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

flora

She laughs, head tilting with playful deliberation as she scrunches her nose like she’s weighing a serious decision. "Not a dealbreaker," she allows with a sigh that suggests it just barely passed, before her lips part into a dramatic, wide-eyed look of mock dismay. "But...you’re definitely on thin ice," she purrs teasingly.

The grin that follows softens as she watches him try to faint with all the tragic elegance of a hel on a sunbaked pier, and she shakes her head fondly. "Obviously I’d beat up anyone who tried to suck on any part of you," she assures with a scoff, her voice light but honest beneath the joke, because the idea of someone laying claim to him without consent crawls under her skin in a way that makes her jaw tighten. The heat of that protectiveness doesn’t have time to rise fully before it’s swept away by the bright flare of his joy, that startled, golden laughter bubbling out around the world she'd so casually tossed out. The word echoes inside her like a struck bell, and she can’t help but beam down at him as he lifts her hand, her heart caught up in his surprise, her smile blooming wide and a little giddy as he presses his lips to her knuckles like some old-world romantic. She had said she wanted to take things slow, had meant it and still did, but gods, they were already halfway to everything, wrapped up in one another like this. What good did it do to try and pretend like they weren't?

When he mentions her boyfriend’s muscles, she raises an eyebrow and immediately presses down into his forearm as if checking a melon for ripeness. "No, no," she says with mock solemnity, correcting him as if he’s made an obvious error. "I want you to be my boyfriend." She lets her words trail off with a crooked smile and a deliberate shrug, the implication as clear as the sun through the shutters: if the guy with the muscles was her boyfriend, then clearly it couldn't be Kai.

Her laughter bubbles again as he pleads for another show, but instead of obliging, she widens her eyes and fixes him with an exaggerated look of scandal. "Tell me something else then," she challenges, voice purring low as she shifts slightly against him, the arch of her back unapologetic beneath the slow stroke of his hands. Her shirt rides higher with every lazy touch, and she hums thoughtfully as her skin tingles beneath his fingers. Having not found anything cozy to wear was perhaps not as bad as it had initially seemed.

She means to keep talking, to pivot into the idea of showing him the Thieves Guild in earnest, but the words stick slightly, catching against the small knot of hesitation that tightens in her chest. Her cheeks colour faintly as she glances away, the thought of returning to the Hanged Man prickling with complications, the most prominent of which wears Calypso’s face. Clearing her throat, she leans down and gently brushes back a lock of his hair, even though it doesn’t need fixing, her fingers tracing over his temple like she just needed an excuse to be closer. "You’re probably right," she murmurs, her voice softer now as her hand drifts down to his cheek. "I really should move it."

Her fingers scratch gently at his scalp, nails feather-light as she watches his expression shift beneath her touch, her tone low but steady when she asks, "Wanna help me? You know...after things are taken care of?" The shape of the word is careful, deliberately vague. Flora hadn't even been able to face Jack, so she certainly wasn't going to rush Kaisel when it came to having his own hard conversation esp since the thread is already started.

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 mouth is agape in disbelief, the only sound for a minute a squeaked breath. "FLORA," he finally manages to admonish, the words half sputtering with the receding shock. He gets the conclusion she's making, but he can't wrap his head around her inability to recognize the obvious even when her hands are on it. "Puh—you obviously didn't feel right, those are some prime muscles. Go again" He plops her hand further on his bicep, flexing for all he's worth, teeth clenching through it as he shoots her an appraising look. Now?

The strain to prove himself is immediately softened and forgotten beneath the greeting of her chest, one his eyes gladly say hello to. As for her prerequisite for a second view, everything he's ever known completely evaporates from his head. Something else, it should be simple, and yet he's drawn a blank on his entire life, and nearly words in their entirety when other parts of her shift against him. Reduced to little more than a low groan of appreciation for the settle of her body and the supple heat that presses and bows in his hands, he's content to never remember anything else but the feel of her.

Seeing the pride in her falter into a pink shame on her cheeks stills his fingers. His expression tightens, even as her touch trails light and serene, too gentle for the guilt he has about the whole thing. "Let's take it back," he asserts instead, gaze flashing with a newfound determination. It had been Flora's bar to fight for or to give away, and though her choice had stunned him, he'd thought it best to leave things as peaceful as possible. Even now, the idea of wresting control away from Calypso doesn't sit quite right, but neither does watching Flora's achievements get buried, forcing her gaze away at the mention of it. "Could send all the dock fights to there instead, make running it hell until they hand it back." Designated spaces to gripe and stab might go ignored by the ruffians, so they could just say outlandish things like the Hanged Man will offer free beer to whoever the next underbelly king is, get the two problems to sort themselves out in the same spac, brawls unfurling as fast as liquor pours.

