flora
Wrinkling her nose at him with a theatrical sort of affront, Flora tips her head, curls bouncing as she insists, "I wouldn’t stay dead, obviously." Her fingers flit through the air as if brushing the very idea aside like an errant strand of hair, the expression on her face full of mock exasperation. "It’d just be, you know, the hook. The thing you slap across the back cover in dramatic serif font so people go, oh no, and buy it immediately. No one’s gonna read The Very Alive Koala Writes a Memoir, but the twice dead Koala? Come on, obvious bestseller."
The smile that follows is small but sharp, a gleam of white teeth behind parted lips, especially as her eyes trail down the length of him while he flexes so dramatically that even the dress seems to give up trying to contain him. Mischief curves across her mouth like it’s been waiting there all day, but there’s something else behind it too; heat that blooms slow and steady in her gaze, undeniable despite the laughter that still lingers between them. "Yeah, I noticed," she murmurs at last, voice slipping a little lower as she lets her eyes linger unapologetically, because for as much as she teases him about not being athletic, or tall, or muscular, he was all of those things, and not only had she noticed, she didn't ever think she'd be done noticing.
Flora's tone turns bright again as she loops back to his earlier claim, hands fluttering in vague circles to indicate all of him. "Dresses are for showing off whatever you want," she says, just as he turns to offer his ass like it’s on parade. She doesn’t waste the opportunity: her hand lands with a satisfying smack that sends the sequins glittering like startled fish, her laughter bubbling out immediately after, light and delighted.
Glancing over her shoulder as she adjusts the dragon shirt, her gaze snags on the sudden revelation that Kai's in nothing but his underwear now too, and the sparkle in her eyes sharpens, deepens, as if daring the air itself not to catch fire from the tension hanging just beneath the humour. "Yeah," she says after a beat, voice smoothing back into her story even though the visual of him leaning there, so openly admiring and entirely too shirtless and pantsless, does everything it can to derail her thoughts. "More or less. Everyone being in one place just felt like asking for it. Dahlia showing up didn’t help, obviously, but then Deimos and Evie brought their baby, which really had people on edge, and things just got worse."
She rolls her eyes at the memory, her hands finding the hem of the shirt again, but making no move to pull it down just yet, not when she’s caught in the feel of this; laughter softening into shared memory, absurdity curled up alongside the quiet intimacy of undressing in the same breath as retelling political disaster. She could have had the shirt on 10 times over already, but there is something far too delicious about waiting to see just how long Kai would be able to abide her standing with her arms half-raised and her tits defying gravity completely out of his line of sight. "Hadama backed Maea up, which made everything even more awkward, and I think it would’ve devolved into full chaos if Sunjata hadn’t stepped in. But the twist?" She lifts a single brow, conspiratorial. "He only did because he was already infected at the time."
Just as she starts to finally lower the shirt, she pauses when he calls out with faux-concern, and as the macramé halter top sails through the air toward her, she catches it mid-flight with a suspicious narrowing of her eyes. It’s barely a whisper of fabric, thin enough to fit in the palm of her hand with room left over, and she looks from it to him as if weighing the sheer audacity of the offer. "You just said I looked good in everything," she reminds him slowly, suspicion laced with laughter as she lifts the shirt to cover her breasts with one hand and waggles the fingers of her other hand in his direction.
Her truth ring glints in the low light like it’s laughing too, and she tilts her head, voice rising with exaggerated scandal. "I cannot believe you would lie to me like this," she intones, all wide eyes and mock devastation, though the grin playing at the corners of her lips gives her away entirely.
But the performance fades as she shifts her weight and turns fully to face him, something quieter and heavier falling into place beneath the sparkle in her gaze. Without ceremony, she lets both the dragon shirt and the whisper-thin halter top slip from her fingers, the fabric puddling between them like offerings laid at the feet of something far more sacred. She’s left in only her underwear now, skin aglow in the low light, moonlight striping her like satin ribbons. Her movements are slow and deliberate as she closes the distance between them, arms winding gently around his shoulders until she can feel the warm press of his bare chest meeting hers, the soft drag of her breasts against his skin a question and a promise all at once.
