is this the end of all the endings?
As Kaisel rises, Flora’s chin tips up to follow the movement, her aqua gaze keeping him happily pinned all the way to standing. At the mention of pitching a tent, her eyes betray her for one brief, entirely incriminating second, slipping down the length of him before she catches herself. Her free hand comes up to swat lightly at his shoulder, a sharp little breath accompanying the gesture. "Kaisel," she scolds, though the reprimand is undermined completely by the pleased warmth spilling through their bond, bright enough that he’ll have no trouble recognizing how much she appreciates the terrible pun despite herself.
She gives him just enough time to settle the hammock before easing in beside him with considerably more care than either of them showed the first time around. The netting sways beneath her, and Flora shifts close before stretching one leg across his hips, arranging herself as though this is a purely practical measure intended to conceal his very obvious camping credentials from the rest of the festival. The gentle press of her leg against him says otherwise, especially when she settles into the space beside him with a little hum of satisfaction and does not move it away.
"Calling it camping might be generous," she says after putting on a thoughtful little hum, her expression narrowing as though weighing the evidence fairly. "There were, like, a hundred pillows. And you barely even made it inside because you didn’t know the password." The memory pulls a grin from her, fond and teasing, as she turns her face toward his. Her leg shifts again, entirely unhelpful in its slow slide against him, though Flora keeps her expression innocent enough to qualify as criminal.
Then she leans in and kisses him, soft and lingering rather than hungry, the sweetness of it almost worse for the heat she refuses to give voice to. Her thoughts are decidedly less restrained, glimmering through their bond with the shape of future plans and the Sugartide waiting somewhere beyond the trees, but when she finally draws back her voice is barely more than a whisper. "Absolutely we should."
She gives him just enough time to settle the hammock before easing in beside him with considerably more care than either of them showed the first time around. The netting sways beneath her, and Flora shifts close before stretching one leg across his hips, arranging herself as though this is a purely practical measure intended to conceal his very obvious camping credentials from the rest of the festival. The gentle press of her leg against him says otherwise, especially when she settles into the space beside him with a little hum of satisfaction and does not move it away.
"Calling it camping might be generous," she says after putting on a thoughtful little hum, her expression narrowing as though weighing the evidence fairly. "There were, like, a hundred pillows. And you barely even made it inside because you didn’t know the password." The memory pulls a grin from her, fond and teasing, as she turns her face toward his. Her leg shifts again, entirely unhelpful in its slow slide against him, though Flora keeps her expression innocent enough to qualify as criminal.
Then she leans in and kisses him, soft and lingering rather than hungry, the sweetness of it almost worse for the heat she refuses to give voice to. Her thoughts are decidedly less restrained, glimmering through their bond with the shape of future plans and the Sugartide waiting somewhere beyond the trees, but when she finally draws back her voice is barely more than a whisper. "Absolutely we should."
my broken bones are mending
