[SE] a little bit of sun out when it's freezin'

flora

The warmth of his hands should’ve helped, should’ve done something to ease the frigid crack she feels splitting down the middle of her chest, but it doesn’t. Instead, something frostbitten creeps along her spine, sharp and crystalline and so at odds with the tears she hasn’t even blinked away yet. Kaisel doesn’t retract as she had expected him to, doesn't put his palm to his forehead with a d'oh! saying what a fucking idiot he was, he just...confirms it. With a careful tone and sympathetic eyes, he tells her that yes, this is what he thought her capable of. That it made sense. That it tracked. That that’s how he explains the bruises; when things got hard, she would get on her knees and spread her legs and call it leadership.

Her frown deepens as his palms cradle hers. Slowly—gently, but without hesitation—she draws her hand out from between his, gaze sharpening as she lifts her chin. The growing pressure in her ribs doesn’t burst, doesn’t scream or sob or throw anything, it just hardens. Smooths itself over like stone under a tide. Her aqua eyes go flat as she glances away, past Kaisel’s shoulder toward the far wall, as if looking anywhere else might help settle the betrayal uncoiling in her throat.

She knew they'd fight eventually. Everyone did, but she'd imagined it over something stupid, like who got the last ice cream bar, or which route was faster through the market. Not this. Not the realisation that somewhere in Kaisel’s mind, Flora was just another pawn in her own game. That her body was currency. That her love not only could be forged from bruises and politics and pain, but that it could remain that way.

It’s too much to keep looking at him—sprawled in her gown like some exhausted princess, sequins stretched across his chest, still burrowing himself deeper into the hole he’d made—so Flora pushes up from the bed in a fluid motion, her bare legs swinging down to the floor as she crosses the room. She doesn’t turn around when she reaches the bay window, just wraps her arms around herself, bracing as if the sight of the sea might calm the ice in her belly. It doesn’t. The horizon blurs, and suddenly the world feels too big again. Much as she wants to ask what the hell getting his toes sucked meant, the burn in her cheeks keeps her focus far too narrow for the moment.

Her voice comes quieter than she means it to, but not soft. Not delicate. It lands heavy in the hush between them, the words a slow, curling smoke of hurt that she’s too proud to put out. "Nice to know what you really think of me."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

He can't ever seem to hold on tight enough when something he doesn't want to let go of starts to slip away. As her hand tugs free of his, as her stare retreats well before her body does, he can't grab it back. Every attempt feels like he only swipes at air, and it's all just his damn breath.

"Flora—" His voice strains around the beg of her name as she completely withdraws to the other side of the room, preferring the cradle of her own hands over his. He gathers his in his lap, fingers flexing over nothing, and he blinks down at them like he might be able to find what's wrong if he stares long enough. Nothing else would ever land so final as the distance poured between them—the absence of her touch, the removal of it, like the greatest punishment. He exhales long and low, frustration at his own fumbles easing out as his body hangs over the pillow hugged to his chest like it's the last thing keeping him up.

When her voice comes next, his gaze lifts back to her, every feature drawn down in a way that sits unnatural on him. He feels helpless for a moment, wanting nothing more than to comfort her through this, but with the dirt on his own hands, could he?

He wrestles himself out of the bed, fabric dragging in a ridiculous shimmer as he stumbles across the floor after her. He stops a few paces short, hands out like he wants to reach her, but unsure about crossing the barrier she just put up, the one that specifically says No Kaisels Allowed. "That’s not what I think of you." The words are set down quiet, but steady, a Librarian's voice. "You are brave, and clever, and you give endlessly, and I am so in awe of you." He definitely means to find out more about her thieves guild on top of all this, because while it had been an of course moment, it's also wild. "I didn’t mean it like that’s all you bribe with, or something you want. I just—" He drags a hand through his hair, mussied already, trying to work through his thoughts. "I thought—with Jack—" He huffs out, annoyed at himself, at the captain still looming. "Gods, I don’t know, I twisted it into something ugly and I put that on you. I shouldn’t have." The words are taut, but there's no fight to say them, even as he frowns deeper. "I'm sorry."

His own stare turns to the view outside the window now, inhaling heavily through his nose as a hand thumps at his side. "We're so different," him and Jack, although admittedly his knowledge of the man is limited to: makes Flora cry, requires bribes of Flora, electrocutes people, kicks them out of parties, and has such a dark reputation that everyone blamed Kaisel instead of Jack for nearly dying. "So I don't—I—" Standing feels too hard, so Kaisel puddles to the floor next to her instead, hugging around his knees and glitter. "How could you love him?" he whispers. How did she almost pick him? She didn't, in the end, but it had been close enough that some of the ache of her nearly stepping away still sits with him, especially in moments like this. "I mean he's gone, shouldn't that be a good thing? You once weren't sure how to come back to living here with him around, but are you—do you miss him?" He thought she'd been upset about Hadama, but it seems she's grieving the loss of Jack more than anything, and the unrest at the docks hardly seems to be the reason.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Glancing over her shoulder at the quiet rustle of fabric as Kaisel shifts out of bed, Flora watches the faint glitter of sequins catch the light in small, apologetic flashes. The movement alone doesn’t disarm her, nor does the way his arms open in that half-familiar shape, the one she fits into so easily when she lets herself. Defensive, stubborn, the edges of her voice tug tight as she says, "It sure sounded like that’s what you thought of me." And as he continues—"all you bribe with"—implying her body had been on the table at one point, her eyes widen in sharp, incredulous emphasis, hand slicing through the air between them like punctuation. "I have never offered my body as a bribe. Ever. To anyone."