Kaisel

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

flora

Flora doesn’t want to be needlessly cruel and grate against Kai's ego, and so when he guides her hand more deliberately over the swell of his bicep, her fingers respond with an appreciative squeeze. Her eyes widen, her mouth parting in theatrical delight as if she’s only just now discovered the true source of his strength. "Ohhh," she exhales, drawing the word out with mock reverence before flashing him a wicked grin. "Those muscles." Without waiting for a retort, she leans down and rewards his effort with a kiss far too brief to be fair, her lips barely brushing his before she pulls back, clearly pleased with herself.

She feels his gaze dip, heat sweeping over her skin like the sun cracking through cloud cover, and her laugh slips loose, velvet and victorious. There’s something deeply satisfying about reducing him to a wordless gape, his hands still holding her like she’s something priceless and wild, as if speaking might break the spell between them. Her hips shift in subtle rhythm beneath his touch, body humming with the electric hush of closeness, and she hums against the curve of his jaw, her breath warm as she murmurs, "Another time, maybe."

She means to nestle her cheek against his chest, to let herself be held and folded into the cradle of warmth and safety he offers so instinctively, but the flicker of emotion across his face catches her instead. It’s in the way his brows draw ever so slightly, the shape of his mouth faltering beneath the weight of his thoughts, the kind of softness that doesn't quite sit still but shifts like wind over water, revealing depths she hasn't yet dared to name. His features—so familiar now in their handsomeness—hold her gaze not because of symmetry or sharpness, but because of the way they move when he’s feeling too much. That subtle dip at the corner of his mouth when guilt rises; the flicker of determination that hardens his jaw when he decides to act; the gentle storm in his eyes that always seems to break just for her. She watches him the way she might watch the tide pull back before something vast comes rushing in, equal parts reverence and unease, wondering what piece of him she’ll see next.

When he speaks, it takes her a second to follow, his words slow to land amidst the current of her thoughts. Her hand pauses where it rests against his cheek, the press of her palm tender, instinctive. "What?" she breathes, the word almost a sigh as her lashes flick up to meet his. Shifting, she peels herself upright, straddling him now with legs loosely bracketing his sides, the delicate lace of her underwear catching lightly against the sequinned rise of his borrowed gown where their hips come together. Her hands settle against his chest—not to push away, never that—but just to hold him still long enough that she might make sense of what he’s saying. His expression is open, determined, yet the shape of it offers no clarity.

"I gave it to her," Flora says at last, the words quiet, almost uncertain in their own finality. Her head shakes slowly, a small motion that sends a golden curl sliding across her collarbone. "In writing, even. We can’t just...take it back." Her gaze flicks down toward where her palms rest against his sternum, as if the truth might be tucked somewhere beneath his ribs, waiting to be found. "Not without a fight, anyway." After everything that had happened with Flora driving her father away and now stealing Kai, as that's likely how it would look and feel, Flora thought it was a fight Caly would quite happily rise to if given the chance.

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 //

Admittedly, he expected a much more enthusiastic response, such as her dripping a lean over him even more to whisper conspiratorial ideas into his ear. She leads a thieves guild after all, he thought the idea of stealing reclaiming a lost bar would tickle each hair on her head—because much as the reasons for starting the guild, it seems she's done more than just track the passage of goods on her borders. He's never stolen a damn thing, not on purpose anyway, so the idea sparks half-formed in him, but no less certain for it.

Instead, she palms his cheek, gentle and smoothing. Her confusion pops her up like a fishing bobber thrown out on the spread of water—the loose hang of his sequined gown pooling between them as close to a pond as they have. He leans into the weight of her hands on him, pushing up with the challenge of the suggestion, the presence still there in the gleam of his gaze as it skims back and forth across her. She didn't say no.

"Yeah, but it'll be hard to run out of your house, and you didn't want to give up the bar." They haven't really talked about it much, but everything he's read on her when they have tells him the loss of it tore a bit of something from her. He wishes he'd offered to run it for her back then, a brief and wild idea that ran through his head when she first mentioned it. As other things he'd have done differently with her, this isn't one he can alter now, but he could maybe get it back, and that's not nothing. "So we fight," he declares, hands finding her wrists where she's bracing against his chest. His fingers circle around them, light but pressing in, and he runs his grip up her arms until his reach ends. "We don't have to make it obvious." He'd prefer if they didn't. Asking for it back he suspects won't go over well, and if they ask then act, their guilt will be obvious, maybe already is to some extent. "Convince them the bar's not worth it, make them want to hand it back over. Could unleash a plague of toads in their storage room, get an annoying spirit to haunt their wine..." Just a step up from planning pranks, really.

Kaisel

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

flora

As Kaisel’s fingers tighten around her wrists and glide slowly upward, shackling her gently in place with his conviction, Flora leans in without hesitation. Her aqua eyes search his, taking in the brightness of intent, the unflinching way he’s already made the decision for both of them, and for a moment the idea sparks wild and delicious in her chest, curling like a flame around the ache that never quite goes out. He’s right, of course; it would feel good, so godsdamned good, to pour her energy into something real and tangible again, something she could rebuild with her own two hands, something that didn’t feel like heartbreak or politics or waiting for resurrection. Because the Marin's were just supposed to look after things while Flora was off keeping all of Torchline fucking safe; they were never meant to keep the bar, but..

