Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
The grin that shapes Flora’s face is all the answer that he needs. It’s got just enough mischief to it to speak in place of her words, or now, her thoughts. The satisfaction that’s brimming off her splashes into him, the sensation continuous enough to establish a tide that pulls at him, relentless. It’s a nearly physical force that leaves him breathless and soaked, as though grabbing breath after survivng a rogue wave. He has all the intention of getting his sealegs properly in order.
It’s nearly overwhelming. Not the bond itself, but the glowing, effervescent rush of her joy doubling back on his until they’re thoroughly tangled and weighted together. It feeds itself, but unlike the snake consuming its own tail at the end of times, this feels like something that’s just starting—eternity, maybe.
Gods, it’s not just the sparkling happiness either, it’s the heat that lords over every thought and impulse with a dictator’s benevolence. His own had been staggering enough, but as her’s flares and jumps over to burn him too, well he can finally understand why phoenixes are always turning themselves to ash. It pulls a rough breath from him around the edge of her mouth, his head tipping just slightly into her cheek as if bracing against the feeling of their multiplying desire, even as his body leans further into her, unwilling to give an inch.
He can feel his own hands on her. Not just her skin beneath his fingertips, but the skate of his touch rolling across her and every prickle it ignites in turn. Fuck a mirror on the ceiling to watch yourself, this transcends it all. He feels, suddenly starving, though his appetite is only for her, and there’s an eager hunger to know her anew.
It seems to have a similar effect on her with the near frantic pace they set. The absolute claim of her hands dragging him through his hair, their bodies bowing into the space of each other with more certainty than ever before, each step unflinching as they both direct and retreat in unison towards the bed. The shape of his erection has become more defined behind his boxers, chasing every fleeting bit of contact against her that arrives just before she steps away.
I feel the way you want, his thought shudders out in response to her, a barely cohesive thing, but in far better shape than his mouth, which is currently mapping out fresh trails against her neck and collar, alert to every spike and shift of feeling she lets through. It comes in bursts, responding like a living thing being caught, and he pursues it with all the intent of hunting it down thoroughly.
Her hand where she presses against him drags out a ragged sound of breath. It’s immediate, the way his grip tightens, the way his hips answer without thought, cock twitching with an ache to have her. The bond ripples with the rabid sensation, and it’s something he’s already decided he’s not going to survive quietly tonight. His hand catches hers, pressing it more firmly into him, wanting her to feel just how completely her touch drives him to the edge as the feeling mirrors properly through the bond.
His shirt slides up and over with little thought. His free hand impatiently gathers the rest of her torn dress, worn now like some homage to the apocalypse with the way its glittering sequins hang torn and open against the front of her, the elegance completely at odds with the strewn mess of stitching holding fast. Unfortunately, his other hand has to lift to help get it fully from her.
He is at once stopped by the sound of her voice. Not because it’s already become a foreign, too-loud thing—they have always had conversations in several forms, the addition of one not removing another. Like you love me. Not everything stills. Not the heat, still spiraling through every inch of him. Not the pull of her, a magnitude he has no hope or want of escaping. Not the way his body is still very much caught in motion, committed to a path of momentum. Something else in him stills, just enough that her voice lands the way it’s meant to—devastatingly.
His gaze finds hers properly then, lifting from the mess of gold and sun-kissed skin. "I don’t know another way." It’s low, but firm with an unshakable steadiness just like the first time he’d said it. She’ll feel it. Not just the words, but the shape of them—the way they settle go without resistance, or effort, without any space for doubt to exist alongside them.
Not that he needs to prove it. He can feel the belief pouring out of her, and that breaks the last of his composure. Instead of pushing now, he pulls her back into him with a rough insistence, mouth finding hers again with a renewed hunger that carries that looped certainty with it now. He lifts her easily into his arms, just long enough to turn the momentum, before letting it carry them both down onto the bed. It’s tender in the least polite way possible, a controlled aspect to the way he places her, catching himself over her, arms braced on either side of her head. His hips follow a second later, pressing firmly between her thighs, the contact drawing a sharp shudder through his teeth as his cock throbs in expectation. I think I finally found out how to hold onto forever. It’s her.