Each word lands with the clarity of glass set on stone, no room left for reinterpretation. And though his apology doesn’t erase the bruise of the moment, it lingers with a kind of quiet ache between them, softening her limbs just a little. Enough to hesitate. Enough to see him wilt down to the floor, no longer trying to stay tall in front of her, no longer glittering with charm, and it unlocks her. Not with drama or declarations, but with the way her body moves before she even knows she’s decided to.

Her shirt barely brushes the top of her underwear as she crosses to him, the cool floor kisses her knees as she sinks in front of him. Bare thighs brush against the warmth of his legs, her knees splaying against his feet without fanfare or ceremony, only instinct and concern. "What are you actually asking me?" she says gently, and there’s no venom in it now, just the careful brush of curiosity over something raw. Because Kaisel has asked things before, he’s circled Jack like a storm circling the coast, never quite making landfall. But now this feels different, like lightning looking for somewhere to strike on the heels of all the other questions he'd ever asked about she and the captain.

Flora lets the question hang a moment before combing her fingers through her curls, a frustrated habit that fails to untangle much of anything. Her gaze drifts out the wide windows that frame the Ahi Coast in evening glow. The sea is calmer now, the harbour still; there's no ruddy maroon sails, only the open sprawl of ocean and the hollowness that follows when something leaves for good. "It’s easier," she says at last, slowly, carefully, her voice a hush in the warm air between them. "With him gone. Not having to wonder if I’ll run into him somewhere." Her hand reaches for one of Kaisel's, fingers gentle where they curl around his knee. "But it feels awful too."

She swallows, trying to shape something that doesn’t sound like she's crying over an ex-boyfriend because it's so much deeper than that. "Because of me, someone left the only place they’ve ever called home. The docks he built everything on, the crew that followed him, the reputation, the business...all of it." Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "He left everything because of me." Her head shakes, barely, as if even now she can’t quite believe it. "You can’t imagine how shitty that feels." Not only because she doubts if Kaisel would have ever put himself in that sort of position, but also because without actually knowing Jack, it was impossible to understand just how painful of a reaction this was from the captain.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

His words hesitate on a breath briefly under her correction, to which he nods along dumbly to. He didn't mean to keep circling back, hadn't meant to make it sound like he still thought that of her. The thought had cropped up though, and he wouldn't pretend it hadn't. Owning it felt better than trying to bury it. "Right—never," he agrees with the quiet exhale of apology. "I'm sorry," he says again, because gods does he regret making her feel like she's not worth more than that.

As he sinks, the fact that she's instantly with him nearly summons a wretched laugh. Not one with humor or mockery, but one that's just damn grateful—that even when they're both wearing the most absurd things, spinning around minefields of conversation all over the bedroom, they could find their way back to each other, here on the floor. Instead, it breaks out as a weak smile, and something tight in his shoulders relaxes a bit.

When her fingers reach out, he extends just a pinky to hook in with hers. He needs the rest to keep his knees up, the weight of them pressing in on the gown at the circle of his arms. That's plenty though—even her pinky is enough. A tether he's immensely glad for when her next breath says that Jack being gone is awful too, the sound of which could nearly blow Kaisel out of the room like a deflating balloon.

Much as he wants to look anywhere but at the water rising in her eyes, tears welling up over Jack, he'd been the one to ask, so he won't shrink away from this, much as it digs an eager hand into all the wounds in his chest trying hard to heal. He's quiet for a moment, the slow winding of his copper gaze over her puffy features, ragged with the salt from various sources tonight, tracing each sun-spun corner of the grief and frustration she keeps.

She still loves him.

Part of him knew she would. She'd told him before her heart felt divided between the two of them, and maybe he'd just been foolish enough to think that when she chose him it meant she was giving him both halves. Now he's wondering if the other part didn't sail away on the Ark, and that's why its distance is hurting her so damn much. Comparison is the thief of joy, they say, and time and time again when Jack enters their conversation, Kaisel wonders how he measures up to the man, the legend of her heart. She'd said she wanted him to be him, that she loved him, but she loveds Jack too, and he wishes he understood why. Maybe then he could reclaim the rest of her heart, if he knew.

"He can make his own decisions," Kaisel says with a defeated edge, "doesn't mean you have to shoulder them." Much as Flora is trying to make this sound like it's not about Jack, that it's what she feels, that it's what she did, it sure sounds like she's crying over a burning building after tossing the match onto it.

He's been afraid that she'd second guess her choice, that their recent and bright love would falter under all the time and endurance of what she had with Jack. Even if that's all wreckage now, it still might bury the light of this after all. He doesn't doubt her feelings for him, and he can be patient, but gods, Kaisel can only hear the Jack's name so many times on her lips without it eroding more of him—he is not made of steel.

