Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
He doesn’t give her the chance to wonder if he’ll follow. The space she tries to make is gone as quickly as it appears, eaten up in steps that bring him back into her so swiftly that it's more instinct than choice, as though there’s no version of this where he lets her get further than lip’s reach. He's only dimly aware of the way they fumble down the hall, the space familiar enough to navigate with the slightest bearings.
When she slips from him to set the Everkeep aside, it pulls a sharp breath from him, sudden and unsteady, like he’s just been dragged up for air he didn’t ask for. Almost bewildered for that moment, he has enough time to register that they are, in fact, in their room. He's halfway through kicking off his shoes when she finds him again, balance slipping just enough to make him stumble into her with a rough huff of breath as he flings the last shoe away urgently. It only drives him closer, hands catching her instinctively, mouth reclaiming hers before the motion has even settled. There’s no resistance, barely even self-preservation, just a dive straight back in.
He goes under with a quiet kind of force, the heat already settled into something deeper, something that doesn’t need to flare because it’s already taken hold. Every point of contact anchors him further into it, into her, and it's something set long before this moment, drawing him in no matter how close he already is. It leaves him wanting more, not because something is missing, but because everything is already there and he can’t seem to get enough of it. His hand doesn’t stay polite this time. It slides along her side only long enough to find purchase, gathering the fabric of her dress in his grip and dragging it up with a lack of ceremony. "Do you care about this?" say no, not because he needs to ruin it, but because he's more interested in closing the distance than preserving anything in the way.
All care for caution is immediately lost when she bows into him. His restraint breaks, clean and immediate, as her body finds the full line of his, every new point of contact hitting like a fresh surge through something already overwhelmed. He yanks the dress hard enough for the slit to give higher, tearing it open in a jagged line toward her navel and baring more of her skin to the hard press of his body. "Fuuuuck, Flora," it slips from him low and rough, the last of anything measured unraveling in the sound as his other hand finds her just as quickly, slipping beneath the gathered sequins to the curve of her ass. His fingers spread with a firm, unrelenting grip, dragging her tighter into him instead of letting her drift even a fraction away.
The friction of it only feeds the need, sharp and immediate, the press of him caught tight against his pants between them, the want for her unmistakable. His mouth leaves hers with a rough drag of breath, parting just long enough to chase her elsewhere—jaw, throat, wherever he can reach without losing contact entirely—before finding her again like he can’t stand to be without the full taste of her for more than a second.
"What do you want?" he murmurs against her mouth, the words roughened by breath and far too close to be anything but felt as much as heard. There’s no hesitation in it, no uncertainty. It's an open and immediate offer, like he’s already prepared to meet whatever answer she gives. "It's your night." A reminder that on her birthday, she can have whatever damn well she pleases.
When she slips from him to set the Everkeep aside, it pulls a sharp breath from him, sudden and unsteady, like he’s just been dragged up for air he didn’t ask for. Almost bewildered for that moment, he has enough time to register that they are, in fact, in their room. He's halfway through kicking off his shoes when she finds him again, balance slipping just enough to make him stumble into her with a rough huff of breath as he flings the last shoe away urgently. It only drives him closer, hands catching her instinctively, mouth reclaiming hers before the motion has even settled. There’s no resistance, barely even self-preservation, just a dive straight back in.
He goes under with a quiet kind of force, the heat already settled into something deeper, something that doesn’t need to flare because it’s already taken hold. Every point of contact anchors him further into it, into her, and it's something set long before this moment, drawing him in no matter how close he already is. It leaves him wanting more, not because something is missing, but because everything is already there and he can’t seem to get enough of it. His hand doesn’t stay polite this time. It slides along her side only long enough to find purchase, gathering the fabric of her dress in his grip and dragging it up with a lack of ceremony. "Do you care about this?" say no, not because he needs to ruin it, but because he's more interested in closing the distance than preserving anything in the way.
All care for caution is immediately lost when she bows into him. His restraint breaks, clean and immediate, as her body finds the full line of his, every new point of contact hitting like a fresh surge through something already overwhelmed. He yanks the dress hard enough for the slit to give higher, tearing it open in a jagged line toward her navel and baring more of her skin to the hard press of his body. "Fuuuuck, Flora," it slips from him low and rough, the last of anything measured unraveling in the sound as his other hand finds her just as quickly, slipping beneath the gathered sequins to the curve of her ass. His fingers spread with a firm, unrelenting grip, dragging her tighter into him instead of letting her drift even a fraction away.
The friction of it only feeds the need, sharp and immediate, the press of him caught tight against his pants between them, the want for her unmistakable. His mouth leaves hers with a rough drag of breath, parting just long enough to chase her elsewhere—jaw, throat, wherever he can reach without losing contact entirely—before finding her again like he can’t stand to be without the full taste of her for more than a second.
"What do you want?" he murmurs against her mouth, the words roughened by breath and far too close to be anything but felt as much as heard. There’s no hesitation in it, no uncertainty. It's an open and immediate offer, like he’s already prepared to meet whatever answer she gives. "It's your night." A reminder that on her birthday, she can have whatever damn well she pleases.
Kaisel
They don't gotta ask 'cause they know I'm him
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
