tryna get my Usher on but I can't let it burn

Flora

She feels him tremble beneath her and senses the fragile pause in his hands, the way his touch hovers as if unsure whether to hold on or let go, as if the question still lingers on his lips despite the kiss. But words are a thing she’s run dry of. She’s spent so long measuring them, shaping them into something fair, something strong, something right—until now, when all that’s left are her hands on his face, her body folding down into his lap like a plea, like an answer, like the only truth she has left.

Her thumbs move in slow, aching arcs across his jaw as if carving a memory she refuses to lose; Kaisel, who never asked her to shine brighter or smaller, who never reached for her with strings in his hands. Kaisel, who loved her in all the loud and ridiculous and wordless ways long before either of them knew the shape of it. There are words she knows she owes him—apologies that still ache in her throat, truths she hasn’t figured out how to say. Boundaries she knows she’ll need to set, for his sake as much as hers. But none of them come, not now. Her tongue just sketches the shape of them against his, a silent language of grief and want and everything she can’t put into sentences.

When she finally draws back, it’s only enough to breathe. A breath that still hitches, still trembles. Her gaze finds his, soft and radiant despite the salt and sorrow in it, and for the first time today her smile reaches the corners of her mouth.

Her thumbs sweep the wet from his cheekbones, catching salt she can’t quite tell is his or hers—the distinction irrelevant now—because even through the ache, even through the tremble still threaded through her hands, there is a peace beginning to settle at the edges of it all. Fragile, yes, but real. "I'm not going anywhere."

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

He doesn't need more than this—just her. Just the weight of her, the clutch of her hands, the warmth of her breath. Just the voice that comes from her lips, not always spoken, but no less loud for it. Each one she provides is another attempt to resuscitate him, pulling him back from the cold finality that started to set. She gives herself, bringing life back to the curl of his fingers, resetting the pattern of his heartbeat, filling all the spaces that had started to empty.

It's the smile that blooms through the salt though, growing in conditions that should be impossible, that really makes him certain that her love has taken root. When he searches her face now, it's not him looking for something, but the admiration of what's been fully realized and found. Her words hum through him like the jolt that Frankenstein's monster needed, sparking so intensely in his chest that he has to rise with it. Feelings swell too large within him, cresting as he sits with her like he had when he'd first started breaking, but the disbelief and the threat of tears he wears now are the sort when happiness is so big it forces you to ache with it. "No," he agrees, the sound rough with the texture of too much emotion. "You aren't."

As it crashes through him he takes them both down with it, rolling her around and beneath him. It settles, flooding into every crack and seam, and with it he sinks further onto her. He kisses every tear track, as though each one can be undone by his devotion, a vow to love her through every moment, salted or not. One hand skims up her side, fingers digging in with quiet possession, because if she's giving herself to him, he will never let go again, not like on the Sugar Tide. "Always you, Flora. Only you," he whispers, his other hand supporting him near her head, thumb running along the edge of her face with slow reverence.

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you

Flora

The sky shifts dizzyingly above her as sand replaces sea behind her eyes and Kaisel becomes the only thing in focus, all sun-drenched and surf-softened, kissing away what salt remains as though he could undo the ache of everything she’d carried here. Her breath catches at the first brush of his lips, not because it hurts—though gods, it still does—but because somehow it still manages to feel like healing.

There’s something so achingly new in the way his weight presses her into the beach, all warmth and certainty and unflinching closeness, no hesitation or apology in his touch. And yet it fits like something that’s always been hers. One of her legs curls around his hips in instinctive answer, anchoring him there, a tether made of memory and hope. Her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, sand clinging to her skin as she splays her hand across the small of his back, just to feel the undeniable, bright realness of him.

"I love you," she breathes, quiet but clear, as if the words have been waiting for this silence, this sunlight, this breath between kisses. A quiver of a grin curves through it all, wry and familiar even as her eyes shine, and her voice lifts again with the softest teasing lilt: "Assborn."

The word hangs like seafoam between them, absurd and sweet, a talisman against the heaviness that still waits just outside the frame of this moment. She leans up to meet his mouth again, lips parting beneath his with easy urgency, her fingers sliding into his hair as though she could climb him like a rope and pull herself into something brighter. Making out in the sand might not be Kaisel’s favourite pastime, but it’s been one of Flora’s for as long as she’s lived by the beach, and gods, it's easier than anything else she’s tried to say. Softer than the storm of feelings she hasn’t yet found names for.

