you can call me honey if you want
"Oh my gods, yes," Flora breathes, the words muffled slightly by the way her cheek is squished against her hands, her voice brimming with emphatic delight as Kaisel names his flavour. She doesn’t—can’t—know the full weight behind it, just as once upon a time she hadn't known what Kaisel had meant by declaring that the part of a cupcake he'd be was sprinkles. Later, though, she'll think about to this moment and realize that not only was cookie dough arguably one of the best flavours anyhow, but that in moments of decision paralysis when every flashy, seasonal and over-swirled flavour was screaming for your attention, that cookie dough would always be there, and it would never be a flavour you regretted choosing.
But in the now, she just grins wryly over one shoulder, expression mischievous and affectionate in equal measure. "I love cookie dough," she declares, like it’s the highest compliment she can bestow. "I wasn’t really allowed to have it growing up. My nonna used to say it was bad for you." Her tone turns faintly scandalised, as if that somehow made it even more appealing. With a snort, she lays her chin back down on her folded arms and mutters, just loud enough for him to hear, "So two desserts in one is fine, but a fork and a knife is too much?" Pfft.
The lazy chuckle that follows is cut off with a low, surprised moan as the first sweep of warm brine meets her skin. She shivers beneath his touch, the sensation sending goosebumps racing down her arms despite the heat of the room and the feel of his hands. Her next breath comes out in a deep, relaxedtrainchuff, body melting like wax beneath the careful drag of his brush.
But then he speaks again, and her whole body perks up like a struck match. "Wait—wait wait wait wait—stop everything," she gasps, twisting with sudden, delighted urgency. She rolls just enough to catch his eye, her sea-glass stare sparkling with a hundred wild ideas already forming. The careful lines on her back crease with her movement, but she clearly couldn’t care less. "We could paint each other first with different colours, and then roll around on the canvas so that everywhere we touch would mix into something new." Pausing, Flora eyes him as if able to see the trajectory of his thoughts. "Not like that," she says flatly, though of course if their painting was the result of sex she would absolutely not mind. "I meant, like, Twister. Either the spirits or Niki could spin the thing for us."
Biting down on her lower lip, she beams at him with childlike glee. "I think that actually sounds like so much fun."
But in the now, she just grins wryly over one shoulder, expression mischievous and affectionate in equal measure. "I love cookie dough," she declares, like it’s the highest compliment she can bestow. "I wasn’t really allowed to have it growing up. My nonna used to say it was bad for you." Her tone turns faintly scandalised, as if that somehow made it even more appealing. With a snort, she lays her chin back down on her folded arms and mutters, just loud enough for him to hear, "So two desserts in one is fine, but a fork and a knife is too much?" Pfft.
The lazy chuckle that follows is cut off with a low, surprised moan as the first sweep of warm brine meets her skin. She shivers beneath his touch, the sensation sending goosebumps racing down her arms despite the heat of the room and the feel of his hands. Her next breath comes out in a deep, relaxed
But then he speaks again, and her whole body perks up like a struck match. "Wait—wait wait wait wait—stop everything," she gasps, twisting with sudden, delighted urgency. She rolls just enough to catch his eye, her sea-glass stare sparkling with a hundred wild ideas already forming. The careful lines on her back crease with her movement, but she clearly couldn’t care less. "We could paint each other first with different colours, and then roll around on the canvas so that everywhere we touch would mix into something new." Pausing, Flora eyes him as if able to see the trajectory of his thoughts. "Not like that," she says flatly, though of course if their painting was the result of sex she would absolutely not mind. "I meant, like, Twister. Either the spirits or Niki could spin the thing for us."
Biting down on her lower lip, she beams at him with childlike glee. "I think that actually sounds like so much fun."