Even now, some of him is crumbling with the tide she brings bearing his name, and Kaisel sags further over his knees, her hand the only thing still keeping him in shape at all.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

As Kaisel’s pinky hooks around hers, Flora’s smile comes slowly, worn and soft at the edges, a fragile thing not unlike the tether between them. It reminds her so much of the House of Midnight, the way they couldn’t look at each other that night, the way he’d reached out with his foot to touch hers when even words had felt impossible. She’d clung to it then, and she clings to it now, even though the glittering fabric between them is bunched and twisted, even though her heart feels like it's pressing too hard against the confines of her chest.

There’s no part of her that can even remotely say she’s set down her feelings for Jack, not when she hadn’t even found the courage to look him in the eye and say goodbye properly. She’d chosen the coward’s path instead, sending a letter off with a raven and fleeing from the consequences of what she couldn’t say aloud. It had only been a few weeks since, and that kind of love—the long, storm-weathered kind that spanned years and scars and silences—didn’t just extinguish itself on command. She wishes, desperately, that she could make Kaisel understand that this isn't a reflection of anything missing between them, but proof of what her heart is capable of. That the kind of love she feels doesn't vanish the moment something new appears; that when she loves, she does it deeply, irreversibly. That someday, if they ever found themselves fractured, he wouldn’t be so easily cast aside either.

But there are no words that can convey the shape of that. Not now, not like this, not when he’s folding in on himself in the shimmering gown, knees pulled up and arms wrapped tight, her heart breaking anew to see that her pain has become his too. The tears that spill down her cheeks are no longer just for Jack, or for the part of her that still aches in his absence, they are for Kaisel as well. For the man who has done nothing but try to hold her steady, and who she keeps knocking down anyway. Because it isn’t about Jack, not really. It’s about knowing that she hurt someone so deeply they would rather abandon everything than be near her again. It’s about wondering how long it will take before Kaisel feels the same, before he too finds it unbearable to be in her orbit, before the weight of what she carries becomes too much for him to hold. It's the second time in as many weeks that she's reduced him to the ground like this, and gods she can only hate herself for being the thief of his joy over and over again.

Swallowing against the knot in her throat, Flora shifts forward, legs slipping to either side of his where he’s folded on the floor, her forehead coming to rest against the curve of his hands where they clasp around his knees. "I shouldn’t have said anything," she murmurs, the words sincere, not just a reflexive retreat. Silently she wonders what she’d been thinking, saying any of this aloud, forgetting, foolishly, that unlike Jack, Kaisel couldn’t read her mind. That not every thought needed to be given breath and space, not when it would only wound him to hear it.

The tears that drip from her lashes fall onto the tops of his bare feet, leaving tiny, trembling stars of salt against his skin, and in a voice barely louder than a breath, Flora sniffs and says, "I’m sorry," the words small, her voice stripped and hollow. She swears then, not aloud but somewhere deep behind her ribs where guilt tends to bury its roots, that she will never speak of Jack again. Not to Sohalia, who had already endured season after season of every painful hiccup and stutter between them, nor to Kaisel, for whom Jack's name had become an especially intimate sort of weapon. She would tuck it away, keep it locked behind her teeth even when it pressed like splinters against her tongue, and maybe, in time, without oxygen, the flame would wither. Maybe it would smother on its own rather than festering until it rotted her from the inside out. And if it didn’t—if it clung and cloyed and continued to ache—at least this way, the only person it would go on hurting was her. Which, if she were being honest, might be exactly what she deserved.

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

He wishes he could be strong enough to hold this for her too, but Jack's name is a heavy thing for him to bear, and though he can only imagine is gravity for her, he's buckling under the weight of it more and more. He's ashamed to admit it. He doesn't want the fucker to have so much power over either of them. He'd like to imagine they're so stable, so in love, so invincible that they could toss the knife of the captain back and forth without risk of getting cut or care if they did. Maybe he could ask the next star about it, but for now he's just trying to keep all the parts of him that are glued back together from cracking apart again.

As her forehead dips to his hands, looking very much like a woman in extreme prayer—to regret and misery as much as sequins—his attention lifts slowly back up. What she says should be exactly what he wants to hear, but instead it draws his breath out thin and quick. He's let her down. She's the one who came home with a shit day, and now she's folding herself over him to stitch him closed, and all the while she's still leaking. "No—" His voice comes out clumsy and low, as if he's just woken and is still groggy with the grief of sleep's paradise dispersing. He's certainly been grieving something, and so has she.

His hands uncurl around his knees, and they flop a bit to the side like a butterfly as his palms rise up to her cheeks, wet and tired. "No," he says again, a bit clearer as he lifts her face up and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. He does not want to fail her. He can do this. "I don't want you to not say things just because they're hard." She already has a track record for telling him what she thinks he'd like to hear, he would not want her to begin to bend honesty by omitting it now for his sake.