When she finally pulls back, curls sandy and heavy against the beach, her lashes flutter as if it takes effort to let even that small space open between them. Her hand still moves idly across his back, fingers tracing nonsense and everything all at once, before her voice lowers again. "I know there’s a lot we still need to talk about," she murmurs, gaze drifting from his eyes to the slope of his cheek to the blue sky above them. Her thumb brushes over the warmth of his skin like punctuation. "But...can we talk about it all later?" There’s no avoidance in the question, no retreat, just a girl who couldn't have predicted this when she woke up that morning, and was finding herself suddenly exhausted by the sound of her own voice.

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

I love you splashes across him like seltzer water—crisp and tingling with delight, heart buoyed in his chest with the rising bubbles, stains from all the hurt lightning a little as they lift up into the fizz. It's not the kind that she tries to hide with an eyeroll, or the ones he can't quite catch because she's made them inaudible intentionally. This one comes true and heard, and gods the risk of breaking down into a mess returns instantly for it. If not for the assborn tossed in at the end, he'd be reduced to ugly crying overtop her like a private rain cloud, but instead he chokes out a laugh with the surprise of it and the perfect summation of them tangled in that confession. It doesn't stop once it starts, nearly mad with the release, the attempts at composure finally splintering under this rise of something too momentous to contain.

This is one of the many reasons he loves her. That he could walk to the edge of despair and she could haul him back into something golden and sure with just a word.

It eventually transforms into unrelenting adoration beneath his mouth and the curl of his hands. He meets her for every breathless reassurance that they exchange, content not to exist beyond this effervescent moment. He's all too aware that this hasn't just fixed everything, that they've both got stitches in place of seams, but it certainly seems worth trying to see if it might. The thought of more words and decisions sounds exhausting just to imagine.

He exhales knowingly into the break between them, still as she speaks, even with the trail of her contact setting goosebumps racing along the skin she traces. "Mm," he agrees before laughing faintly. "You're the only one talking right now Ro," he points out, but shortly thereafter makes a disgusted face. His teeth clip together unevenly, the grit of sand rolling between them, grating through him with a sensation that shudders into his bones. "I wouldn't mind a hot shower though," he admits, "and flopping onto the couch with you until we're comfortable." A nap maybe, to give his body time to recover from the exhaustion of loving her hard enough to break them both.

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you

Flora

When they part again, it's only because the world insists on breathing, and so she does—drawing in a small sip of air that barely makes it past the tangle of heat and heartbeat he’s left in his wake. For a moment she forgets the weight of everything that’s come before in lieu of the weight of him pressing against her. A breath tumbles out of her next, too quick and almost a laugh, the ghost of a grin playing at her lips as he points out she’s the only one talking.

Her amusement deepens as he mentions the shower and the couch, and she bites softly at the inside of one cheek to keep her smile from spreading, though it threatens to anyway. Her fingers wander across the curve of his back, where sand has no doubt claimed its latest victim, and she can’t resist a gentle scrape of her nails through it as she lifts a brow. "You really hate the sand, huh?" she teases, warmth woven through every syllable. Her tone softens as she nods toward the space beside her to indicate he'll have to move given that she's still very much trapped beneath him.

"My house or yours?"

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

"In my mouth?" His lips pull back with the question like he can feel more working its way in,  "absolutely." He does recognize it'll be part of his life now though, just an aspect of Torchline, the way wind is in Stormbreak. "I think it'll grow on me," whether he wants it to or not, clinging with all the same inevitability of the tides changing. "And sometimes it's nice," he admits with noticeable effort, like he's just been forced to apologize to his playground bully. It's soft underfoot, cradles warmth even against the cold, and is absolutely fun to play with. All of which would be grand if it didn't find its way into his ear somehow even when he hadn't been laying in it, or appear in his room after he'd been certain he shook and hosed everything off. It's the jump scare of it really, just, SURPRISE—sand!

Her pointed look is all the agreement he needs to start to withdraw from her, though it's a slow shift, reluctant to lose the skim of her nails and the ease of just plucking another kiss into existence. He extends a hand towards her once he's gotten to his feet, backpack adjusted from all the rolling around. "Yours," he decides with minimal thought, his house is a weird thing to hear from her given it'd just been hers and isn't one he's stepped foot in since, which sounds unbearably empty. He'd rather sink into all the chaos of her space, like it's somewhere he can belong to, if she's offering it.

