Kaisel
His own suspicion deepens immediately in return, voice lowering into the careful volume and speed that a hostage negotiation requires. "Why? What have you done with them?" Or will do. He wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if she pulled up a remote feed of her own memory of the chocolate being melted slowly by a candle, just close enough that the heat would take its time dismantling the integrity of the bar, the torture drawn out with an attention directed solely at him. She's conniving enough, but he holds her in the corner of his gaze with a scrutiny that means to discover if she's cruel enough.
His delve into his backpack has a new purpose besides setting up camp, fingertips searching for the goods. There might not have been much that would have delayed his search party for them, but when he turns with a willingness to stare her down until one of them yields, the tier of his priorities becomes clearer. He breaks first, which maybe isn't a good showing of the endurance he's defending, but between the wind-up of his breath and the honest flattery, he expects to come out on top. She gives him two very good reasons to stay down.
The bob of her chest as it cinches up over her arms draws his attention immediately. The motion also reveals more of her midriff as the crop top's full cover struggles to reach above and below with anything akin to equality. The urge to halt everything and chase the hem of her shirt higher nearly possesses him. Although the bra beneath would ruin the attempt as it is now, he'd like to see just how the fabric rolls beneath his palms, and how taut he needs to pull it over the swell of her tits before her nipples are at risk of exposure. He wouldn't let them escape. He'd wait until her own impatience eventually freed them, driven to release by the methodical teasing of every inch of her around them.
They loom closer in a test of restraint, and his smile melts into something hungry, teeth clicking as he bites at the air and lifts his eyes back to her championing features. She's never finer than when she's victorious. A low chuckle rolls free at the whisper, and he shakes his head as he resumes the work at hand. "Mm, and thank the gods for that. Give my best regards to all your miles."
As for his bowels, he shrugs a touch. "It was like the size of jellybean, wasn't so bad." I had to put it to use. Not that he's recommending it, especially given the lackluster shit show, but he's had some cooking attempts that've betrayed him worse. "Anyway, we won't be eating or moving any tonight. We're gonna paint with 'em." Maybe she's done it before, in her childhood, but it's been a while since he has and there's a magic to it he thinks will survive each attempt. The trick is not using the stones so much as the space around them, an art piece made of the negative with the intention of how the light can be used, or hidden.
All in good time though, as first they've the campsite to erect. Firmly gripping his pole, he meets the too-innocent gleam of her eyes over the limp canvas, a smirk cutting up the rest of his features in quick response to the suggestive sweep of her hand. "It might require a bit of, gentle shimmying," he clarifies. "Just be careful where it connects at the tip, that area's sensitive."
His delve into his backpack has a new purpose besides setting up camp, fingertips searching for the goods. There might not have been much that would have delayed his search party for them, but when he turns with a willingness to stare her down until one of them yields, the tier of his priorities becomes clearer. He breaks first, which maybe isn't a good showing of the endurance he's defending, but between the wind-up of his breath and the honest flattery, he expects to come out on top. She gives him two very good reasons to stay down.
The bob of her chest as it cinches up over her arms draws his attention immediately. The motion also reveals more of her midriff as the crop top's full cover struggles to reach above and below with anything akin to equality. The urge to halt everything and chase the hem of her shirt higher nearly possesses him. Although the bra beneath would ruin the attempt as it is now, he'd like to see just how the fabric rolls beneath his palms, and how taut he needs to pull it over the swell of her tits before her nipples are at risk of exposure. He wouldn't let them escape. He'd wait until her own impatience eventually freed them, driven to release by the methodical teasing of every inch of her around them.
They loom closer in a test of restraint, and his smile melts into something hungry, teeth clicking as he bites at the air and lifts his eyes back to her championing features. She's never finer than when she's victorious. A low chuckle rolls free at the whisper, and he shakes his head as he resumes the work at hand. "Mm, and thank the gods for that. Give my best regards to all your miles."
As for his bowels, he shrugs a touch. "It was like the size of jellybean, wasn't so bad." I had to put it to use. Not that he's recommending it, especially given the lackluster shit show, but he's had some cooking attempts that've betrayed him worse. "Anyway, we won't be eating or moving any tonight. We're gonna paint with 'em." Maybe she's done it before, in her childhood, but it's been a while since he has and there's a magic to it he thinks will survive each attempt. The trick is not using the stones so much as the space around them, an art piece made of the negative with the intention of how the light can be used, or hidden.
All in good time though, as first they've the campsite to erect. Firmly gripping his pole, he meets the too-innocent gleam of her eyes over the limp canvas, a smirk cutting up the rest of his features in quick response to the suggestive sweep of her hand. "It might require a bit of, gentle shimmying," he clarifies. "Just be careful where it connects at the tip, that area's sensitive."
Haters on my back like a backpack
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Blowin' up I'm fucking flawless
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
