Kaisel
One foot in the ground
One foot in the grave
One foot in the grave
The notion of a new position, offered with the subtlety of privacy in this little part of the world they've carved out for each other mid-party, alongside the implication that Flora 'd be willing to try it, immediately unseats every part of his expression. Something that's a mixture of excited and devious runs away with the shape of his face, telling of his thoughts a moment before he lends them voice. "Sky-anchor swivel kiss?" He's definitely looking up at the sky, and gravity definitely swiveled something around for this kiss he claims.
It's not real, of course, the ask about the sky-anchor swivel kiss. He's long decided that it's Mormon, taking one meaning and dressing it up as another, like penetration being likened to a bath. The sky-anchor swivel kiss is clearly reverse cowgirl with an angle.
The memory of it being tossed out on the Sugartide that fateful night only serves to deepen the urge to kiss her as he leans up. When they connect, it feels far too much like the first time—just as electric, his pulse thundering over his ears and bringing color to his cheeks while his stomach bottoms out in his abdomen. Because every time, each moment with her is its own, and in that way he's kissing her for the first time all over again. When would they ever be back in a nest of vines beneath a hammock in Deepfrost, then the sky looks just like this, and a leaf joins them? This is both the first and the last, and he'd not waste a second loving her like it was anything short of extraordinary.
As she laughs, he leans back into the pillow of ground, grinning. "Okay," he admits with a huff. "Maybe a little more comfortable would be nice. Gerup and lets try this hammock again."
It's not real, of course, the ask about the sky-anchor swivel kiss. He's long decided that it's Mormon, taking one meaning and dressing it up as another, like penetration being likened to a bath. The sky-anchor swivel kiss is clearly reverse cowgirl with an angle.
The memory of it being tossed out on the Sugartide that fateful night only serves to deepen the urge to kiss her as he leans up. When they connect, it feels far too much like the first time—just as electric, his pulse thundering over his ears and bringing color to his cheeks while his stomach bottoms out in his abdomen. Because every time, each moment with her is its own, and in that way he's kissing her for the first time all over again. When would they ever be back in a nest of vines beneath a hammock in Deepfrost, then the sky looks just like this, and a leaf joins them? This is both the first and the last, and he'd not waste a second loving her like it was anything short of extraordinary.
As she laughs, he leans back into the pillow of ground, grinning. "Okay," he admits with a huff. "Maybe a little more comfortable would be nice. Gerup and lets try this hammock again."
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