"I still owe you lunch," he mutters, which feels like an idea that sparked in another life entirely at this point, and on the list of concerns he has at the moment hunger is definitely near the bottom. Although it probably would make them feel better if they bothered to eat anything, certainly needed to rehydrate after leaking for so long.

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you

Flora

"If you didn’t talk so much," she drawls, eyes rolling with soft amusement, "it'd be harder for the sand to get into your mouth." It’s a bald-faced lie, of course—sand would always find a way. A shapeshifter in its own right, determined to inhabit every crease, every fold, every forgotten corner. But still, the smirk that pulls at her lips suggests she’ll stick to the theory, if only to tease him.

His reluctant agreement draws a flicker of satisfaction across her face, though it’s tempered by something quieter, softer, as he finally rolls off her. The moment his weight is gone, Flora almost regrets it, feels the loss like something immediate and physical, a chill slipping in where warmth had been. Her hands twitch like they might reach for him again, as if dragging him back down would fix the strange ache blooming low in her chest, but she doesn’t move, at least not until he offers his hand. And when he does, she takes it without hesitation; fingers curling into his with more intention than she means to show. The sand clings to the backs of her thighs as she rises, and she brushes it off with a smirk and a huff, knowing full well there’ll be more in her hair, in her clothes, possibly in her soul at this point. Snagging her cardigan, she dusts that off as well, opting not to shrug back into it for the time being.

His mention of lunch earns a laugh—light, fond, a little disbelieving—because it feels for Flora as well that the offer had been made a million years ago. Her eyes skim the horizon as they begin walking, the rhythm of their footsteps falling into something easy across the shoreline. There's no sign of the Ark of course; she's berthed up in Stormbreak such that there’s a sudden ripple of guilt chased by relief, and that alone is enough to keep her gaze forward.

"I think there’s still some stuff left aboard the Sugartide," she says after a moment, glancing sidelong at him, "from when Mateo and I went up to the Cordillera. But you might have to get creative." She nudges her shoulder softly against his, gentle and playful. "Or there's always gummy worms."

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

"What, and deny you my voice?"" The mock shock slides out easy despite the tired undercurrent to his voice. "You wish you'd be that lucky," he winks, because she'd be hearing far more of it than ever before, hopefully not enough to inspire buyer's remorse.

The firm clasp of her fingers in his earns a steady squeeze, because he knows. Much as he'd been cut open today, by her hands no less, she'd not escaped unscathed either. It's part of the appeal of the shower for him, like maybe it could clean off some of the residue that clings as stubborn as the sand, or at least make it feel easier to carry. Together at least, they'd do this together, each of them able to fit back in the pieces where the other couldn't reach, until everything that had fallen loose somewhat resembled the cover of the box again. Might be a little scuffed, some of the cardboard peeking through paint, maybe a layer stripped free on a corner, but recognizable and loved as much for the wear as despite it. All of it starting with those hands, again.

"I love your hands," he declares simply as the thoughts drift past, a smile tossed over at her as they walk. He lifts their linked arm up, placing a kiss along the curl of her knuckles before freeing it back to the swing of their stride.

Any further explanation he might have offered is consumed with an excited grin in response to her poorly stocked pantry. "You know I'd never pass down gummy worms." He glances skyward for a moment in thought. "Maybe on my deathbed. That might be one of the signs that you need to pull the plug on me in fact. They'd have time to work out their death agreements later, which isn't to say who will be buried or turned into a ghost, since weirdly enough they had already discussed a little bit of that. More like, if they stop producing gummy worms she'll have agreed it's a greater mercy to end his life than continue living in suffering, with a longevity statute, because if that should happen today he'd very much prefer to stay alive long enough to enjoy being with her. When exactly would be long enough certainly doesn't seem like something he can put a date on now, so perhaps there'd never be a time that something outweighed the importance of living longer beside her than not.

"I think we need a little more, substance though," he admits with a sigh, like requiring actual nutrition is a horrible cross to bear. "Haven't ever tried a gummy worm sandwich." Likely for good reason. "Or do you think they'd be better as a wrap?" His lips tilt back and forth as he considers. "Soup, maybe?"