His thumbs brush away some of her tears, but it's about as fruitful as trying to sweep the beach with a broom, so instead his grip lowers. He tugs her closer into him and turns her, so that her back is against his chest and she rests against the hammock of the gown in his lap. His legs stretch out on either side of her, arms hugging from behind around her chest, holding her to him as he leans in over her shoulder.  The coast of Torchline shimmers beyond through the window, drenched in twilight. "I want to hear all the things, and sometimes I'll laugh, and others I'll cry. Sometimes I'll melt onto the floor, but that's alright, as long as you floor with me, we can make it through anything." He says it softly against the cradle of her neck, because he can't stop this from hurting either of them, and he can't keep the tears from darkening their eyes, but they can hold each other through it until it passes, and he believes that is enough. "Promise me?" he asks, but the sound is so hushed he almost doesn't. "Promise me you'll tell me?"

He sighs heavily, releasing some of the ire and the fear, inhaling her into the space where they lived. They're not gone completely, but everything Jack removes from him, Flora can fill. "I'm sorry...that does sound shitty, feeling like that." The only way to get stronger, is to keep pushing through something, tearing yourself a little bit and letting it heal, so that you can go that much further next time.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

The sound of Kaisel’s voice draws her head up, confusion knitting between her brows in the moment before it softens into something smaller, almost uncertain, because hadn’t this been what he’d wanted? Silence on the subject of Jack, a relief from the ways his name still bloomed like bruises between them? But then his lips press to her forehead and her breath catches, a quiet squeak of air slipping free as if her ribs had finally loosened their grip, and she melts into the warmth of his hands without hesitation.

Had he not already tugged her forward she would have found her way into his arms anyway, too full of ache and wanting to resist the gravity of him now. She lets herself be turned, lets herself be gathered, and as her bare legs draw up against her stomach, her arms wrap fiercely around Kaisel's to anchor them against her chest, to bind them together like she could hold this steady just by proximity. Her head tips against his, her cheek pressing into the curve of his face, and every breath she draws feels like it's trying to match his rhythm, like if she listens closely enough to the shape of his heart she can quiet the noise still ringing in hers.

Likely Kaisel will feel the curve of her smile before he sees it, the way it lifts against his temple as he asks her to floor with him. It slips through her like the warmth of a familiar current, not unlike the night on the Sugartide after the pool party, when he’d collapsed onto the bench and she had followed without thinking, like a tide pulled to shore. Twisting in his arms now, her spine giving a quiet pop in protest as she turns but doesn’t let go, Flora whispers softly against his cheek, "I will always floor with you," she whispers against his skin, the words delicate as petals, her lips brushing over the edge of his cheek in soft, almost-kisses as if anchoring the promise in the warmth between them. And gods, how she wishes she wasn’t so often the reason he needed someone to fall with in the first place.

Though Flora wants to promise Kaisel everything he asks, there are some truths that don’t feel like they should ever be spoken aloud. Some, like the reasons she loved Jack or the causes behind her bruises, will always feel like knives no matter how carefully they’re handed over. And Kaisel has never deserved to be cut by things she’s already survived. "I think we should stop talking about Jack," she says gently, not as a way to evade, but as a mercy, for both of them.

Twisting again between the bracket of his thighs in order to properly face him, Flora lifts a hand to cradle his cheek, her thumb smoothing tenderly beside his mouth while her gaze settles on his, copper and seafoam searching one another in the hush between apologies and understanding. "You were right. Torchline’s going to be fine," she says, voice still soft, but steadier. "We’re going to be fine."

Her fingers trail lightly down from his cheek to rest over his heart. "There’s no one else I want you to be," she tells him, earnest and unwavering. "No one's footprints I want you to follow, nothing to measure up against except for you and me." Kaisel is hers, fully, wholly, and she wants what they are building together to be theirs alone.

But even as she says it, an apology still clings to her, not as guilt exactly but as a lingering sense of responsibility. Her breath shakes slightly as she exhales, because none of this would’ve hurt him if she’d just kept her mouth shut to begin with. "I only found out today that Jack left for good," she says quietly, the words heavy now but no longer sharp. "And with Hadama stepping down too...it just felt like a lot." The words come quieter now, shaped by exhaustion and release rather than defence, her feet bracing against the floor again as she shifts even closer, curling herself more tightly into him. "I don't think it would have hit the same if it wasn't all at once."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

His own smile responds to the hum of her voice against his face, spreading rapidly into a glowing thing with each brush of her lips. Shadows still linger at the edges, but this embrace between them, it ignites a hope far too hot and bright for the fringe of miserable things to reach in for long. As long as they always find their way back to this, they can survive all the storms.

That she doesn't promise him like he asks, not really, doesn't escape his notice. He doesn't press on it though, not for now, because a coerced promise isn't worth a thing. He'd asked, she'd have to decide if, or when, she'd answer. It does add another crease of darkness onto the edges though, because withholding Jack from him might be considered kindness, but what else would she find kind enough to keep, and what would it do to her to hold them?

"Mm, can't say I'll ever disagree with that," and though he tries to say it lightly, he can't quite keep the twitch from the edge of his lips, the one that threatens a frown like an involuntary tic at this point at the name. "Although, maybe it'd be easier to talk about if we started calling him something else." That twitch comes back, but this time with the ghost of a smirk. He suspects she won't agree to most of the names that he's got in mind. "Boaty McBoat Face, for example." Maybe if they were nearly laughing every time they talked about him, it'd improve the whole ordeal. Could always turn him into Voldemort and just never name him again. He who left Torchline, or He who sails around. Many options other than Captain Shit Stain if Kaisel bothered to try.

