Frey
The air thickens.
Not warmth; heat, sudden and intimate, blooming low and insistent as though the room itself has been breathed into, and suddenly Frey is there. Nude, shamelessly so, their body resolving in a way that makes desire feel embarrassingly obvious; all smooth planes and tempting curves, all invitation and threat. They are everything someone could want, and too much of it at once. The red light of the party licks across their skin, turning them molten, making it hard not to stare, harder still to look away.
The god steps close enough that Flora will feel them without being touched, their presence sliding along her spine, curling around her throat, sinking low in her belly with deliberate intent. Frey’s smile is slow, knowing, wicked. A finger lifts, tracing her cheek with maddening leisure, not quite a caress and not quite restraint, just enough pressure to make her aware of her own breath, her own heat, her own body reacting despite herself. "Of course she’s alright," Frey purrs, their voice silk and hunger, vibrating straight through Flora rather than reaching her ears. It’s reassurance wrapped in indulgence, certainty delivered like a lover’s promise.
Their gaze slides lazily past Flora, over one bare shoulder, eyes catching on Sunjata with open, unashamed appraisal before drifting further, taking in the fire, the meat, the alcohol, the bodies pressed close together in red light and crystal and anticipation. "Mmm," Frey murmurs, clearly pleased. "Nice party." The words carry weight, dripping approval and appetite, and the room seems to lean toward them in response.
Then, they're gone. Not vanished, but withdrawn, the way a hand leaves skin still buzzing, a warm rush of air sweeping through the hall like the aftershock of a kiss that should not have been that good. The heat lingers, the arousal doesn’t fully fade and no doubt a few guests will blink, flustered, suddenly aware of their own bodies.
Not warmth; heat, sudden and intimate, blooming low and insistent as though the room itself has been breathed into, and suddenly Frey is there. Nude, shamelessly so, their body resolving in a way that makes desire feel embarrassingly obvious; all smooth planes and tempting curves, all invitation and threat. They are everything someone could want, and too much of it at once. The red light of the party licks across their skin, turning them molten, making it hard not to stare, harder still to look away.
The god steps close enough that Flora will feel them without being touched, their presence sliding along her spine, curling around her throat, sinking low in her belly with deliberate intent. Frey’s smile is slow, knowing, wicked. A finger lifts, tracing her cheek with maddening leisure, not quite a caress and not quite restraint, just enough pressure to make her aware of her own breath, her own heat, her own body reacting despite herself. "Of course she’s alright," Frey purrs, their voice silk and hunger, vibrating straight through Flora rather than reaching her ears. It’s reassurance wrapped in indulgence, certainty delivered like a lover’s promise.
Their gaze slides lazily past Flora, over one bare shoulder, eyes catching on Sunjata with open, unashamed appraisal before drifting further, taking in the fire, the meat, the alcohol, the bodies pressed close together in red light and crystal and anticipation. "Mmm," Frey murmurs, clearly pleased. "Nice party." The words carry weight, dripping approval and appetite, and the room seems to lean toward them in response.
Then, they're gone. Not vanished, but withdrawn, the way a hand leaves skin still buzzing, a warm rush of air sweeping through the hall like the aftershock of a kiss that should not have been that good. The heat lingers, the arousal doesn’t fully fade and no doubt a few guests will blink, flustered, suddenly aware of their own bodies.