Letting Kaisel into these pieces of her doesn’t come naturally, not even now, though it is easier than it used to be. Still, she has to rearrange her thoughts like stepping stones across a creek, each one placed with care so that she doesn’t fall apart entirely as she lets herself be seen a little more. Her breath catches before she speaks, and when she does, her voice is low and steady, threaded with the softness of truths she hasn’t admitted out loud in some time. "The nice answer—the one I gave everyone who asked about the bar—was that when Torchline didn’t really want me at first, I took over the Hanged Man as a way of giving myself a purpose." Her fingers flex slightly against him, drawing idle shapes across the sequins bunched beneath her palms. "It gave me something that was mine, something that let me feel like I belonged here. I loved it."

Her smile curves faintly, the kind that tries to make peace with the past even when it still stings, and she shrugs once, golden curls slipping over her bare shoulder with the movement. "But…considering the Marins literally fell out of the sky not that long ago, maybe Caly needed that too. Whereas now.." She tilts her head as if measuring the weight of what she’s about to say, and then gives it freely. "I'm so close to bringing Enzo back. I'm ruling Torchline, alone now, but successfully enough before that. I’ve got Wildering House and the Sugartide. I have you. I don’t need the bar the same way I used to."

That’s the clean version, the soft one. But it’s not the full truth. Her cheeks flush, a darker rose blooming beneath her freckles, and she shifts slightly above him, the movement stirring a hush of cloth and breath between them as her expression tightens. "That’s the nice answer." Her voice grows quieter, and though it doesn’t lose its rhythm, there’s a thread of tension winding through it now, something sharper. "The other answer is that picking a fight with the children of B.M.F.—who are also Safrin’s kids—is a really stupid thing to do." Her mouth twists faintly with the admission, her eyes flicking toward the horizon as if checking to make sure no celestial retribution is hurtling toward them already.

"And once Caly finds out that you and I are together, I’d bet my whole damn queendom she'd rather burn the bar to the ground than admit they can’t handle it if we pulled some nonsense, than give it back to me." Her fingers knead absently against his chest, slow and circular, like a cat soothing itself on a blanket, and she shakes her head with a soft exhale. "And that’s assuming they don’t just call Safrin in for backup, with mommy-dearest providing all the information they'd need to know about who was targeting the bar."

The thought settles heavy between them, and for a while she simply gazes down at him, her lashes casting soft shadows over her cheeks as her expression dims to something more uncertain. "Besides, could you really do that to Caly?" she asks at last, her voice quieter now, edged with something that isn’t quite judgment but doesn’t lack concern either. Her fingers pause in their idle movements, resting still for a moment over the sequins pressed against him, and she shrugs lightly, though the gesture doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She isn’t sure where he and Caly stand anymore, knowing only that they'd decided to try and be friends. If that was the case, though, it strikes her as odd now, watching Kaisel so confidently speak of tearing something away from someone he was beginning to care so much about. Odd, and maybe a little telling.

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's not sure he's ever truly seen her like this—careful and gentle in a way that isn't tinged with the sadness of something breaking or the wariness of something uncertain. This is Flora unwrapping a petal that normally stays drawn up tight and close, one of the few she doesn't put on display when she's bright and sure of herself.  This one's secret. Although she's held his attention in its entirety for a while now, even more of the world fades away as he leans in, as much as he can anyway, to hold this new little part of her alongside the rest.

It's delicate, he can tell, this private part of her. Not because it isn't strong enough, or pretty enough, but because it's at risk of being too bruised or plucked away completely if too many hands (or ears) brush up against it. His grip remains sure against her arms as she shifts, her fingers tracing energy that he absorbs with the stillness of attention. He hadn't known her past connection with the bar, the weight of what it all truly meant to her, and hearing it only seems to further solidify his resolve that she should have it back. Sometimes you never fully outgrow the little teddy bear you received as a child, and even if you don't need it anymore to get you through the nights, seeing it on your bed provides a certain sort of comfort that any person needs, regardless of age—sometimes you need it even more when you're older, because dark nights are the least of your worries then.

He hesitates to say or do anything though, because that's not what she's kept tucked in on herself, even if her smile seems painted on out of habit and the shrug that spills her hair feels like an attempt at getting comfortable with the absence of something she still wants. He's grateful he does, because when the true reason comes out with a blush and a thin breath, he hates the acknowledgement that tightens his chest at it. Although, the smallest shape of a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth at hearing the initials used instead of the name.

