Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
It's strange to consider that just a short time ago he hadn't ever kissed her before, and now he's watching her remove every layer hiding her body, and this is hardly the first time. The weeks have blurred easily, time of little concern when embracing this love in its entirety. It's always been comfortable with her, a connection that fits into place easy, which has made jumping into this with both feet just as simple. Loving her has never felt like needing to make space for her, but like something that's always been missing has finally returned, as though he's always had room fitted just to her shape.
He's sure that he'll never tire of this, watching the remergence of her skin from beneath clothing. She wears such an assortment of garments, few at all in Longheat, but it's his favorite to finally have her laid bare and free for his touch. The color of her exposed body joins the rest of the orangery, light and shadow skating over curves he plans to adore to eternity. She shifts with all the slow grace of seasons turning, allowing each moment to be admired in full for what it is. The heat of his gaze lifts to the peek of aqua, brighter than ever in the frame of all the amber, from her cheeks to the burnished sunlight in the room. "It's customary at Spa de Wildering to watch," he informs her with the crooked crack of a hungry smile. "It's all in the contract." The one she theoretically signed, if the consent of her abandoned clothing is any indicator.
Flora naked only pales to one thing, and that's naked Flora in motion. He doesn't even realize he's paused his approach until the song of her hips quiets into something settled against the 'table'. Blinking, he resumes, laying a scattering of small towels as she talks, gaze flicking up to meet the mischief in hers every so often. "So you're a successful matchmaker," he notes with a flourish of a smile, choosing not to inform her that all her parties are ridiculous. Setting the plate of washcloths to the side, he deposits some cucumber slices on her eyes, feeding one into his mouth with a crisp bite.
He returns to the first cloth he placed, the wet warmth of it gathered in his hands. He slides it across her collarbone and down the length of one arm, unfurling her limb out to the side as he goes. He runs the fabric down to her fingertips, giving each digit attention before sliding the damp cloth back up her arm, returning it to her side once more and setting that towel back on the tray. He repeats this on her other side, each stroke a tender brush of worship for her body. "Is the temperature to your liking, miss?" he asks with a professional courtesy just before leaning down to seize one of her nipples with his mouth. He sucks and teases briefly, reluctantly parting from it and letting the cloth for her chest wipe against the swell of her breast before moving to do the same to the other. He sinks down her stomach with a myriad of kisses lightly sweeping over her belly, the drag of the towel wiping them free as he goes. He ends with a firm press of his hands to the corners of her hips, an appreciative noise impossible to keep back as he does, but the brief possession is shortly thereafter removed with the swipe of warm water and cotton. "Your mom's spa go something like this?" he wonders, voice rougher than last he used it, attraction thickening it with the temptation of taking her so close. Given that Hotaru's a Frey demi-god and works at the House of Midnight now, if her answer's yes, it wouldn't be all too surprising.
His focus lowers, the fresh towel on her leg taken up, sliding it from her knee to the inside of her thigh. He lingers, just his fingers slipping down to roll against her clit, brief and teasing before he takes the washcloth back to the outside of her thigh and down the rest of her leg. It's absolutely insane to him that she isn't ticklish, though some wicked part of him still tries to rouse the feeling as he faintly trails the fabric across the sole of her foot before discarding it on the tray. He repeats the entire process on her other leg, the entire process unhurried. "Mm, Flora," he appriases with a hum.
He's sure that he'll never tire of this, watching the remergence of her skin from beneath clothing. She wears such an assortment of garments, few at all in Longheat, but it's his favorite to finally have her laid bare and free for his touch. The color of her exposed body joins the rest of the orangery, light and shadow skating over curves he plans to adore to eternity. She shifts with all the slow grace of seasons turning, allowing each moment to be admired in full for what it is. The heat of his gaze lifts to the peek of aqua, brighter than ever in the frame of all the amber, from her cheeks to the burnished sunlight in the room. "It's customary at Spa de Wildering to watch," he informs her with the crooked crack of a hungry smile. "It's all in the contract." The one she theoretically signed, if the consent of her abandoned clothing is any indicator.
Flora naked only pales to one thing, and that's naked Flora in motion. He doesn't even realize he's paused his approach until the song of her hips quiets into something settled against the 'table'. Blinking, he resumes, laying a scattering of small towels as she talks, gaze flicking up to meet the mischief in hers every so often. "So you're a successful matchmaker," he notes with a flourish of a smile, choosing not to inform her that all her parties are ridiculous. Setting the plate of washcloths to the side, he deposits some cucumber slices on her eyes, feeding one into his mouth with a crisp bite.
He returns to the first cloth he placed, the wet warmth of it gathered in his hands. He slides it across her collarbone and down the length of one arm, unfurling her limb out to the side as he goes. He runs the fabric down to her fingertips, giving each digit attention before sliding the damp cloth back up her arm, returning it to her side once more and setting that towel back on the tray. He repeats this on her other side, each stroke a tender brush of worship for her body. "Is the temperature to your liking, miss?" he asks with a professional courtesy just before leaning down to seize one of her nipples with his mouth. He sucks and teases briefly, reluctantly parting from it and letting the cloth for her chest wipe against the swell of her breast before moving to do the same to the other. He sinks down her stomach with a myriad of kisses lightly sweeping over her belly, the drag of the towel wiping them free as he goes. He ends with a firm press of his hands to the corners of her hips, an appreciative noise impossible to keep back as he does, but the brief possession is shortly thereafter removed with the swipe of warm water and cotton. "Your mom's spa go something like this?" he wonders, voice rougher than last he used it, attraction thickening it with the temptation of taking her so close. Given that Hotaru's a Frey demi-god and works at the House of Midnight now, if her answer's yes, it wouldn't be all too surprising.
His focus lowers, the fresh towel on her leg taken up, sliding it from her knee to the inside of her thigh. He lingers, just his fingers slipping down to roll against her clit, brief and teasing before he takes the washcloth back to the outside of her thigh and down the rest of her leg. It's absolutely insane to him that she isn't ticklish, though some wicked part of him still tries to rouse the feeling as he faintly trails the fabric across the sole of her foot before discarding it on the tray. He repeats the entire process on her other leg, the entire process unhurried. "Mm, Flora," he appriases with a hum.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