The ideas quiet though as her hand finds his face, drawing his gaze to her as his smirk falters into the gentle wonder that is always present for her touch. He quirks his mouth to the side to sneak a kiss to her thumb before it moves on, a hum of agreement vibrating against her words. His breath goes with her as she moves, eyes closing for a moment as he tilts into her, lips brushing her collarbone with idle affection as her fingers unfurl over his heart. What she says sinks into all the places of him that have the tendency to be hollow. He hopes that might help preserve the echo of it, but too often the good and the gold don't stick as long as the cruel and the bloody. Maybe with enough repetition, the reminder will just become truth, and he'll manage to love her without the worry that it's not what she actually wants, that half her heart can be enough if it's all she can give. For now, it fills the space with her brilliance, and he grips her tighter, thankful for it.

"I wish you'd say the same for yourself," he tells her gently, because while she might not be measuring herself to Jack, or Caly, she's somehow always determining that she's come up too short. "And stop looking for the twenty percent." Even in this, she's found a way to fit blame on, bundling up for depression like guilt is the latest scarf. "You're more than enough." Maybe the same as it is for him, if she just keeps hearing it, one day it'll stay.

The explanation she delivers is one that makes sense, although there's something to be said about just getting bowled over for one night rather than picked apart over several. He just wishes he'd known about the Jack bomb—might have saged the house ahead of time, or at least met her at the door with something more interesting than sweatpants. He tucks her in closer as she nestles in deeper, his legs hugging around her now too, fingers curling into her sides, pressure like a constant reassurance that he's got her. "That is a lot," he mumbles into her hair, lips drifting at her temple. "That's why there's also a lot of pasta, and wine, and pillows." Well, the pillows were a holdover from her time here, so she had herself to thank for that. Even with as many as she'd packed, plenty more were left behind. "Just like I love you, a lot." One hand rises to tilt her head towards him, angling his own to press a kiss into her lips. Nothing overly claiming or light either, just the simplicity of warmth and affection among the mess of the world.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

As soon as Kaisel suggests coming up with another name for Jack, Flora’s eyebrows lift slightly, not from surprise exactly, but from anticipation. She knows him too well not to expect something vulgar—something unprintable and deeply satisfying in the right moment—so when Boaty McBoat Face emerges instead, it startles a sound from her that’s halfway between a scoff and a laugh, soft and unwilling but undeniable. She bites at the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to be mature about it, but the damage is already done; her smile has broken through, tugging at the corner of her mouth even as she murmurs with dry amusement, "B.M.F. works."

There’s a thousand nicknames they could probably come up with that would be funnier or more accurate, but the last thing she wants is to give Jack another mythic title to loom over their heads. Stripping him down to initials—even ridiculous ones—somehow feels cleaner. Safer.

The moment Kaisel’s arms constrict a little tighter around her, she exhales like her lungs had been waiting for that exact pressure to let go. Her smile softens, her body sagging further into the warmth of him, the sequins of his gown catching beneath her fingers in little ridges that she can’t help tracing over, over, over again.

When he echoes her own words back at her, she doesn’t argue right away. Her head shifts side to side, slow and reluctant, as if the motion might help her find belief in his voice. But then, a little wry and a little weary, her lips quirk and she murmurs, "Yeah, because becoming the sole ruler of Torchline is definitely the moment to lower my standards," and while the sarcasm is unmistakable, it holds no venom. Just the quiet ache of someone who knows exactly how heavy the crown is, and isn’t sure she’s allowed to shift it, even for a moment.

Still, she smiles again when he lists off the comforts waiting for her here. Pasta, wine, pillows—it’s like a lullaby written just for her. She’s about to tease him for forgetting to include himself in the mix, when his hand tilts her chin and his lips find hers.

The kiss doesn’t burn or demand. It wraps. It soothes. It holds. She breathes into it like it’s part of her, like she couldn’t have stayed above water much longer without the taste of him grounding her again. Her fingers curl more tightly into the sequins over his heart, pressing him closer even though they’re already tangled like seaweed and current. Her other hand lifts to thread through the waves of his hair, deepening the kiss not with heat but with fullness, the way a hug tightens in the arms right before it lets go.

When they part, it’s only because they need to. Flora draws in a soft breath and lets it out against his skin, brushing her nose against his with something so tender it’s almost reverent, unwilling to create more space than is strictly necessary to see the copper of his eyes again. "I love you a lot," she whispers into that sliver of air between them, the words warm and certain and curled up right against his ribs.

And then, her lashes lift, her smile slides just slightly sideways, as her brows arch, sly and teasing. "Now say more things about having your toes sucked in Stormbreak."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

Well, maybe tonight won't change her mind, but at least she heard it again. "I hope you don't go mad with power now and apply all your high fashion standards to the city. I'd hate to see the soldiers required to wear feather boas." The amusement resonating in his voice betrays his words, because he'd actually very much like to see everyone in mandatory silk scarves or lace panties—at least for one day. Hopefully the image is also enough to distract her, at least for tonight, from the crippling responsibility of every other decision she'll be making alone. There'd be plenty of time tomorrow to pick herself back up and actually consider what to do, but tonight's for falling apart and messily putting all the pieces back together as evidence that it can be done. Since they're already on the floor, he rather thinks the breaking part has happened, but who knows, maybe they'd destroy all her records, orgasms and meltdowns.