He sighs long and low, his hands running back down her arms to thread with her fingers instead. "You aren't wrong," he admits after a long stretch of quiet, struggling to come to terms with the position she's painted them in. She thinks ahead much better than he does, sees the ramifications of choices, when he's prone to discovering them after having already acted. Part of him still wants to shout fuck it and do it anyway, because haven't they already picked a fight in a sense, just by doing this? Difference is this is worth it, maybe a bar isn't. "Although I think we're already on the shit list of everyone you listed off...well, probably me more than you." Which should instill a sense of caution in him, but he just grimaces with a heaving exhale, seemingly more annoyed by the constant threat of B.M.F. and all the ways he's tangled himself up in Kaisel's life. "Caly I'm sure will join it the moment I tell her, and Safrin might have forgiven me before...but likely not now." The others, he fells, are obvious. So to Kaisel, it kind of feels like he doesn't have much more he could lose from picking a fight, and if they want to call their mom, then he'll call for backup too.

"But...no..." he mutters low and defeated, glancing to the side as his head flops against his shoulder. "I don't want to outright do that to Caly, which is why I thought if we convinced them to give it up somehow, it'd work. You're right though, Safrin would know, and they'll never offer it up. I mean they were changing it before it was even theirs, I don't think it ever would have been anything but a fight." His voice thickens a bit as he continues, forcing him to pause to draw in a steadying breath. His gaze flicks back to her from the side of his view, an apology frowning in. "I just—I don't want to be the reason you lose things." He never meant for her to become smaller because of him, and now he's had a hand in the removal of her bar and the stability of the city's lawlessness, both of which are dragging on her. "I don't want you to end up with regrets, because of me." He says it whisper soft, hoping that's loud enough to hide the fear that he's going to end up being the thing she regrets, because look what's already started because of it. She's worried she'd wreck things for him? She's the one with so much more to lose.

Kaisel

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

flora

Flora shifts where she straddles him, her thighs pressing in with a slight squeeze that offers enough stability to let her hands relax and twine properly with his. Her grip is soft but certain, threaded through with the kind of quiet tension that only grows heavier as his words sink in. When he jokes about being on everyone’s shit list, her smile flickers, faint and tinged with something uneasy. The flush in her cheeks deepens, blooming scarlet along her skin as he circles back to Safrin, and her fingers flinch tighter against his. "I know I usually throw punches first and plan later," she murmurs, her voice low and reluctant, "but being Torchline’s only ruler now kind of means I can’t afford to pick fights with our patron herald and three of her kids, especially when two of them probably already hate me and the third is your ex." She huffs gently, the sound not quite annoyed but unmistakably exasperated with herself, and despite the tension she manages the ghost of a wry smile as she glances down at him. "It's just not a smart play, no matter how satisfying it might be."

The fact that his desire to reclaim the bar hadn’t come from any cruel place, hadn’t been some hidden grudge against Caly, eases something inside her she hadn’t realized was coiled quite so tight. It reassures her in a way she can’t immediately name, and she exhales softly, brushing her thumbs along the ridges of his knuckles. Her blush only darkens as he mentions the changes that had already started happening at the Hanged Man—changes made before the bar was even fully theirs—and Flora nods slowly, sadness catching at the edge of her mouth as the memory of it lands hard.

Her first instinct is to lean down and kiss him, to blanket over his guilt with something sugar-sweet and tender, to press the weight of her reassurance against his lips, but she doesn’t. She stays where she is, poised and open, breath fluttering like a held note between them as she watches him from above. She wants to give him something better than comfort, something truer. And so, after a moment spent carefully arranging the words in her head, she lifts one of his hands and guides it gently to rest against her chest, her hands cradling it. Her chin comes to rest on the back of his fingers, her eyes fluttering shut for the span of a breath before she opens them again and lets the honesty spill out in a voice too soft to be anything but sincere.

"It felt like such a blow," she says quietly, "when I went in to talk to Caly and everything was already different." Her lashes lower, not in shame but in a kind of quiet grief, and her words spill out more freely now that they’ve begun. "I joked about putting myself back on the payroll, trying to keep it light, and she just shut me out. Cold. Like I didn’t belong anymore." Her fingers clutch at his hand, pressing it all the more against her, as if her body is working through some of the hurt before her heart can. "It felt like a trap made out of quicksand. Like no matter how I explained myself, it would always look like I was trying to take something from Caly—first you, then the bar—and that there was no way to split either one. Not really. I mean…how was I ever meant to work alongside B.M.F’s kids and pretend it didn’t matter?"

She presses her lips to Kaisel's knuckles, letting them linger there in a kiss so delicate it feels more like a sigh. Her eyes rise slowly above the line of his hand, finding his gaze again and holding it as a quiet smile begins to bloom against his skin. The shape of it is small but sure, like dawn cracking over the edge of the sea. "I'm not losing things because of you," she says, the words warm now, tinged with something clearer and brighter than regret. "I'm choosing you over those things."