Rising onto her toes, she leans in close, breath grazing his ear as her lips curl into a smile he can feel. "Maybe," she whispers, her voice dipped in flirtation and heat, "we don’t get dressed at all." And before the suggestion can fully settle, she kisses him; deep, lingering, and full of everything that laughter and tears and stoytelling have built between them tonight. Her fingers find his hand as she pulls him with her, backs bending toward the bed, the warmth between them no longer something to joke about or dress up, but something to be surrendered to, completely.
~FIN
The smile that follows is small but sharp, a gleam of white teeth behind parted lips, especially as her eyes trail down the length of him while he flexes so dramatically that even the dress seems to give up trying to contain him. Mischief curves across her mouth like it’s been waiting there all day, but there’s something else behind it too; heat that blooms slow and steady in her gaze, undeniable despite the laughter that still lingers between them. "Yeah, I noticed," she murmurs at last, voice slipping a little lower as she lets her eyes linger unapologetically, because for as much as she teases him about not being athletic, or tall, or muscular, he was all of those things, and not only had she noticed, she didn't ever think she'd be done noticing.
Flora's tone turns bright again as she loops back to his earlier claim, hands fluttering in vague circles to indicate all of him. "Dresses are for showing off whatever you want," she says, just as he turns to offer his ass like it’s on parade. She doesn’t waste the opportunity: her hand lands with a satisfying smack that sends the sequins glittering like startled fish, her laughter bubbling out immediately after, light and delighted.
Glancing over her shoulder as she adjusts the dragon shirt, her gaze snags on the sudden revelation that Kai's in nothing but his underwear now too, and the sparkle in her eyes sharpens, deepens, as if daring the air itself not to catch fire from the tension hanging just beneath the humour. "Yeah," she says after a beat, voice smoothing back into her story even though the visual of him leaning there, so openly admiring and entirely too shirtless and pantsless, does everything it can to derail her thoughts. "More or less. Everyone being in one place just felt like asking for it. Dahlia showing up didn’t help, obviously, but then Deimos and Evie brought their baby, which really had people on edge, and things just got worse."
She rolls her eyes at the memory, her hands finding the hem of the shirt again, but making no move to pull it down just yet, not when she’s caught in the feel of this; laughter softening into shared memory, absurdity curled up alongside the quiet intimacy of undressing in the same breath as retelling political disaster. She could have had the shirt on 10 times over already, but there is something far too delicious about waiting to see just how long Kai would be able to abide her standing with her arms half-raised and her tits defying gravity completely out of his line of sight. "Hadama backed Maea up, which made everything even more awkward, and I think it would’ve devolved into full chaos if Sunjata hadn’t stepped in. But the twist?" She lifts a single brow, conspiratorial. "He only did because he was already infected at the time."
Just as she starts to finally lower the shirt, she pauses when he calls out with faux-concern, and as the macramé halter top sails through the air toward her, she catches it mid-flight with a suspicious narrowing of her eyes. It’s barely a whisper of fabric, thin enough to fit in the palm of her hand with room left over, and she looks from it to him as if weighing the sheer audacity of the offer. "You just said I looked good in everything," she reminds him slowly, suspicion laced with laughter as she lifts the shirt to cover her breasts with one hand and waggles the fingers of her other hand in his direction.
Her truth ring glints in the low light like it’s laughing too, and she tilts her head, voice rising with exaggerated scandal. "I cannot believe you would lie to me like this," she intones, all wide eyes and mock devastation, though the grin playing at the corners of her lips gives her away entirely.
But the performance fades as she shifts her weight and turns fully to face him, something quieter and heavier falling into place beneath the sparkle in her gaze. Without ceremony, she lets both the dragon shirt and the whisper-thin halter top slip from her fingers, the fabric puddling between them like offerings laid at the feet of something far more sacred. She’s left in only her underwear now, skin aglow in the low light, moonlight striping her like satin ribbons. Her movements are slow and deliberate as she closes the distance between them, arms winding gently around his shoulders until she can feel the warm press of his bare chest meeting hers, the soft drag of her breasts against his skin a question and a promise all at once.
Rising onto her toes, she leans in close, breath grazing his ear as her lips curl into a smile he can feel. "Maybe," she whispers, her voice dipped in flirtation and heat, "we don’t get dressed at all." And before the suggestion can fully settle, she kisses him; deep, lingering, and full of everything that laughter and tears and stoytelling have built between them tonight. Her fingers find his hand as she pulls him with her, backs bending toward the bed, the warmth between them no longer something to joke about or dress up, but something to be surrendered to, completely.
~FIN
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
