Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
The moment Flora props herself up, a full gust of breath slips in like a window being thrown open instead of just cracked. His smile sprawls out crooked and worn, the inevitable shadow cast on him by the loom of her face over his. He is freshly struck by just how much he adores her in this moment—nestled away in the shelter of her hair, pinned beneath her because she raced after him without question, features puckered with that little pout of dramatic flair and disapproval that he desperately wants to kiss directly off her face every time he sees it. He's precisely where he wants to be, the hammock totally unnecessary.
The fondness darts helplessly through the connection to her, spreading like ink that blooms near instantly across beads of water on paper. Still regaining the full shape of his lungs, he can't contain the huff of amusement that slips free at her scorn. "You thought this was what I meant by in position?" It comes out low and wispy, a rolling chuckle following on the heels of it and then a long drag of a breath being hauled in.
His other hand lifts up, slipping lightly along the side of her cheek, fingertips curling near her ear. "Completely," he responds without hesitation on the matter of his comfort, leaf still clinging stubbornly to his face as if a new spa garnish for the ritual of perfect bliss. Wrestling himself up, he reaches for that kiss he's been wanting all the while, made all the sweeter for the patience.
The fondness darts helplessly through the connection to her, spreading like ink that blooms near instantly across beads of water on paper. Still regaining the full shape of his lungs, he can't contain the huff of amusement that slips free at her scorn. "You thought this was what I meant by in position?" It comes out low and wispy, a rolling chuckle following on the heels of it and then a long drag of a breath being hauled in.
His other hand lifts up, slipping lightly along the side of her cheek, fingertips curling near her ear. "Completely," he responds without hesitation on the matter of his comfort, leaf still clinging stubbornly to his face as if a new spa garnish for the ritual of perfect bliss. Wrestling himself up, he reaches for that kiss he's been wanting all the while, made all the sweeter for the patience.
It's not the devil at your door
It's just your shadow on the floor
It's just your shadow on the floor
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
