Whether I'm gonna curse you out or
Take you back to my house
Take you back to my house
Flora snickers, quick and bright, the sound slipping out of her before she can catch it as she tips her head, eyes glinting with something sharp and delighted. "Two whole strawberries?" she echoes, her grin widening as she imagines it, the pettiness of it blooming easy and familiar, something almost comforting in the way hurt can be reshaped into something ridiculous, something exaggerated and shared until it feels smaller than it did before.
That low sound in Kaisel's throat lands somewhere deep and immediate, and Flora feels it like a spark catching dry tinder, heat flaring through her all at once as his hands tighten on her thighs, her body responding without permission, without thought, every muscle drawing taut and alive beneath his touch. She presses closer, her breath catching as his thumbs curl higher, the movement slow enough to be deliberate, unhurried enough to make every inch of it felt. Her lips part around the shape of his name, but it doesn’t quite make it out, dissolving instead into a soft, unsteady breath as her fingers tighten in his hair, her toes curling against nothing as sensation floods through her, sharp and consuming in a way that makes everything else blur at the edges.
"Perfect," she manages, the word breathy and distracted, barely tethered to the conversation anymore as it slips from her lips. As he pulls her forward, the sudden shift knocks something loose in her, her stomach flipping hard as he drags her against him, the press of him turning the heat into something more robust, spreading fast beneath her skin as her leggings tug downward and the air hits warm, flushed skin. Colour blooms across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her breath catching again as her body reacts before she can even think to temper it, the intensity of it almost dizzying in the way it builds and builds with nowhere to go.
Leaning forward, she crashes her mouth against his, like she’s trying to pour something out of herself and into him, like the only way to manage the heat is to feed it, to meet it head-on. It doesn’t ease anything; it only deepens it, sharpens it, the press of her lips against his turning urgent in a way that makes her chest rise with a quick, uneven breath. "Gods, I want you," she breathes against his mouth, the words low and desperate, stripped of anything playful now, her voice leaving no space for hesitation as her fingers tighten in his hair and she presses closer still, as if that alone might be enough to bridge the distance that suddenly feels unbearable. "Right here." No better place for something edible than the kitchen, surely.
~FIN
That low sound in Kaisel's throat lands somewhere deep and immediate, and Flora feels it like a spark catching dry tinder, heat flaring through her all at once as his hands tighten on her thighs, her body responding without permission, without thought, every muscle drawing taut and alive beneath his touch. She presses closer, her breath catching as his thumbs curl higher, the movement slow enough to be deliberate, unhurried enough to make every inch of it felt. Her lips part around the shape of his name, but it doesn’t quite make it out, dissolving instead into a soft, unsteady breath as her fingers tighten in his hair, her toes curling against nothing as sensation floods through her, sharp and consuming in a way that makes everything else blur at the edges.
"Perfect," she manages, the word breathy and distracted, barely tethered to the conversation anymore as it slips from her lips. As he pulls her forward, the sudden shift knocks something loose in her, her stomach flipping hard as he drags her against him, the press of him turning the heat into something more robust, spreading fast beneath her skin as her leggings tug downward and the air hits warm, flushed skin. Colour blooms across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her breath catching again as her body reacts before she can even think to temper it, the intensity of it almost dizzying in the way it builds and builds with nowhere to go.
Leaning forward, she crashes her mouth against his, like she’s trying to pour something out of herself and into him, like the only way to manage the heat is to feed it, to meet it head-on. It doesn’t ease anything; it only deepens it, sharpens it, the press of her lips against his turning urgent in a way that makes her chest rise with a quick, uneven breath. "Gods, I want you," she breathes against his mouth, the words low and desperate, stripped of anything playful now, her voice leaving no space for hesitation as her fingers tighten in his hair and she presses closer still, as if that alone might be enough to bridge the distance that suddenly feels unbearable. "Right here." No better place for something edible than the kitchen, surely.
~FIN
flora
I haven't decided yet
But I'm gonna get you back
But I'm gonna get you back
