flora
Even before his fingers catch against the side of her bathing suit, Flora feels it: that romantic, shameless little surge of greed pouring through the bond as clearly as heat from a fire. Her hips twist just enough into him to keep the black fabric pulled taut beneath his fingers, a token bit of resistance that does absolutely nothing to stop her from being drawn closer. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she meets his kiss with a softness that turns quickly traitorous when his teeth skim her lower lip, dark garnet warmth blooming through the bond from her side and spilling up beneath her skin.
Last LongNight, they’d come close enough to trouble by one of the floating docks that she can still remember the water lapping between them and the terrible, delicious sense that neither of them had wanted to be sensible. Now, with firelight flickering across the beach and Kaisel’s fingers lingering on the edge of her sarong, Flora’s thoughts try to careen straight toward pulling him out of sight and into some obliging puddle of darkness where his hands could continue doing exactly that. The hum she gives him as he lets her go is equal parts disappointment and utter satisfaction, her cheeks already flushed as she stays tucked against his side.
"I mean, you could," she says, wrinkling her nose at the torch idea as she holds up the camera again, "but then you’ll knock the hoops and lose points." When he staggers them sideways, Flora lets herself go with it, feet skidding dramatically across the sand until his hands settle her again. She looks up at him with exaggerated relief, as though she’s only just survived a truly harrowing brush with the beach, but the champagne-fizz of affection spilling through the bond makes the act slightly harder to sell.
Then he crouches, and Flora’s grin sharpens at once. Holding the camera snug against herself, she hops nimbly onto his back and links her legs around his waist, a delighted little sound catching in her throat as she settles there. Nudging him forward with her calves and clucking softly like he’s the most cooperative encantado in Torchline, she leans close to his ear and drops her voice as though there might be spies nearby. "Okay," she murmurs, "now let’s talk strategy."
Last LongNight, they’d come close enough to trouble by one of the floating docks that she can still remember the water lapping between them and the terrible, delicious sense that neither of them had wanted to be sensible. Now, with firelight flickering across the beach and Kaisel’s fingers lingering on the edge of her sarong, Flora’s thoughts try to careen straight toward pulling him out of sight and into some obliging puddle of darkness where his hands could continue doing exactly that. The hum she gives him as he lets her go is equal parts disappointment and utter satisfaction, her cheeks already flushed as she stays tucked against his side.
"I mean, you could," she says, wrinkling her nose at the torch idea as she holds up the camera again, "but then you’ll knock the hoops and lose points." When he staggers them sideways, Flora lets herself go with it, feet skidding dramatically across the sand until his hands settle her again. She looks up at him with exaggerated relief, as though she’s only just survived a truly harrowing brush with the beach, but the champagne-fizz of affection spilling through the bond makes the act slightly harder to sell.
Then he crouches, and Flora’s grin sharpens at once. Holding the camera snug against herself, she hops nimbly onto his back and links her legs around his waist, a delighted little sound catching in her throat as she settles there. Nudging him forward with her calves and clucking softly like he’s the most cooperative encantado in Torchline, she leans close to his ear and drops her voice as though there might be spies nearby. "Okay," she murmurs, "now let’s talk strategy."
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
