we show off our different scarlet letters
Flora gives him a wry smile, one shoulder lifting in a casual shrug as her fingers continue their slow, needy trail across his skin. "There are plenty of ways to see in the dark," she says lightly; potions, abilities, attuned shifts. "I’m sure the Gilded Market goes absolutely wild this time of year with ways to watch or be invisible."
A quiet snort slips from her, half-laughter at the image of some perv solemnly holding a torch while they fuck, but it vanishes the instant his mouth hovers near hers and when you cum unfurls against her lips, low and raw and full of promise. Her breath catches like a hook behind her ribs. Every part of her tightens, heat rushing up so fast it’s dizzying.
Then he kisses her, his mouth claiming hers like it’s the only thing he’s allowed to have, and gods, she gives it willingly; parts her lips for him with a helpless, shaking moan that’s all throat and ache and want. Her fingers dive into his hair, nails catching at the roots, trying to hold herself steady against the torrent his kiss becomes.
It’s all heat and teeth, the frantic drag of lips that can’t quite get enough, a collision of hunger and restraint barely holding. Every brush of his tongue has her hips rolling closer, every flick of pressure a breath away from breaking her. Kissing Kaisel feels like drowning in something too good to survive, like chasing the last gasp before a storm devours the shore. She’s fever-hot and feral with want, every throb of her body screaming for more even as their mouths devour the only part they’re allowed to touch.
When they break, when his voice comes again and he murmurs he’d rather drown than not have all of her, something in her flinches—tight and aching—and she presses her forehead against his with a breathless, "Oh thank fuck." The words tremble out between a laugh and a moan as he lets go of the raft and sinks into her, and for a moment she clings to him like she might sink too. But then her legs uncoil from around his waist, and she releases the raft, water slipping between them as she floats back a stroke or two, neon blue lighting up her shoulders as she treads water.
"Last one to shore," she calls, grin crooked and dangerous, "has to stay quiet." And then she’s gone; diving beneath the oncoming wave, letting it carry her closer to the sand, curls streaming behind her like gold ink through dark water. She breaks the surface again a moment later, still grinning, and starts to swim, not intending to lose this race.
A quiet snort slips from her, half-laughter at the image of some perv solemnly holding a torch while they fuck, but it vanishes the instant his mouth hovers near hers and when you cum unfurls against her lips, low and raw and full of promise. Her breath catches like a hook behind her ribs. Every part of her tightens, heat rushing up so fast it’s dizzying.
Then he kisses her, his mouth claiming hers like it’s the only thing he’s allowed to have, and gods, she gives it willingly; parts her lips for him with a helpless, shaking moan that’s all throat and ache and want. Her fingers dive into his hair, nails catching at the roots, trying to hold herself steady against the torrent his kiss becomes.
It’s all heat and teeth, the frantic drag of lips that can’t quite get enough, a collision of hunger and restraint barely holding. Every brush of his tongue has her hips rolling closer, every flick of pressure a breath away from breaking her. Kissing Kaisel feels like drowning in something too good to survive, like chasing the last gasp before a storm devours the shore. She’s fever-hot and feral with want, every throb of her body screaming for more even as their mouths devour the only part they’re allowed to touch.
When they break, when his voice comes again and he murmurs he’d rather drown than not have all of her, something in her flinches—tight and aching—and she presses her forehead against his with a breathless, "Oh thank fuck." The words tremble out between a laugh and a moan as he lets go of the raft and sinks into her, and for a moment she clings to him like she might sink too. But then her legs uncoil from around his waist, and she releases the raft, water slipping between them as she floats back a stroke or two, neon blue lighting up her shoulders as she treads water.
"Last one to shore," she calls, grin crooked and dangerous, "has to stay quiet." And then she’s gone; diving beneath the oncoming wave, letting it carry her closer to the sand, curls streaming behind her like gold ink through dark water. She breaks the surface again a moment later, still grinning, and starts to swim, not intending to lose this race.
