we show off our different scarlet letters
The alcohol swirls like sunlight through her blood; warm, dizzying, a lazy tide that carries her wherever it pleases. Kaisel’s words barely sink in past the hum in her ears and the grin pulling at her mouth. "You almost fell?" she chides, voice lilting with laughter, the kind of fond exasperation that only makes the reprimand softer. She tuts at him, eyes bright and teasing as she slouches more heavily against his side, her hand slipping around his waist. The other curls across his stomach, palm splayed against the firm warmth of his skin, holding him close as they stumble through the sand together.
When he glances down, she tilts her chin up, catching the faint glint of firelight mirrored in his eyes and returning it with a beam of her own. "Mmh, I was having fun," she hums, half dreamy, half devilish. "My friends came down from the Grounds—they’re staying at my place actually. You’ll have to meet them." Her grin widens, proud and glowing. "They’re friends with your dragon, actually."
The mention of her being overdressed earns him a laugh that spills out, unsteady and sparkling. The air feels lighter now, fizzy with salt and alcohol and the sense of being young and a little bit reckless and a lot in love. Everything glimmers—the sea foam, the stars, the edge of his smile—as his fingers brush beneath the hem of her sweater, and she feels it like static, like the whole world has leaned closer. Her heart thrums to match it.
"An easy solution, huh?" she murmurs, flashing him a grin that’s equal parts challenge and invitation, opting not to make the obvious joke about instead wanting to make it hard. Instead, she pivots on her heel, moving backward through the sand, curls tumbling wild around her face as she pulls the sweater over her head in one easy motion. It lands in a careless heap, bikini top glinting faintly where it catches the fire’s reflection.
She stops a few paces ahead, biting at her lower lip as she crooks a finger at him. "Come and do something about it, then." The view of him through her tipsy haze makes her pulse skip; skin bronzed from sun and sea, muscles defined by years of movement, hair tousled from flight and wind. The boxers don’t leave much to the imagination, and even less to sanity. He looks like every beach-dream she’s ever dared to have: too confident for his own good, wild and alive and burnished in firelight, the kind of beautiful that makes the stars look lazy.
When he glances down, she tilts her chin up, catching the faint glint of firelight mirrored in his eyes and returning it with a beam of her own. "Mmh, I was having fun," she hums, half dreamy, half devilish. "My friends came down from the Grounds—they’re staying at my place actually. You’ll have to meet them." Her grin widens, proud and glowing. "They’re friends with your dragon, actually."
The mention of her being overdressed earns him a laugh that spills out, unsteady and sparkling. The air feels lighter now, fizzy with salt and alcohol and the sense of being young and a little bit reckless and a lot in love. Everything glimmers—the sea foam, the stars, the edge of his smile—as his fingers brush beneath the hem of her sweater, and she feels it like static, like the whole world has leaned closer. Her heart thrums to match it.
"An easy solution, huh?" she murmurs, flashing him a grin that’s equal parts challenge and invitation, opting not to make the obvious joke about instead wanting to make it hard. Instead, she pivots on her heel, moving backward through the sand, curls tumbling wild around her face as she pulls the sweater over her head in one easy motion. It lands in a careless heap, bikini top glinting faintly where it catches the fire’s reflection.
She stops a few paces ahead, biting at her lower lip as she crooks a finger at him. "Come and do something about it, then." The view of him through her tipsy haze makes her pulse skip; skin bronzed from sun and sea, muscles defined by years of movement, hair tousled from flight and wind. The boxers don’t leave much to the imagination, and even less to sanity. He looks like every beach-dream she’s ever dared to have: too confident for his own good, wild and alive and burnished in firelight, the kind of beautiful that makes the stars look lazy.