Her smile curves more fully now, her fingers tightening around his as if anchoring the vow in flesh. "I’d pick you over the Hanged Man any day," she continues, her voice dipping again to something soft but resonant. "It hurt so much because I thought I was doing the right thing. For you, for Caly, for everyone. I thought not demanding the bar back was me trying to be the bigger person, and also trying not to hurt either of you, even if it felt like I was losing everything." Her eyes shine with something more than just the lights in the room; it’s all there now, written across her face—the ache, the hope, the choice she’s already made. " But it doesn’t feel like that anymore," she whispers. "Because now I have you."

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 grumbles around her explanation, equally caught on all the same feelings as she is. It's surprising, how quickly everything has just become a fucking mess, all from him bumbling through his feelings. "It does seem like a family worth avoiding at all costs at this point," he remarks with the faintest twist of a smile. "They're much more dramatic than us," which is saying a lot, since they're both queens in that regard. As he quickly learned, dating Caly also meant dating her entire family, goddess included. His features soften a bit, the idea fully releasing into the void where all his other half-baked schemes have gone to perish. "Alright, alright, no picking fights," he relents with a sigh.

His head shifts a bit, gaze trailing after the hand she claims and lifts to her chest. It's such a wholly tender thing she does, cradling him against her heart and beneath both her palms, her chin even, that he can't help but melt into it. His focus lifts from the grasp to the soft blush still creeping against her cheeks, to the flutter of her lashes as she works around memory and hurt, to that bright assurance steadily breaking through the storms in her eyes. Her resilience has always been an inspiring thing to behold.

What she has to say at first offers little comfort, and his fingers twitch against her chest as if they could coil that grief around and yank it free from her, little more than a weed to be pulled and spare her its choking growth. "I'm sorry," he frowns, because the words feel too pointless and empty, especially now. She only presses in firmer though, slowing his breath. He'd not thought about their father affecting her. It adds another knot to everything, and he's unsure how he'd been so blind to not realize the impact of seeing B.M.F.'s children in her spaces, all the while wearing the features of someone other than her. No, he's sure she couldn't really have worked alongside them, though she would have tried her best and hurt for it each day. Much as he and Caly likely wouldn't have made it through another family gathering, albeit the reasons for the chafing are completely different.

The brush of her lips flutters down his arm, almost making it to his mouth, a long distance kiss, but his chest holds onto the feeling instead. His heart shifts like a buoy in the tide, the sensation bailing out some of the seawater that's been seeping in, more cracks present than he knew. The moment the sparkle of her sea-tossed stare slips over the rim of his knuckles, he exhales, not sure when he started to hold his breath, but grateful she returned it.

She pulls him fully into her warmth and certainty, smoothing the worry that creases the corners of him. The smile that comes in starts as an unsure, wavering thing—something newly born and shy. It soon bolts across his face, accompanied by a bout of laughter, so overwhelmed with all the love she just offered that he has to spill some of it out or he'll burst.

He spins to the side, rolling her over with him, quick and needy with the urge to kiss her. Sequins rasp against skin, her hair spreading wild around her, and he glances down for just a moment as the last chuckle of disbelief spends itself. His hands slide up to wreath her face, cupping her cheeks as he leans down—not just to kiss her, but to smother all their losses until all that's left is this brilliant gain between them. It's not neat—it crashes and tugs, pulling her in like he could swallow this moment and anchor it inside his chest, where nothing could break it apart again. His lips press with desperate reverence, with the buzz of laughter still lingering, with the ache of grief turning into something fierce. It's so devastatingly clear now, that whatever the wreckage, they'll build something better together.

"Flora," his breath is ragged as he tilts to the side of her, only breaking once they need to. "You'll always have me, and I'll always have you," he says it soft, the words breaking just over her cheek, but it's resolute. His gaze stays lit on her, lips coursing all over her face, delivering faint smooches as he goes to her nose, her 'brow, her chin. "Let's make a bigger, better bar," he suggests, hands slipping into her hair, forehead pressing in on hers. "Let's make a bakery, and a dress shop, and a spa. We could build a whole addition to this city—Floraville. Floratopolis." He chuckles, absurd and in love and they feel the same right now as he leans in for another kiss.

Kaisel

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

flora

Everything about this feels like a balm to something still tender and raw beneath her ribs, and as Kaisel rolls her with the warmth of his laughter and the heat of his affection, Flora lets herself be spun, the sequins rasping softly beneath her like the shifting glitter of broken glass reformed into something dazzling and new. It's impossible not to laugh with him, impossible not to feel the lightness he brings blooming in the places she'd thought were already scorched dry, because the truth is that Jack never would have done this; never would have coaxed her into his arms just to hold her in the ruins, never would have kissed the grin off her mouth and scattered joy like it was sacred. It isn't a comparison she wants to make, not when she has fought so hard to let go of the ache Jack carved into her, but when grief and loss have crept so close again—when she's still reeling from yet another crack in the façade she's tried to hold—it feels impossibly good to be touched with this much love, to be known in her tangle of hurts and still so thoroughly cherished.