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you

Flora

Flora snorts, the sound soft and bright beneath her breath. "Maybe you should take up ventriloquism," she says, glancing sidelong with a grin just this side of wicked. "Then you could throw your voice around without opening your mouth wide enough for the sand to move and set up shop."

But then he’s lifting her hand and kissing it like it’s just another part of the rhythm between them—natural, unhurried, impossibly tender—and whatever thoughts had begun to churn in the background are swept clear again by the simple, undemanding warmth of him. She said she wouldn’t compare Kaisel and Jack, and she won’t, but gods, this is not something she’s ever known before. This easy kind of adoration, soft and open and unafraid. It blooms something unsteady in her chest, a fullness that makes her breath catch and her smile threaten to split wide across her face.

She exhales instead, pressing a little squeeze into his fingers as her voice dips into mock warning. "Just remember—these are the same hands I use to tickle you with."

His deathbed gummy worm theory earns a huff of amusement and a look over her shoulder sharp with affection. "Duly noted," she says, eyes dancing. It is weird that this is their second hypothetical conversation about what will happen when one of them dies, but also, well, maybe not. Maybe it makes perfect sense, considering the way they talk, the way they fill the silence with nonsense and nothings and sweetness and everything in between.

The Sugartide waits ahead, sails shimmering like melted candy under the afternoon sun, and Flora hums thoughtfully as they step onto the dock. "If you roll gummy worms up inside other gummy worms, does that count as a sandwich?" she wonders aloud, steps light on the wood. "Or maybe it’s a wrap. Either way, soup’s a no, the worms would obviously drown and it would be too tragic."

Releasing Kaisel's hand with a little pulse, Flora walks up the gangway, the sun painting gold across the dark grain of the deck. Down below, the ship is more or less the same as when he'd last been there; bed unmade, the scent of jasmine and citrus still clinging to the air, and a few new plants tucked into corners like afterthoughts thanks to Mateo, vibrant and green and growing.

Flora means to be casual about everything, needs things to stay light, but the memory of last time they were together here hits harder than expected. It lives in the slant of the light, in the bed still rumpled like it might remember them. Heat rises unbidden across her cheeks, delicate and surprising and impossible to hide. She tosses her cardigan aside to give her hands something to do, glancing toward the bedroom and then back at him with a lopsided smile that tries for easy but lands somewhere closer to shy.

"I don’t have a couch to collapse onto," she says, voice a little breathier than intended. "But I figure we’ll make do." And gods, she hopes he doesn’t notice the flush across her nose, or the sudden skip in her pulse because what a day they've had already, and gods he's absolutely right that they probably need something with more sustenance than pure sugar can provide. So, dropping to her knees, Flora begins to hunt through the various cupboards, unhelpfully calling out random raw ingredients for them to try and piece a meal together with.

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

The side eye he grants her suggests he could never forget the torture of tickling she's mercilessly unleashed. It lingers longer than necessary, as if calculating the current danger he might be in, if she means to remind him here and now with something other than word. He'd throw her hand away in an instant and run screaming down the beach. He doesn't care if he looks like a scared little girl, so long as it'd keep him free of harassment.

The familiar sight of the Sugartide is more comforting than he expects, especially since the last time he'd been on it they had not exactly been speaking to one another. That's an awkward memory he doesn't mind letting go of. Truly embracing it is a bit overshadowed however by the absolute nonsense she's spouting. "Definitely not," he corrects swiftly, her thoughts an affront to the mere idea of sandwiches. "C'mon Flo-mo, when have you ever had a sandwich that is only one ingredient? Get real, it needs at least two." He holds up two fingers in case she also forgot how to count, since she's gone completely mad by his estimations.

The deck rolls past like it isn't unfurling memories of her topless (in nothing but pasties and a tempting smile) or her invisible amid a mountain of pillows. It just moves, familiar as anything else he's called home. Although his hand is free of hers now, he doesn't feel the chill sweep in, not here. Besides, he needs both of them to do knife hands to punctuate the point he makes as he talks. "You know that gummy worms aren't actual worms, right?" he asks after her as they descend her stairs, 'brows lifting with the volume of his voice, too worked up over the idea of her finding the gummy worms tragic. "You eat them either way!" he points out. "I've seen you split one in half length ways, like forbidden string cheese." But drowning would be too sad, sure.

