I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
The low, sly curl of his voice sends a warm rush straight through her, the kind that blooms in her belly and rises fast enough to steal the edge of her breath, and instead of answering it with her mouth the way her body immediately wants to, Flora swats at his shoulder with theatrical indignation, her tone pitched just high enough to make it clear she is laughing even as she scolds him. "Kaisel" she says, dragging out his name in mock reprimand, because if she lets herself linger there for even a second longer she knows she will fold right back into him and forget entirely about the plan she has been carefully sitting on.
She pivots away as he helps her down, already anticipating the familiar swat and shifting her hips with playful exaggeration as she goes, flashing him a grin over her shoulder that promises far more than it explains before she disappears down the short hallway toward the bedroom. By the time she reaches the bedroom her hands are already trembling, not with fear but with anticipation, with the electric certainty that this moment belongs to them if only because of how much it took—from both of them—to get here. She sheds her clothes without ceremony, fabric pooling at her feet as she reaches for the red lace she bought with Kaisel in mind, drawing it on slowly and carefully, letting the silk trace symmetrical lines all over her body. The colour is vivid against her skin, a deep, decadent red with delicate floral shapes stitched over her chest catching faintly as she breathes. There's a subtle sweetness clinging to the air and to her fingers as she adjusts the edible lace until it sits just right, a magic woven into the material such that only saliva would be able to melt the fabric.
She pauses in front of the mirror despite herself, the moment stretching as she takes in the full picture, the way the lace frames her curves, the way the silk straps cross her hips, the way the faint scent of strawberry blooms with every movement. Her gaze drifts, unbidden, to the pale scars along her lower belly, the faint lines along her ribs, the way her skin is still lighter than it will be later in the year, and for a heartbeat doubt flutters sharp and familiar in her chest. She inhales slowly, grounding herself in the knowledge that Kaisel has never once looked at her with anything but desire and reverence, that he has always met her exactly where she is, and that thought steadies her enough to lift her chin and let the moment belong to her again even if she's now built it up to something far larger than it has any real right to be in her mind. Reaching for a small rectangular box wrapped in matching red lace, she curls her fingers around it, the texture soft against her palm, before slipping back into the hallway on bare feet.
She moves quietly, the ship humming faintly around her, and when she reaches the kitchenette she does not announce herself, choosing instead to lean into the doorway and let the sight speak first. She holds herself just so, lengthening her posture, shoulders back, the red lace contoured against her skin, the silk and floral patterns catching the light as she shifts her weight, the sweetness of the edible fabric lingering subtly in the air between them. There is a flicker of nerves she cannot quite suppress, her confidence tempered by vulnerability, and she bites gently at the inside of her lip as she tilts her head, watching him through lashes that refuse to stay steady.
Extending the gift toward him, the lace-wrapped box cradled in her hands like something precious, she lifts her brows a fraction and lets a crooked, intimate smile curl against her lips as she purrs, "I wrapped it myself."
She pivots away as he helps her down, already anticipating the familiar swat and shifting her hips with playful exaggeration as she goes, flashing him a grin over her shoulder that promises far more than it explains before she disappears down the short hallway toward the bedroom. By the time she reaches the bedroom her hands are already trembling, not with fear but with anticipation, with the electric certainty that this moment belongs to them if only because of how much it took—from both of them—to get here. She sheds her clothes without ceremony, fabric pooling at her feet as she reaches for the red lace she bought with Kaisel in mind, drawing it on slowly and carefully, letting the silk trace symmetrical lines all over her body. The colour is vivid against her skin, a deep, decadent red with delicate floral shapes stitched over her chest catching faintly as she breathes. There's a subtle sweetness clinging to the air and to her fingers as she adjusts the edible lace until it sits just right, a magic woven into the material such that only saliva would be able to melt the fabric.
She pauses in front of the mirror despite herself, the moment stretching as she takes in the full picture, the way the lace frames her curves, the way the silk straps cross her hips, the way the faint scent of strawberry blooms with every movement. Her gaze drifts, unbidden, to the pale scars along her lower belly, the faint lines along her ribs, the way her skin is still lighter than it will be later in the year, and for a heartbeat doubt flutters sharp and familiar in her chest. She inhales slowly, grounding herself in the knowledge that Kaisel has never once looked at her with anything but desire and reverence, that he has always met her exactly where she is, and that thought steadies her enough to lift her chin and let the moment belong to her again even if she's now built it up to something far larger than it has any real right to be in her mind. Reaching for a small rectangular box wrapped in matching red lace, she curls her fingers around it, the texture soft against her palm, before slipping back into the hallway on bare feet.
She moves quietly, the ship humming faintly around her, and when she reaches the kitchenette she does not announce herself, choosing instead to lean into the doorway and let the sight speak first. She holds herself just so, lengthening her posture, shoulders back, the red lace contoured against her skin, the silk and floral patterns catching the light as she shifts her weight, the sweetness of the edible fabric lingering subtly in the air between them. There is a flicker of nerves she cannot quite suppress, her confidence tempered by vulnerability, and she bites gently at the inside of her lip as she tilts her head, watching him through lashes that refuse to stay steady.
Extending the gift toward him, the lace-wrapped box cradled in her hands like something precious, she lifts her brows a fraction and lets a crooked, intimate smile curl against her lips as she purrs, "I wrapped it myself."
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
