Kiss From A Rose
She is like nothing else they have known.
Chapters
Chapter 01 [2022-12-03]
Chapter 02 [2022-12-05]
Chapter 03 [2023-02-04]
Chapter 04 [2023-02-04]
Chapter 05 [2023-02-04]
Chapter 06 [2023-02-12]
Chapter 07 [2023-02-12]
Chapter 08 [2023-02-12]
Chapter 09 [2023-02-14]
Chapter 10 [2023-02-14]
Chapter 11 [2023-04-05]
Chapter 12 [2023-04-22]
She kisses them with strawberry flesh, with sweetness ripened as all things should be, all in moderation and justification and firmness and give and play, she plays with them, she plays with them. Her cheeks are cold, dotted in spots of warmth; when she is pale she is frigid and when she is tan she is docile and when she is hot she is very very jumpy.
It is all simplicity, the grace of her act, when she applies to dark places silent promises that expose not wildness, not hidden, shameful depths, but consistency and logic, sufficiency and wisdom.
She is Flora. The flower yawning from calyx its hunger blisters beauty all the way down.
She is ever, ever blooming.
"You're such a wonderful shape," she says, and her voice is thick with sleep and pleasure. "You could have been any shape at all, with horns or slate or unpleasant pieces, but instead..." she yawns, and her mouth is pink "...you're just so lovable."
He ponders that lightly, since it's not new information if he doesn't think about it too hard (and he's bashful and self-rejective and he doesn't want to think about it too hard, but for the fact that it's such a soft, gentle thought, it shouldn't feel so violent), and her fingers are pressing with the same urgent lightness at the crooks of his shoulders, the juts of his neck.
"Well, if you insist, but you..." he loses his breath for her lips on his throat "...you were made to be loved."
Addam whines when he's tired. Minoth only groans.
Minoth whines when he can't sleep, however; when he wants sex as the only possible solution to everything he's thought through that could be keeping him up, and Flora rustles awake and loves him, loves him, loves him, until she's ready to climb on top of him and lay in, and then lay down in a prone bend for more kisses and cuddles and love.
"Thank you, oh, Flora, thank you," is all he can whisper, husk-voiced, and she can only smile, because it's not just trite silly, it's ridiculous, but she won't pretend that she doesn't like it too - the tender attention, the backlit darkness, the feverish questing of his lips for places to touch her, places to worship her, places to take him to Elysium, all bundled up in a secret moment.
He makes her laugh, and she won't deny that she likes to laugh, when making love. She may be a top for two tall, muscled men, but that doesn't mean she considers it a competition or any such thing related to stress except by relief.
Addam touches her with gentleness and adoration. Minoth touches her with disbelief, awe and reverence, and she knows that he is relieved, after all.
"Was that good, love?"
She thinks he's crying in answer, but she can't quite see to kiss his tears, so she presses her face close in to his chest and listens to the sweet, slowing beat of his heart.
(Her cock is still home as he snores.)
Her chest may not be much to look at, but Addam is hungry for it without fail nonetheless. Some nights she's reactive; some nights she just gazes curiously down, but depending on how long it's been since the last, her lover may be too preoccupied to look up and notice.
A dusty pinkish brown, her areolas are visible against the relative pale of her skin, but that's only until Addam's lips have settled atop, softly sucking and nibbling at the raised nubs, alternating one for the other or pausing with cheek laid on plush resting place for a glance up at her blue eyes, yet dilated in the dark.
"I'm so glad I can do this," he admits with a blush.
"Do what?" Flora wants to ask, but it's too late - he's showing her...mouth-to-mouth recelebration.
"Kiss me once," Flora says, hums. Addam obliges readily, pulling sweetness from the corner of her lips, and then closer, closer, closer to the center, where he lingers for as long as he figures is polite.
"Kiss me twice," Flora hums, sings. Minoth traces an easy path around her browbone and down her nose to get to the same place, and takes his same sweet time throughout.
"And kiss me once again!" she exclaims on a little giggle, grasping her hands forward at whatever or whoever will take them before both her cheeks are targeted for the requested kiss and she's pushed back, joyfully, into the pillows.
Flora doesn't allow hungry kisses; she doesn't have the patience for them.
Usually.