The first kiss is a little off-centre, not from lack of want but from the swell of her smile, her cheeks pressed up chipmunk-round beneath his hands, her joy almost too wide for her own mouth, but Flora doesn't care. She's already reaching for him, looping her arms around his shoulders and curling one leg over his thigh to bring him closer still, so there’s no space left between them; nothing but the soft give of skin and the press of her chest and the warmth she feels all the way through. Her smile lingers between them, melting slowly as her mouth finds his again, this time more sure, more searing, a kiss that says I’m here and I choose this and don’t you dare let go.

It still feels new in the best kind of way—uncharted but safe, wild but wanted—and maybe that’s the difference. There’s no guilt wrapped around the edges of this moment, no looming consequence or stolen glances. There’s just this, a cascade of feeling she doesn’t want to stop, and when at last they part, breath shared and hearts thudding like surf beneath a full moon, Flora is smiling so brightly it almost hurts.

The kisses that follow—soft, dotting her face with reverence—make her giggle, giddy and barely able to contain the sound. Her body is warm and tangled perfectly with his, her fingers already threading through the back of his hair when he starts in on his absurd empire-building plans. Her laughter bubbles again, and she tilts her nose playfully against his, brushing it with a sweetness that’s so wholly because of him. "Okay," she says with mock solemnity, her eyes still laughing, "but Floratopolis can only be open on certain days. I mean, if I have a whole region to run and a city to manage, when am I ever going to get time to lie around with you like this?" Her voice dips at the end, her gaze holding his, and the smile softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. "Right now, that’s all I really want to do."

And then he's kissing her, her mouth finding his with a hum that’s more a purr than anything else, the sound of contentment wrapped in want. She lets herself fall fully into the moment, into the press of him and the warmth and the promise of what they might still build, not just with their hands but with all the little pieces of themselves they’ve been brave enough to give. There is no bar, no crown, no ex that matters more than just now than the man she's been so completely swept away by.

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 //

It's nice to finally have someone like this. Someone he doesn't doubt would show up for him, someone who needs and wants him to do the same. Someone willing to laugh when he wears a dress, and still talk about all the hard and messy shit. He doesn't feel like he's just a topping or a condiment with her, he's the whole meal—ketchup and the fries, sprinkles and the cupcake. It'd always been there with her, in each late night conversation or sun-lit saunter, this easy way of loving her, like he found someone he could fall into step with and he didn't even have to think or take a half-stride to do it.

He dips lower under the press of her leg, although it's a struggle with the fluid nature of the gown, managing somehow to shift around his skin too easily so that it ends up wrapping around his legs and tripping him under his own footholds and weight. He manages, not willing to let evening wear get between them, the simplest of all the things that have already tried. He loses himself in the sound of her happiness, all this unfiltered joy causing their smiles to bounce off each other, turning kissing into a fighting sport. "Obviously, you lying around with me will be mandatory in Floraopolois," he scoffs, because that'll be one of the first rules put into place if he has any say.

He relaxes into her further as this kiss comes with more sanity and control, the reverb of her comfort one he feels sink into his chest, resonating with his own. "I can't believe you wear this," he finally mutters, a touch exasperated as the gown keeps him from shifting completely. "Or that you let me wear it," he nearly accuses, gaze flicking off her to the gap against his chest. "C'mon," he grunts, rolling off and struggling, deeply struggling, to get to his feet. "Let's actually get comfortable instead of flopping around on the ground like a hot mess."

Kaisel

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

flora

Laughter spills from her like sunlight through stained glass, bright and irrepressible as her fingers comb lazily through the tousled waves of Kaisel's dark hair, her touch lingering with quiet fondness. "So if we're always going to be lying around in the middle of Floraopolis like this.." she muses aloud with a grin, tilting her head as if she can already imagine the absurd city in question. "Will everyone else just have to step over us, or are there going to be designated lounging zones with signs that say beware: joy in progress?"

The press of their mouths breaks again into snickers, kisses traded like secrets between bouts of laughter, and Flora breathes in the warmth of the moment, her smile glowing with the kind of delight that only he seems capable of coaxing from her lately. "You know, the last time I wore that dress was at the Midwinter Ball a few years ago," she says, her voice lilting with amusement as her gaze roams over the ridiculous garment now tangling him up like a sentient ribbon. "Maea almost got me and all the other leaders murdered by Dahlia," she adds with wide eyes, the memory easier to laugh about now with Kaisel breathing so easily beside her. Her eyes roll with theatrical flair as she tacks on, "And I didn’t let you do anything. You could have just taken your shirt off like I asked in the first place and spared yourself the couture battle."

