Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
Each comfort she stacks up just to let topple under the weight of them flickers through his smile. It's a rare feeling, being willing to give up the things you consider precious for the sake of someone else, but never actually having to, which only deepens the worth of it all. It's an unexpected relief to hear it. Not that he needs her stripped of the world and left with only him, but that she feels for him to that extent, that she's in this too the way he is. She'd told him in a different way, on different days, but each time spreads the belief, a fire consuming more logs until the blaze beats back the shadowy remnants of uncertainty.
He didn't doubt her affection, but he did routinely wonder if she'd regret the choice she'd made, one that didn't come easily or with the surefooted nature of a full heart. This, along with all the hours they've spent decorated in laughter and mischief, has gradually assured him that she's with him, however fully she can be. "I'd give up gummy worms for you," he confesses with a grin, the shape rough with the less silly truth built behind the words. It's perhaps the most sincere I love you he's ever spoken.
His head hangs a bit to the side, molten gaze watching her with a slanted angle as she descends like a foul prayer. His mouth is too caught on the hum of appreciation that rises in response to the capture of him in her hands, so words escape him for a time. His attention instead drifts, torn between the desire to watch her at work, and closing off the world so the sensation might rise up stronger behind shut eyes. He's settled on the latter by the time she exchanges palms for tongue.
The warm embrace of her mouth ripples through him with a groan, her name mangled amid the sound. His hips jerk up once, eager for this new union. He relishes the starburst of pleasure that blooms out into a wave through him, but steadily his gaze unfolds again. The sight of her lips engulfing him, of her hand teasing into the space between her thighs until her pleasure is a thrum joining his own, it's an impossible threat to his composure. "Fuck Flora," he complains with a low rumble, "I could come undone just watching you."
A flick of her tongue has him shuddering, head tilting back again with the force of the feeling wracking through him, curling his spine. One of his hands abandons the surface of the bench, sliding past her temple and into her hair. He doesn't press or pull, but he needs the anchor there to keep him steadier as she pulls him into this aching pace of devotion.
He didn't doubt her affection, but he did routinely wonder if she'd regret the choice she'd made, one that didn't come easily or with the surefooted nature of a full heart. This, along with all the hours they've spent decorated in laughter and mischief, has gradually assured him that she's with him, however fully she can be. "I'd give up gummy worms for you," he confesses with a grin, the shape rough with the less silly truth built behind the words. It's perhaps the most sincere I love you he's ever spoken.
His head hangs a bit to the side, molten gaze watching her with a slanted angle as she descends like a foul prayer. His mouth is too caught on the hum of appreciation that rises in response to the capture of him in her hands, so words escape him for a time. His attention instead drifts, torn between the desire to watch her at work, and closing off the world so the sensation might rise up stronger behind shut eyes. He's settled on the latter by the time she exchanges palms for tongue.
The warm embrace of her mouth ripples through him with a groan, her name mangled amid the sound. His hips jerk up once, eager for this new union. He relishes the starburst of pleasure that blooms out into a wave through him, but steadily his gaze unfolds again. The sight of her lips engulfing him, of her hand teasing into the space between her thighs until her pleasure is a thrum joining his own, it's an impossible threat to his composure. "Fuck Flora," he complains with a low rumble, "I could come undone just watching you."
A flick of her tongue has him shuddering, head tilting back again with the force of the feeling wracking through him, curling his spine. One of his hands abandons the surface of the bench, sliding past her temple and into her hair. He doesn't press or pull, but he needs the anchor there to keep him steadier as she pulls him into this aching pace of devotion.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