He doesn't move as they split, attempting to stay in the moment just a little bit longer. The longer he remains, the more he can keep the warmth and feel of her from sweeping away into the space that's been made, minor as it is. It's also why the inhale he brings in is slow and deep, trying not to disturb anything. It works for a few seconds, but then his eyes peek back out as her nose skims his, and everything else has to yield to the broad smile that lifts up at her quiet admission. Time and again he's re-learning that if he just drifts into the next moment with her, chances are it'll be just as dreamy as the last, or even better. "I don't think I'll ever get sick of hearing you say that," he sighs, content in a way that he hasn't felt since last time they were wrapped together like this.

On second though, maybe capturing the peaceful moments is still best, because he never knows when she'll say that. An immediate groan rolls free as he tilts his head back, sagging with the dramatics of regret for ever revealing this vulnerable moment to her. He should have known better after exposing he's ticklish, a weakness she's savagely taken advantage of. "Only if you tell me more about running a Thieves Guild," he challenges. "Tit for tat," and as if to punctuate his point, one of his hands slides to the heft of one such tit she's got, cradling it in his palm. It must be soothing, a teddy bear during a thunder storm, because his head tilts back to hers with a sighing laugh.

"Look, I'm not proud of this ok," he grumbles. "And no one else knows, and I'd like it to stay that way." The implication being, keep your mouth shut Flora, or else, except the or else is an empty box full of cobwebs because he has no idea what he'd do except burn up on the spot with embarassment. He nearly is now, and surely she'll feel the heat of that flush creeping in. "You know, I used to sneak to the Silk Houses all the time, for some actual fighting instead of just training, and to make extra money." And, honestly, because it was fun. Although he generally kept his nose clean down there, it'd been forbidden by his family, which instantly made it a thousand times more interesting. He definitely learned a lot of new lessons there.

"One night a guy who works with my folks recognized me. He knew they wouldn't be happy to find out I was there, so he threatened to tell them—unless I did something for him." Kaisel snorts, wishing he'd punched the fucker instead. The man had been suave about it though, made it sound like he'd tell them no matter what, but could maybe be convinced otherwise. For a kid terrified of disappointing anyone, especially his family, and the consequences that'd follow, that felt like a good deal at the time. "I denied the hand job," he huffs, "so instead I had to pay him and let him suck my toes. It was the worst. He was missing this one tooth, so he just like...gummed one of my toes over and over..." An involuntary shudder rolls through him and his foot twitches against her leg, like he’s trying to scrape the memory off on her skin. "ANYWAY I might hurl, but that's that. Got much better at disguising myself after that." Which, is saying a lot for him.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Flora grins crookedly at him, her brow arched as she trails her fingers deliberately down the glittering fabric of the gown stretched over his chest, brushing it with faux consideration before muttering, "I actually was planning on full evening attire for the soldiers. Originally I'd have said tuxes but...I think maybe now I've been convinced it should be evening gowns." Her voice is warm with amusement, the kind that bubbles up in waves without ever quite turning to laughter, though her eyes sparkle like he’s handed her a gift with the mental image alone.

But as his voice softens and the next words slip free—the kind that might sound corny from anyone else—her teasing quiets into something gentler. Her heart stirs against her ribs, as if it, too, recognises the truth braided into his tone. The way he says it, like he could listen to her love him forever and never grow tired of the sound, sends a flutter through her chest that feels suspiciously like joy with wings. She leans in close, letting the tip of her nose brush his cheek as she whispers with a smile, "Happy to help you test that theory," and the laughter laced beneath her words is light but steady, not a thing meant to deflect but to delight, to share the glow warming her from the inside out.

Of course, that glow is promptly joined by mischief as Kaisel groans and tilts his head back like he’s being punished by the gods. The melodrama of it all has her grin tripling in size, though that doesn’t stop her from letting out a sharp little yelp of indignation as his hand cups boldly over one of her tits, the weight of his palm somehow both possessive and ridiculous in context. "You're such a menace," she huffs, swatting at his shoulder before sliding both hands to his chest, pressing him down with a firm and theatrical shove to send his back toward the floor. She follows immediately, draping herself atop him like the world’s most self-satisfied blanket, her bare skin sliding against sequins that sparkle like moonlight caught in water. The fabric is cool beneath her, but what draws her attention more is the solid heat of him underneath it; the way the muscles of his chest shift beneath her, the easy strength of of him, the soft flop of his dark hair as his head settles back. She watches the warm copper of his eyes catch the light, and for a moment, just a breath, she forgets about the rest of the world entirely.

