eyes when she murmurs, soft as breath, "Normally the staff leave the room while the client undresses." She glances over her shoulder, smirking, though of course she likes nothing more than having his eyes on her.
The words linger in the air like perfume as she turns, bare and barefoot and bathed in morning light, and saunters toward the makeshift spa throne with a sway to her hips that suggests this whole experience might be healing and dangerous. She sinks into the chair with a languid sort of satisfaction, her body settling into the sheets and towels with a sigh like they’ve been waiting for her, one leg folding over the other as her aqua eyes remain locked on his with open adoration and just the right amount of mischief.
She hums low in her throat, smile lazy as she watches him prepare the washcloths with that boyish concentration she adores so fiercely. "Yeah, my mom lived in Halo for years," she says with a nod, her voice warmer now, touched with something softer than the teasing edge from earlier. "When I took over the Hanged Man, I threw this ridiculous party to celebrate the re-opening. She and Sunjata ended up reconnecting that night, after having not really spoken for years. If not for that night, she might never have left Halo for King's End." Her gaze flickers down to Kai's hands and the careful precision of his movements, then back up to his face, fondness deepening like a current pulling her under.
Her brow arches as he tells her to strip, the command delivered with that too-casual flick of his hand and the soft throne of cushions awaiting her like a dare. Standing tall in the honey-glow light of the orangery, her silhouette framed by its golden hush, Flora doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for the hem of her tank top and peels it up slowly, letting the fabric lift inch by inch, baring the golden stretch of her stomach first, then the fullness of her breasts, her skin kissed by Torchline sun and the salt of long swims, smooth where it’s whole and scarred where it’s not. Her back, once turned, tells stories Kaisel is already familiar with.
She bends at the waist, deliberately unhurried as she hooks her fingers beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, dragging both them and her underwear down in one clean motion. They puddle at her feet like cast-off surf, and she steps free with the same unbothered grace she always has when she’s naked with him, even if there’s a flicker of something else behind her eyes when she murmurs, soft as breath, "Normally the staff leave the room while the client undresses." She glances over her shoulder, smirking, though of course she likes nothing more than having his eyes on her.
The words linger in the air like perfume as she turns, bare and barefoot and bathed in morning light, and saunters toward the makeshift spa throne with a sway to her hips that suggests this whole experience might be healing and dangerous. She sinks into the chair with a languid sort of satisfaction, her body settling into the sheets and towels with a sigh like they’ve been waiting for her, one leg folding over the other as her aqua eyes remain locked on his with open adoration and just the right amount of mischief.
She hums low in her throat, smile lazy as she watches him prepare the washcloths with that boyish concentration she adores so fiercely. "Yeah, my mom lived in Halo for years," she says with a nod, her voice warmer now, touched with something softer than the teasing edge from earlier. "When I took over the Hanged Man, I threw this ridiculous party to celebrate the re-opening. She and Sunjata ended up reconnecting that night, after having not really spoken for years. If not for that night, she might never have left Halo for King's End." Her gaze flickers down to Kai's hands and the careful precision of his movements, then back up to his face, fondness deepening like a current pulling her under.
