you can call me honey if you want
Flora huffs, clearly scandalised by the very idea that any of it could be her fault, even as a slow, wicked grin pulls at her lips. "Excuse me," she retorts, swaying gently back against him, her voice teasing and full of smoke. "You were the one who barged in." But the heat in her gaze softens a little, and she murmurs, "And even though I don’t think things would’ve turned out the same if anything had happened that night, gods," she laughs, low and rueful, "I thought about it for weeks."
As for Frey being the knife, she wrinkles her nose, all thoughtful mock-philosophy. "Mmm...maybe," she allows with a shrug, then adds dryly, "but it’d be weird, since we’d both be seeing different things." Then, with a slight tilt of her head, knowing the topic was perhaps to big to just breeze through the way she was going to anyway, adds, "I'd also be super worried about getting pregnant with them around, y'know?"
Kai's snort into her neck makes her squeal with laughter, the noise caught somewhere between protest and delight, and she squirms at the press of his nose before shivering outright at the weight of his hands sinking down to her hips. Her breath catches slightly in her throat as his lips brush her neck, soft and sure and full of his more quiet affection she’s come to crave almost more than the rest. Almost.
A purr escapes her as her fingers loosen the robe’s tie, unfastening the belt with a silken tug. "Mmm, my sincerest apologies, sir," she hums as she rolls her shoulders, letting the robe part enough to slip off as she steps away. With him still clutching the fabric where her hips had been, he’s left holding nothing but the ghost of her warmth and the world’s softest dressing gown.
Flora glances back over her shoulder, chin tipped coyly, and considers Kai's question with exaggerated seriousness. "Probably like…a base of something like French vanilla," she says, tone light but self-aware, because at her core, Flora was a well-off blonde-haired blue-eyed girl, which was pretty vanilla. Then she adds, "But then you drizzle hot maple syrup over top so that it hardens into a shell the moment it hits the cold." Her voice drops into something slower, silkier. "And then with a bit of something salty sprinkled overtop to balance out all the sweet. And," turning, wearing just a fresh pair of lacy underwear now, Flora will hold up a finger before adding, "I'm eaten best out of a waffle cone."
As for Frey being the knife, she wrinkles her nose, all thoughtful mock-philosophy. "Mmm...maybe," she allows with a shrug, then adds dryly, "but it’d be weird, since we’d both be seeing different things." Then, with a slight tilt of her head, knowing the topic was perhaps to big to just breeze through the way she was going to anyway, adds, "I'd also be super worried about getting pregnant with them around, y'know?"
Kai's snort into her neck makes her squeal with laughter, the noise caught somewhere between protest and delight, and she squirms at the press of his nose before shivering outright at the weight of his hands sinking down to her hips. Her breath catches slightly in her throat as his lips brush her neck, soft and sure and full of his more quiet affection she’s come to crave almost more than the rest. Almost.
A purr escapes her as her fingers loosen the robe’s tie, unfastening the belt with a silken tug. "Mmm, my sincerest apologies, sir," she hums as she rolls her shoulders, letting the robe part enough to slip off as she steps away. With him still clutching the fabric where her hips had been, he’s left holding nothing but the ghost of her warmth and the world’s softest dressing gown.
Flora glances back over her shoulder, chin tipped coyly, and considers Kai's question with exaggerated seriousness. "Probably like…a base of something like French vanilla," she says, tone light but self-aware, because at her core, Flora was a well-off blonde-haired blue-eyed girl, which was pretty vanilla. Then she adds, "But then you drizzle hot maple syrup over top so that it hardens into a shell the moment it hits the cold." Her voice drops into something slower, silkier. "And then with a bit of something salty sprinkled overtop to balance out all the sweet. And," turning, wearing just a fresh pair of lacy underwear now, Flora will hold up a finger before adding, "I'm eaten best out of a waffle cone."