Her expression softens as he begins to explain, and as the words unfurl, she shifts, propping herself up slightly so she can see his face more clearly. Her fingers toy absently with a piece of the dress near his collarbone, but her attention is rooted in him now, narrowed to the tension in his voice and the bitter twist of the story he lays out. As he finishes with a shudder, Flora lets out a groan of her own and pulls a face, her nose wrinkling with both sympathy and second-hand revulsion. "Wait, hold on," she says slowly, blinking down at him. "He wanted to give you a handjob, or you were supposed to give him one?" Her brows lift, and she shivers again, assuming that it was the former, curling tighter atop him like the memory is trying to climb up her foot now. "Fuck, that’s the worst."

The words are hushed, but her tone is fiercely protective, and as she rests her hand over his heart again, she leans in just a touch closer. "If you ever want, you can bring Spice up to Stormbreak," she murmurs, her voice like silk stretched over the glint of a blade, "I’m sure she’d be happy to freeze the balls off anyone who tries anything like that again. All you’d have to do is ask." She doesn’t smile when she says it, not really. Not until the thought of her smug little white dragon melting the man’s ego into frost makes the corners of her lips curl with satisfaction. "Or you could take my daggers and my invisibility ring and really have a go of it."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

The grin on his face is utterly unrepentant at her admonishments, but with the encouragement of her shove he goes down like a lawn chair in summer, fully embracing the floor. His hands cradle back behind his head, legs crossing at the ankle, as though he's just stretched out to bask in the absolute glow of her, their room nothing more than a strip of private beach which is blessedly free of sand. Well—it's probably lurking somewhere in this room, leftover from her.

She sinks down over him, practically a liquid with the way every angle's gone soft in the backdrop of night beyond the window. The amber light of the room halos her with a certain warmth, one he can see but also seeps in with the easy weight of her, passed on with each breath and curl of her fingers. When she's like this, sly smile tucking in on her cheeks and relief gentling her gaze, she's all his. This is when she's crawled away from the weight of the world for a little while, and together they get to pretend nothing but the space between them exists.

It's a shame to ruin the moment with toe sucking, but she'd asked. He blinks back at her, the frame of her tilted with the way he rests his head a bit sideways to see her easier. "He wanted me to give him a handjob," Kaisel sticks out his tongue with a wrinkle of his nose. "But that was not[/ii] happening. Either direction," he clarifies, just in case she thought he'd have taken that tooth-missing mouth for a ride. "He settled for toes at least," which all things considered, Kaisel rather escaped unscarred from the ordeal. Doesn't even get weird about his feet, although if Flora ever tries to lick them he'll undoubtedly kick her in the face. "In hindsight, the fact he negotiated down probably means I could have convinced him for even less." He'd not really been in the frame of mind to haggle through his blackmail beyond keeping dicks out of his mouth or other parts of his body though. He shrugs, because it's already well behind him and ultimately a nice enough lesson about not getting caught, or if he did having something better than wide eyes to offer.

An appreciative slant finds his face at her imagined scenarios, because he's no doubt the ferocity she and her dragon would display when it came to setting down judgement and protecting those they cherish. He sorely hopes to never manage to completely piss her off, for the sake of his own health. "Much fun as that sounds, I'm a lot stronger now than I was then, so I don't think I have to worry anymore. But, if I ever find myself in a bad spot again, trust you and Spice will be the first ones I call." He moves one hand to fold it over hers, linking in heat and comfort in the easy contact with her.

"Alright, I gave you tit," he confirms with a slight puffing of his chest, accentuating the utter lack of cleavage his gown is showing off. "Let's have the tat." His 'brows lift expectantly at her. "Why—how—you run the thieves guild? What do you [i]do." Thieve things, probably, but she's got far too many resources available to her to just be a crook, and she's too smart to just take the shiny things. He does gasp suddenly though, like new information has dawned over him. "Oh my gods, is that why you're such a hoarder of baubles?"

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //

flora

Theatrical as ever, Flora wrinkles her nose with exaggerated disgust, but the expression carries a sincerity that seeps through the arch of her brows and the slight shudder skating down her spine. "Good," she murmurs, her voice quiet but full of meaning. Because even if the story ended with Kaisel more or less unharmed, the thought of him having come that close to being forced into something—something degrading and vile, something no one should have to endure—settles like lead in her gut. She’s never been in that position herself, not truly, but she can imagine it, too well, too viscerally, and the idea of it almost happening to him makes her feel like her skin doesn’t quite fit.

But mischief flits in quickly, lifting her expression with it, and with a grin curling up the corners of her mouth, she slips one bare foot between his. Her eyebrows rise in mock innocence as she peers down at him, her voice lilting sweetly through the question: "So I guess that means no foot kink?" It’s teasing but light, meant to pull him back from any shadows the memory might’ve stirred, to remind them both they’re safe here, on this ridiculous pile of sequins and skin.

When he goes on to thank her and speak so casually about calling on her and Spice in a pinch, something tender flickers through her gaze. "No, no," she laughs softly, shaking her head. "I didn’t mean I’d go handle it for you. I just meant if you ever wanted to, I’d lend you some of my favourite toys to make it memorable." Her smile grows faintly crooked, but the moment holds, and she finds herself studying his face in the glow of the overhead light, watching the way it plays off the copper flecks in his eyes and the angles of his cheekbones beneath the tousled fall of dark hair. Her grin returns with a sharper edge now, and she shifts slightly against him, her voice curling with affectionate challenge. "It wouldn't hurt your ego too badly? To call in your girlfriend when things get dicey?"