Still, her smile softens as she reaches up to tuck a piece of his hair back behind his ear, and the teasing glint in her eye deepens into something more tender. "I do think it looks better on you than it ever did on me, though," she murmurs, her tone playful but edged with a kind of sincerity, like a hidden ribbon of truth tied in among the laughter.

Flora watches him roll away with the kind of fond exasperation reserved only for someone she’s helplessly in love with, which is very much the case, and as he fights valiantly to reclaim his dignity from the layers of sequins and tulle, she sighs, soft and adoring. "Try doing it in heels next time," she quips under her breath, chuckling as she pushes herself upright with far more grace than he’s managing, though she’s careful not to boast. Instead, her eyes drift toward the wine glass he’d brought up for her what feels like hours ago, half-forgotten in the midst of everything else they’ve said and done. Reaching for it, she helps herself to a healthy sip before offering it to him.

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 genuinely pauses to consider, features drawn up with the seriousness of the question she poses, the sound of the thought process humming on his tongue. "I thiiiiink, I wouldn't want to be designated to zones, unless they're like every six feet, at which point the budget for the signs would become ludicrous. It'll just be a known rule for everyone to avoid us when we're lying around. Could pass out little pamphlets to everyone who arrives." His smile gets wider and wider as he talks, absolutely running away with the idea of this perfect city for them.

His 'brows hit his hair as she casually spills the tea about his chosen gown, talking about another near-death like it's as casual as the day's weather. "Oh my gods," he croaks, caught between an incredulous laugh that's as much hysteria as humor, and also the tight grip of actual concern. "I think you need to write some memoirs. Or turn all the shit you've been through into a novel—the main character's name could be Phlora, with a ph, or Arolf." Would certainly be an interesting read. "You'll have to give me the deets of this meeting while we change, otherwise we're never leaving this floor." Which, is not the worst thing, but there is a great deal more comfortable places and things to be had here.

"No," he tuts with a finger tap to her nose, grip loosening in her hair. "You asked if you could borrow my clothes, not the shirt I currently had on." He had just happened to offer that one to her for them to share. "I was planning on you giving me a fashion show," he confesses, his grin a bit wild again with the idea. "Besides, it was your bottoms that seemed the most in need. Although, I'm not complaining." In fact, maybe rule two of Floraopolis is that she always runs around in her panties, please.

He lingers in the moment where she tucks his hair back into place (as if it won't immediately pop free while he struggles to stand). Antics paused, for a moment, he leans into the affection, gaze half-closing with the peace of it. He turns to deliver a kiss to her arm before it falls away, sneaking them in whenever and wherever he can. Her remark stirs a breathy laugh though, and the look he gives her is pure adoration. "I don't think that's possible, everything looks stunning on you. Doesn't matter if it's an oversized, moth-bitten t-shirt or a diamond-studded dress." His smile slants into something more mischievous before he abandons the ground completely. "Although, if you think so, perhaps we'll have to get one that fits me proper and we'll both go be the belle of the ball."

After getting up with some effort, he gratefully takes the drink she offers. "I'm sure I'd break my neck," he says with a shake of his head before sipping on the edge of the glass. "So, I was thinking," he motions with his free hand towards the closet. "I have a Hadama shirt we could cut up? Although that's more arts and crafts than wardrobe," He holds up his Sunjata shirt instead, tucking it under his chin while also grabbing for his dragon one and holding it up for her approval.

Kaisel

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

flora

Still laughing as the population of Floraopolis expands in her imagination, Flora grins broadly and nudges her shoulder against his with a theatrical sigh. "Now you’re thinking like a proper leader," she teases, her brows rising as if impressed with the mounting logistical concerns of city-wide lounging regulations, clearly delighted by how seriously he takes his nonsense and how easily he spins it into something better.

Shrugging as the laughter lingers between them, she leans further into him and adds with an airy, wry note, "Maybe next time I die, I will write a book," and though the words should land with more weight than they do, she grins through them, the idea of Phlora or Arolf tickling her enough that she laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Or we make it some totally unhinged anagram of my name. I think fertilisation koala is one of the longer ones, but I’m still working out what genre that fits into." There’s a pause, not because she doesn’t have ideas, but because she’s too busy laughing at them to articulate a single one.

When he tuts at her with a tap to her nose, she huffs in mock indignation, though her eyes remain fond, and her smile stays wide and helpless. "You offered the one you were wearing,”" she insists with a smirk, but as he brings up a fashion show, her grin sharpens with sudden interest. "It’s not too late for that," she murmurs, her voice dipping to something far more sultry, as if trying on his entire wardrobe is suddenly the most seductive and best idea in the world.

The ring on her finger remains quiet and cool against her skin, and though she rolls her eyes dramatically at his flattery, there’s no disguising the way her cheeks round with the force of the smile she tries not to let take over. "Y'know, I have the best tailor in Torchline. He could make you a dress of your own, one that fits, to properly show off all your muscles." Her gaze sweeps over him pointedly, lips twitching mischievously as if to say you know, the ones I couldn't find earlier?

