// I'd take the fall—I got you covered when there's no one at all //
The chuckle begins deep in his chest, rising into a slow roll from the edge of his lips where a smirk has just started to settle into place. "That is true," he admits of her cleverness, but it does little to drop his expression, least of all when she cracks into a familiar sound. It's small and faint and her grin tries to cover it, but he catches hold of it like he'd been waiting. "Guess I'll just have to keep upping my game," his voice lilts with all the effect of a shrug, entirely unimpressed by the challenge, or at least he's attempting to be. The flicker of his eyes across her betrays him though, the low light of something moving there sparking in the corners, a flare of appreciation for just how capable she can be.
His guise splinters for a moment as she yanks an honest laugh from him, all the dark heat he'd conjured as the sweatshirt reckoner fleeting beneath the golden hum of her conspiracy. "The only murder dungeon I have is my bed when your fine ass is on it." He's helpless to the wide stretch of his absurd smile at that, knowing it's entirely too much, but also unwilling to hold it back. He's half a mind to commit a murder right here even. Maybe for his birthday she could get him an enchanted mop that will clean them up in a flash if they're going to continually flirt in the dirt.
He buttons it up under an Mmhmm in delayed response to having another jail, but, alas, seems it won't be needed. Against the shift of her muscle beneath his hand he squeezes back in response with his grip, tilting down to press his lips against the line of her jaw after a burning glance is cast towards the mischief in her eyes. He delivers a sigh that's terribly dramatic about the inconvenience of accepting gifts, the sound humming muffled into her throat, a slow kiss smoothing it over in the same spot. "I suppose to keep your name clean I'll accept presents," he murmurs, the sound mangled by the smile and the press of it against her skin.
He shifts then, standing up a bit more on his arm to glance down at the mud dick prodding his side. "Gods," he breathes, fighting back a laugh. "I that what I feel like all the time?" He's certain she'd be a complete nuisance with one, which doesn't make him any less of one.
His guise splinters for a moment as she yanks an honest laugh from him, all the dark heat he'd conjured as the sweatshirt reckoner fleeting beneath the golden hum of her conspiracy. "The only murder dungeon I have is my bed when your fine ass is on it." He's helpless to the wide stretch of his absurd smile at that, knowing it's entirely too much, but also unwilling to hold it back. He's half a mind to commit a murder right here even. Maybe for his birthday she could get him an enchanted mop that will clean them up in a flash if they're going to continually flirt in the dirt.
He buttons it up under an Mmhmm in delayed response to having another jail, but, alas, seems it won't be needed. Against the shift of her muscle beneath his hand he squeezes back in response with his grip, tilting down to press his lips against the line of her jaw after a burning glance is cast towards the mischief in her eyes. He delivers a sigh that's terribly dramatic about the inconvenience of accepting gifts, the sound humming muffled into her throat, a slow kiss smoothing it over in the same spot. "I suppose to keep your name clean I'll accept presents," he murmurs, the sound mangled by the smile and the press of it against her skin.
He shifts then, standing up a bit more on his arm to glance down at the mud dick prodding his side. "Gods," he breathes, fighting back a laugh. "I that what I feel like all the time?" He's certain she'd be a complete nuisance with one, which doesn't make him any less of one.
Kaisel
// When you need somebody to turn to—Nobody got you the way I do //
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