It’s nearly overwhelming. Not the bond itself, but the glowing, effervescent rush of her joy doubling back on his until they’re thoroughly tangled and weighted together. It feeds itself, but unlike the snake consuming its own tail at the end of times, this feels like something that’s just starting—eternity, maybe.
Gods, it’s not just the sparkling happiness either, it’s the heat that lords over every thought and impulse with a dictator’s benevolence. His own had been staggering enough, but as her’s flares and jumps over to burn him too, well he can finally understand why phoenixes are always turning themselves to ash. It pulls a rough breath from him around the edge of her mouth, his head tipping just slightly into her cheek as if bracing against the feeling of their multiplying desire, even as his body leans further into her, unwilling to give an inch.
He can feel his own hands on her. Not just her skin beneath his fingertips, but the skate of his touch rolling across her and every prickle it ignites in turn. Fuck a mirror on the ceiling to watch yourself, this transcends it all. He feels, suddenly starving, though his appetite is only for her, and there’s an eager hunger to know her anew.
It seems to have a similar effect on her with the near frantic pace they set. The absolute claim of her hands dragging him through his hair, their bodies bowing into the space of each other with more certainty than ever before, each step unflinching as they both direct and retreat in unison towards the bed. The shape of his erection has become more defined behind his boxers, chasing every fleeting bit of contact against her that arrives just before she steps away.
I feel the way you want, his thought shudders out in response to her, a barely cohesive thing, but in far better shape than his mouth, which is currently mapping out fresh trails against her neck and collar, alert to every spike and shift of feeling she lets through. It comes in bursts, responding like a living thing being caught, and he pursues it with all the intent of hunting it down thoroughly.
Her hand where she presses against him drags out a ragged sound of breath. It’s immediate, the way his grip tightens, the way his hips answer without thought, cock twitching with an ache to have her. The bond ripples with the rabid sensation, and it’s something he’s already decided he’s not going to survive quietly tonight. His hand catches hers, pressing it more firmly into him, wanting her to feel just how completely her touch drives him to the edge as the feeling mirrors properly through the bond.
His shirt slides up and over with little thought. His free hand impatiently gathers the rest of her torn dress, worn now like some homage to the apocalypse with the way its glittering sequins hang torn and open against the front of her, the elegance completely at odds with the strewn mess of stitching holding fast. Unfortunately, his other hand has to lift to help get it fully from her.
He is at once stopped by the sound of her voice. Not because it’s already become a foreign, too-loud thing—they have always had conversations in several forms, the addition of one not removing another. Like you love me. Not everything stills. Not the heat, still spiraling through every inch of him. Not the pull of her, a magnitude he has no hope or want of escaping. Not the way his body is still very much caught in motion, committed to a path of momentum. Something else in him stills, just enough that her voice lands the way it’s meant to—devastatingly.
His gaze finds hers properly then, lifting from the mess of gold and sun-kissed skin. "I don’t know another way." It’s low, but firm with an unshakable steadiness just like the first time he’d said it. She’ll feel it. Not just the words, but the shape of them—the way they settle go without resistance, or effort, without any space for doubt to exist alongside them.
Not that he needs to prove it. He can feel the belief pouring out of her, and that breaks the last of his composure. Instead of pushing now, he pulls her back into him with a rough insistence, mouth finding hers again with a renewed hunger that carries that looped certainty with it now. He lifts her easily into his arms, just long enough to turn the momentum, before letting it carry them both down onto the bed. It’s tender in the least polite way possible, a controlled aspect to the way he places her, catching himself over her, arms braced on either side of her head. His hips follow a second later, pressing firmly between her thighs, the contact drawing a sharp shudder through his teeth as his cock throbs in expectation. I think I finally found out how to hold onto forever. It’s her.
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