Snorting under her breath at the mention of Hadama, her shoulders shake with restrained laughter as she steals the wine glass for another sip, only to nearly choke on it when he brandishes the Sunjata shirt instead. "Absolutely not," she says flatly, shaking her head with the force of the veto. "Wearing your step-dad’s face is not the vibe I’m going for tonight." Still grinning, she plucks the dragon one from his hands with a flourish and turns her back on him with the mock-affectation of modesty, even though he’s already seen every inch of her by now.

She tugs off the shirt she’s wearing and lets it fall to the floor, the cool air teasing across her bare back as she stands in just her lacy underwear, light catching on the curve of her hip and the silvered lines of her scars. "So," she begins, the story tumbling easily from her lips now that the memory’s been unearthed, "a few years back, Maea decided to hold this Midwinter Ball, and in the middle of it she called a meeting of all the leaders." Her hands sweep out in a half-mocking gesture as if to emphasize how ridiculous the situation already was. "And since Dahlia technically was a leader, she decided to show up."

Glancing over her shoulder at Kaisel as she balls up his shirt to slip it over her head, Flora's expression shifts toward something between disbelief and second-hand embarrassment, though her grin doesn’t falter. "Instead of just, you know, playing it cool and pretending the meeting wasn’t secretly about the Family, Maea straight-up told her to leave."

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 //

Her words would normally strike a chord of fear in him, and maybe still do somewhere below all the buzz of this happy hilarity they're feeding, but he takes it rather in stride with all the other ridiculous remarks. "I guess that could be your stint as a ghostwriter. Fertilisation Koala, the author from beeeeeyoooo000ond the graaaaave," his voice lilts up and down with sp00py effect. He does snort once though, casting her a knowing look. "Although, if that's the prerequisite, I'll settle for truthbombs dropped on me at random, because at least then you're alive."

The smirk that returns at it's not too late for that suggests he absolutely knows and agrees. Although he'd originally planned on it being a distraction for her, something for her to put her energy into and laugh about, which maybe she doesn't need so much any more, right now. Though, really, can you have enough silliness? Given how much he loves to see her laugh, the answer is assuredly, no—at least not when sprinkled around floor time like this.

"I think perhaps you should go for a more mediocre tailor and improve your optometrist if it took you that long to notice my muscles," he scoffs, cutting her a vehemently playful look in return. "At least you've noticed now," he sniffs, breaking out into a flex that causes one of the dress straps to give up and slip down. He laughs, pulling the slutty cord back into place as he regards his gown in its entirety again. He spins it back and forth over his knees, apparently pleased. "I could get used to this breeze," he admits, more serious than he'd like to admit. "I didn't think dresses were for showing off muscle though, I thought it was for showing off my cake?" He twists around to peek at it, tipping one leg onto his toe to really offer the shelf for view. Doesn't at all compare to hers, but maybe with the right dress from her fancy tailor...

This isn't his fashion show though, so with shirts on display he can only laugh loud and apologetic at her strong opposition to the Flood. "Ok ok, you're right. That one's just my favorite." He releases his chin hold on it, letting it flutter to the floor, relinquishing the dragon to her. With the wine glass somewhere other than his hand, and her spinning around like seeing her would be a scandal, he sets about to removing his own tiresome garment, the sequins having worn out their restrictive welcome. He pulls it off over his head, hair fluffing out in static strands in every direction. He chucks it somewhere into the depths of the closet, glancing over as Flora Story Time ™ starts.

In just his underwear now too, he leans against the closet, appreciating the view and trying very hard not to let it distract him from what she's saying. Although there is a moment where his reaction comes delayed after the end of her voice, like the words took a moment longer than they should to sink in. He'd been busy noticing how some of his favorite outlines of her are bathed in moonlight, and wondering what they might look like with the glow of dawn, with the shine of midday, with the dappling of trees overhead or under stormlight...

"Wait—what?" Surprise opens his mouth a bit, tongue grabbing for words his mind hasn't yet supplied. "Is that why everything stayed so scattered afterwards?" Not that'd been in the super important circles of knowledge, but from his vantage point it sure looked like they had the strength to handle the Family sooner but were half the time chasing their own tails about it all. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, and maybe this meeting was before the Family's threat was truly understood, but certainly seems like a tactless approach. "People of power usually respond well to having a door slammed in their face, huh?" He grimaces, and her near-death is easily imagined now, gown and all.

He does hold up a hand to stop her though, and forgive him if the severity of the situation at hand is a bit lost when she's grinning over her shoulder with nothing but lace draping over her ass—he's distracted. "Wait, wait. That shirt's all wrong for you," he lies, reaching back to grab the first thing he can feel and tossing it to her. "Try this instead," he suggests without any intent of letting her put any of them on.

Kaisel

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