It all falls away when he stutters to a stop behind her, the living spaces below deck opening to them, completely unchanged as rooms and things, despite everything else about them existing entirely different now. She takes it in with more quiet than he expected, and for a moment he wonders if he picked the wrong location, if coming here where it's been just here, where's she's been living all this time, had maybe been too invasive of a space that she kept just so. She had offered it, but maybe she hadn't meant to, or maybe it all felt wrong now that she's here with him. He could understand any of those snags.

What he doesn't understand is the red color he catches on her as she turns, practically apologizing for furniture he already knew she didn't have here. "A blanket on the floor would do, although if it's all the same to you, the bed sounds far nicer." He hopes that'll waylay whatever embarrassment has risen up.

He opens the fridge and freezer as she goes through the pantry. "Yeah grab the chips!" he calls over the open door as he picks up a nearly empty bag of cheese and some loose slices of deli meat. "Gonna make the weirdest nachos, but it'll have to do." He didn't realize this would be an episode of Hell's Kitchen or Chopped.

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you

Flora

Flora arches one brow in theatrical challenge at the side-eye he levels her, as if to say, you’re the one who said you liked my hands, before giving a dramatic little shrug that sets her curls bouncing. "You clearly don’t appreciate the fine art of single-ingredient sandwiches," she huffs, nose tilting in mock disdain. "Besides, the different colours of gummy worms obviously count as different ingredients. That’s what makes it gourmet."

And gods, the look she gives him when he starts lecturing her about the taxonomy of gummy worms. "Fine, they’d get all slimy and slippery in soup, which is even worse. And anyway, when I split one in half, it’s a quick death. A mercy. Not drowning in hot water like some kind of candy war crime." She says it with ease, as always, tossing barbs like petals in the wind. But even as her mouth moves, her body knows they’ve crossed something. Not just the deck, not just the distance between arguing in the mountains and agreeing to something on the seashore. They've not just crossed the line, they've left it behind; not tiptoed up to it, not brushed against it by accident with hands and lips. They crossed it, with words and decisions that knew exactly what they were doing. And now that they’re on the other side, there’s no familiar border to keep her grounded, no safe edge to press her back against. Just open space. Like floating in the middle of the sea with no horizon in sight. Limitless and terrifying all at once.

She knows it’ll pass. Once they talk—really talk—it’ll settle. The tide will smooth, the drift will slow, and the fear of getting lost in it will fade. But right now, standing in her own little ship with Kaisel's voice echoing softly behind her, she feels unmoored, every thought catching on the way her future had just changed in the span of an afternoon.

So when he says the bed sounds far nicer, her smile twitches. Not teasing. Not suggestive. Just quiet. She nods, and though she doesn’t turn to face him yet, she knows he’ll see soon enough what colours her cheeks, because she knows what's still mapped across her skin. Presumably, when he'd said he wanted to shower he'd meant together, and genuinely she doesn't know which will hurt him more: having had to hear her defend Jack with the taste of her tears and her kiss still on his mouth, or to see the constellation of the captain's fingertips across her hips and the markings his mouth had left on her skin not days before.

So she turns away, not to hide but to focus, letting her fingers busy themselves with the crinkle of half-eaten chip bags while the flush on her cheeks fades into the shadows of the galley. "There’s some hot sauce in the fridge," she calls over her shoulder, a little too brightly. She doesn’t wait to see if he answers before yanking open a drawer to grab a pan and foil, leaving him to deal with the meat and the one sad pepper left in the bottom drawer.

When she starts grating cheese—and gods, there's a lot of it—the motion feels grounding. Cheese never broke anyone's heart, after all. "I’m just saying," she adds with a forced little hum, "as long as there’s enough cheese, anything’ll taste good."

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

"Oh it's art is it?" he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "In that case, can't argue with art, even if bread is your one ingredient." If she wants to go around making bread bread sandwiches, since bread is arguably the one required ingredient to make it a sandwich, he'd not stop her contemporary exposition. He wouldn't fucking eat it, but he'd not stop her.

Although...

