flora
Flora laughs and shoves at Kaisel's shoulder with playful force, enough to make the strainer wobble again, her head shaking as if the idea itself might try to stick. "Nameless," she says, amused and incredulous all at once, the word rolling out like she’s tasting it and immediately rejecting it. The grin she turns on him after that is bright and unguarded, all warmth and mischief, and when he says perfect she beams down at him, eyes narrowing a heartbeat later into something that could almost pass for a glare if it weren’t paired with an unmistakable spark of affection. The kind of look that says careful, the kind that promises consequences if he keeps talking like that, the kind that would end with clothing on the floor if there weren’t still things to say.
It doesn’t surprise her when he reaches for relief, not really. Even if he’d said he didn’t want to know, even if he’d tried to keep that door closed, she’s always known curiosity has a way of pressing at the seams, especially now, with Danta’s careless honesty and the quiet weight of knowing what Jack could once hear without permission. She nods, not to dismiss it but to acknowledge it, understanding humming between them like a shared frequency, and when he tugs her down she ducks instinctively beneath the lip of the pasta strainer before letting herself sink into the kiss. It blooms fast and warm with more heat than she means to let loose, thanks to the way her hips had playfully rolled into him, a rush that has her pulse roaring in her ears and the world narrowing to the press of his mouth and the familiar gravity of him beneath her. Gods, if there weren’t more to talk about she’d only pull back when the need for air demanded it, but she makes herself stop, stealing a hasty breath, steadying herself against the way her body is already choosing him without restraint.
His words curl into her like a spark down the spine, toes curling as she swallows hard and pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark and intent. "Next time," she says, voice low and deliberate, "I’ll show you a few of the things I like and you can see what you think." The promise hangs there, not rushed, not coy, just honest and alive. Then she tilts her head, a soft challenge threaded through her smile. "And that goes both ways," she adds. "If there’s anything you like, or anything you’ve ever even wondered about, you just need to say the word."
She leans in again, close enough that her mouth brushes his cheek, her words breathed against the corner of his lips the way his had been, intimate and deliberately teasing. "Even if I don’t have to," she murmurs, the truth of it steady and unashamed, "making you feel good really does turn me on."
It doesn’t surprise her when he reaches for relief, not really. Even if he’d said he didn’t want to know, even if he’d tried to keep that door closed, she’s always known curiosity has a way of pressing at the seams, especially now, with Danta’s careless honesty and the quiet weight of knowing what Jack could once hear without permission. She nods, not to dismiss it but to acknowledge it, understanding humming between them like a shared frequency, and when he tugs her down she ducks instinctively beneath the lip of the pasta strainer before letting herself sink into the kiss. It blooms fast and warm with more heat than she means to let loose, thanks to the way her hips had playfully rolled into him, a rush that has her pulse roaring in her ears and the world narrowing to the press of his mouth and the familiar gravity of him beneath her. Gods, if there weren’t more to talk about she’d only pull back when the need for air demanded it, but she makes herself stop, stealing a hasty breath, steadying herself against the way her body is already choosing him without restraint.
His words curl into her like a spark down the spine, toes curling as she swallows hard and pulls back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark and intent. "Next time," she says, voice low and deliberate, "I’ll show you a few of the things I like and you can see what you think." The promise hangs there, not rushed, not coy, just honest and alive. Then she tilts her head, a soft challenge threaded through her smile. "And that goes both ways," she adds. "If there’s anything you like, or anything you’ve ever even wondered about, you just need to say the word."
She leans in again, close enough that her mouth brushes his cheek, her words breathed against the corner of his lips the way his had been, intimate and deliberately teasing. "Even if I don’t have to," she murmurs, the truth of it steady and unashamed, "making you feel good really does turn me on."
you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart
you're either falling in love or falling apart