His puffed chest draws a snort from her, the gown comically lacking any of the assets he seems to be showing off. She arches an unimpressed brow and shimmies just a little against him, enough to make a show of her own cleavage as she lightly slaps his chest. "You grabbed tit first, actually, before giving tit, so really, we’re already even." She grins broadly as she says it, the sparkle in her eye entirely satisfied with this interpretation of events before clearing her throat.

"Welll..." she begins, shifting to settle more comfortably across him, her elbow tucked near his shoulder, "when I first got to Torchline, it was way worse than it is now by like...a million percent. So when I became Queen, I knew I couldn’t stop all of the crime—but I could track it. If I knew what was getting stolen, and where it was going, maybe I could keep a handle on it all." She shrugs like it’s nothing special, her voice drifting easily now, full of lazy nostalgia and understated pride. "So I started small. Just out of the back of the Hanged Man. There’s a room behind the bar, hidden behind an enchanted door—no one finds it unless they’re supposed to. Then we added caches: one in the Dusklight, another in the House of Midnight. We had one in my mom’s spa in Halo," she adds with a wrinkle of her nose, "but honestly, snow and cold? No thanks. Haven’t checked on it in years, ever since she moved to King's End."

Her chin tips up just slightly, eyes glinting with smugness now, a glimmer of that Torchline queen confidence bleeding through the comfort of her body draped over his. "We’ve actually got quite a few members these days, not that anyone advertises. It’s all word of mouth. And if someone ever catches me doing something I shouldn’t—moving things, hiding things, delivering things—I just say I run a Lost and Found." She flashes a grin sharp enough to match her tone. "It’s a believable enough cover. Stuff gets lost on the beach all the time." And with that, she leans in, her breath brushing warm against his throat as she adds, "Some of us are just very good at finding it."

lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// Ring around the rosie - Pocket full of posie //

He glances up at all her mischief on display, one of the best looks on her, and it's impossible to stay tangled in the past. Her eyebrows are a theater all their own, but it's the slip of her foot that summons a dry laugh as he attempts to pin her delving limb between his legs and keep it. "Definitely not, hope that's not a deal breaker, but I will still get pedicures with you."

The grip of his legs slackens, head craning to look at her, mouth ajar in a quiet and prolonged gasp. "What, you saying you wouldn't come beat up some fucker for me if he was going for my toes again? Chivalry is really dead." The shape of his mouth is a full tease as a hand flops to his forehead and he 'faints' back into the full grasp of the floor. He's already in a dress, why not pay damsel too?

All of the pretense of being wounded fades the moment the one word slips free. His eyes fly open, and he jolts up onto an elbow, nearly knocking his head into hers. "Girlfriend?!" It's loud and hushed all at once, a question and an exclamation, but mostly it's happy. "Girlfriend," he laughs, a bit stunned by the feel of it. Maybe it's obvious, but she'd said slow, even offered not to say much about it, so it felt strange to label it as anything other than Flora. It didn't really matter what they called it, because in the end it's just love, but the title still evokes a certain finality to it all. His grin absolutely runs off with his face, making it difficult to speak over it. "I'd love to watch my girlfriend kick some ass. That'd be so hot." Not that he'd want to be a slug in the corner and have her fight everything, but they're a team, and he's never doubted her ability to handle things. He fetches up one of her hands and rolls a kiss over the back of it, glancing up at her over her knuckles as he holds the last one down. "Sadly I might never get to see it in action, since your boyfriend is just—aah—so big and strong." He grins around her fingers, dropping the hand to his forearm partway through as proof, although he's no doubt she'd still take him in most, if not all, physical challenges. A man can dream though.

He slumps back down to the ground, just in time to truly appreciate the display she offers. Much better goods than his—the dress is depressed. "Wait, I didn't see, do that again," he asks, gaze clearly locked on the sway of her chest, the line only breaking as she smacks him. The deterrent is brief, but effective, and the threat of his hands subsides as he folds them around her waist instead. He'd forgotten that beneath the hang of her shirt there's practically nothing, but the reminder returns as his fingers graze skin instead of cloth beneath the hem of her shirt, dragging over the lip of her panties every so often as he traces her shape. He doesn't try to work them off, just content to hold her as she leans in closer.

He watches her with a lazy sort of admiration as she explains. It's the kind he tries to keep a little hidden, so she isn't inclined to duck from the shine of it, never afraid to stand in a spotlight except when it comes to congratulating herself on a job well done. His thumbs keep a steady contact on the dip of her hips, slow and smooth, while the rest of him is drawn into the daring adventure of her shaping the crime here into something that's been leashed without even realizing it. "No way, you have a legit secret door and everything?" In The Hanged Man, of all places now, the location she gave up, because of him. "Might need to move it to your new house," he murmurs, although that's not quite so easily explained away in terms of foot traffic as a bar, even with as many rooms and friends as Flora would have.

Kaisel

// I'ma fucking blow all the ashes down //