The idea that different colored gummy worms count as different ingredients is an interesting take, because they certainly taste different. "Fair," he concedes, which has nothing to do with wanting to roll up gummy worms inside of gummy worms and stuff them in his mouth. "No no, they wouldn't get slimy, they'd be reduced to their essence." Boiled down to a gummy worm hot juice, which might just be tea now that he thinks about it. An argument for another time, perhaps, as well as what exactly is written on the candy Geneva Convention, because gummy worms actually don't matter nearly as much as the way the quiet and stillness settles in the cabin. They'd just been something easy to focus on so that the walk here didn't leave room for every word they exchanged to echo back around and leave another mark again, more easily heard now that the well of emotions has lowered and left more wall space for sound and memory to bounce.

His bag slouches off his shoulders and is deposited to the side because I forgot about it last post. The call of the kitchen is one he'll happily answer, another distraction as much as a hope for firmer ground for the both of them, which can always be blamed on the subtle rock of the Sugar Tide should it fail. It's not a replacement for the things that still need to be said, there's no solutions in the cabinets, but it's something normal, something much easier to tackle than the monument of what now? They have climbed hunger plenty of times, but they have never found a hand hold in the Everest of their future.

"Good call," he says as he scurries back to the fridge, seizing the hot sauce with a triple flip up in his hands before fishing out the lone pepper he spots just before nudging the door closed. He holds the pepper up and squints at it, as if sizing up the spice level could be possible from the exterior. Shrugging, he sets it with the rest of the things and sets about to chopping it all up into something able to be sprinkled on. "And hot sauce," he agrees. "Most food is just a vehicle for cheese and sauce, honestly."

Unfortunately new tears do prickle at the corners of his eyes, and he ducks down as four sneezes hit him in rapid succession. "I think the pepper got extra spicy being left all alone," he warns, bleary eyed with heat and diving for the sink to wash off the pepper residue before he forgets and sets either of them aflame in the worst possible way. Flora, surely, could not relate.

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you

Flora

Flora makes a face so dramatic it could win awards, groaning, "Ewwwwuh," like she’s just been subjected to the concept of hot dog water on a summer’s day. "Reduced to their essence? That’s horrifying, Kaisel." Whether it qualifies as tea or not, the mental image of gummy worm stock is enough to make her nose wrinkle. "You’re disgusting," she adds with a grin, voice warm despite the judgment.

Still, she nods emphatically at his next declaration, chin tilting in agreement. "Exactly. Carbs, cheese, hot sauce—everything else is just set dressing."

His sneezing fit catches her off guard, and she watches with a smirk as he darts to the sink, watery-eyed and half-drowning in pepper vengeance. "Relatable," she mutters under her breath of things growing spicy when left alone for too long, arms folding loosely across her chest as she leans a hip into the counter and waits for him to recover. Her grin returns in full as he glances back, and she fixes him with the kind of look that curls at the edges—bright, baiting, and just a touch wicked.

"I thought you liked spicy things?" she teases, a lilt of challenge in her tone as she begins to spread the chips across the pan. A generous scatter of cheese follows, not remotely measured but entirely satisfying, the heap of it crackling softly against the foil.

Once the first layer is complete, she nudges the tray toward him with a flick of her wrist. "Go on, top chef. Do your worst." Once he has, she'll drown it with the remainder of the cheese before tucking it into her little oven.

I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in

Code stolen from Queen Sky

Honey wherever you go, I know

He rubs the edges of his eyes off on his shoulder while fastidiously scrubbing at his hands, pausing just to send her a look over the edge of his arm at her remark, so low he expects she's told it to the cheese more than him. That she instead is staring back at him, looking utterly pleased with herself about it all, sends his grin to join hers. "Yeah?" he asks as he turns and flicks the excess water off his hands at her. "So if you ever ask for space, I'm hearing that it's a trap."

Although he does like spice, so maybe letting her heat up once in a while could be fun. If handled carefully, the way you only want a bite to your food, not a trip to the ER and a bathtub full of milk.

He grabs for a hand towel to pat the rest of the water off, leaning back against the sink for a minute as she salt bae's the chips with cheese. "I prefer to eat them over breathing them," he huffs, winding up the rag into a long, spun up shape. "Plus, there's spicy and then there's spicy." He leans forward and SNAPS the end of the towel against her ass, his grin utterly devilish now as he prepares for spicy.

Keeping hold of the cloth like it might be his only defense option left, he backs up towards his chopped meats and peppers, proffering them like a delicate negotiation on the board as he edges back towards her pan. "No judgement, this is all your headass ingredients."

Kaisel

I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you