She doesn't have the patience for any more time wasted on fervent affection than a small peck, an affectionate caress, a press of cheek to blissful cheek.
But when Flora's...hungry...all bets are off. She dives in knowing exactly what she wants and where to get it, but how long she'll stay, tasting their chapped but willing lips, is anyone's guess.
She inspires, by these sudden tokens, hands cradling her elbows, outlining her waist, lifting her up underneath her knees, and when the urgent search for soft, supple connection has temporarily paused, she'll shift to one side or the other, and plunge in again.
Shivering in Minoth's arms, Flora lets out a wistful sigh.
"Am I even saying enough?"
Minoth has to take pause, at this, even though he'd been ready and willing to engage with whatever conversation his (their!) lovely lady had and would come up with.
"I'm, ah...not exactly sure how much anybody expects you to say, if your mouth is full."
She doesn't blush; she's too distracted, which is why she's shivered.
"That's true, but I meant... Someone like you is so special, so wholly unique, and I'm just an unemployed schoolteacher from a village over yonder. Sometimes I feel you must pity me."
Rather than engage with that, Minoth parrots back, "Sometimes I feel you must pity me."
She twists around to get an angle in to his face. "Oh, Minoth..."
"Oh, Flora," he corrects gently, nudging her nose with his and kissing at each fluttering lash of her eyes.
The trouble with Minoth is that he's...rather difficult to undress.
Addam, depending on the day, will have armor plate here or golden sash there, but beneath those outer pieces are pants and, roughly, doublet, so when Flora feels like being mischievous, she can - all in good fun and with all parties knowledgeable, of course. A little bit of acknowledged undressing is half the fun.
With Minoth, however...
Well, the best she can do is snake her hand around to start servicing the beast that lurks afore his belt buckle, and hope that he's not too busy writing, writing, writing to help her out with the rest.
(He hardly ever is. Who could resist such a pleasant, exciting cuddle [roll in the hay, perhaps more like] with the one and only Lady Origo?)
Flora has a special little birthmark on her thigh - left thigh, to be specific. It's no secret, and she's never once tried to hide it with makeup or longer shorts or skirts.
And why should she, you may ask?
Well.
The birthmark is in the shape of a heart. Only when viewed from above, looking down the leg, of course, but she still gets more than a little self-conscious about it. After all, what's a girl like her doing with such a kitschy, cliché shape of a mark on her body?
It's almost like she's asking for it to be kissed, and kissed, and kissed...
(And if they want to see it as it's meant to be seen, they technically have to be in position to kiss something else, which is...convenient. Not that anything so petty as semantics could ever stop them, or her.)
Despite his perpetually amicable affect, Addam is somewhat somber as he runs loose fingers through Flora's hair.
"Something on your mind, love?"
Her question is quiet, but purposefully not absent; it's due to the way she connects the first four words and pauses before the last, he thinks. Always quite tactical when it comes to the most important matters, and often absentminded among the rest, but he knows it upsets her to be reminded of that, so he lets her to come it in her own term.
About himself, though.
"Thinking about this business of the Aegis, I suppose."
Flora's weight sets heavier into him. She rolls over a quarter turn; her knee is now, like it or not, pressing between his legs.
What a ridiculous way to have a conversation, Addam thinks, and finds himself not so opposed to the idea.
"Is there anything you can do about it?"
"Not a thing."
"It's a lot of pressure, isn't it?"
"I couldn't tell you how much."
"Isn't there anything you're excited for?"
"Not leaving you, of that much I'm sure."
So of course, eventually she gets tired enough of waiting that she abandons kneeing his nether regions and pushes herself up to kiss him quiet.
"Addam..."
She nibbles on his ear, playful towards no end but the sudden capricious whimsy of wondering-- What would happen? If she nuzzled here, licked there, even...even bit down, just for a moment, on the lobe?
Addam's breathy giggle of response sends her searching for more, this time with her fingertips over ridges and valleys of his chest.
"You're cute."
"T-thank you - you make me feel it- ah!"
Why he even bothers talking, she'll never know.
(Well, it's because he loves expressing himself.)
It's one thing to be a useless bottom of a husband. It's entirely another to be absolutely, adorably pathetic.
Traditional costuming and camouflaging roots aside, it should have been much harder than it was for an entire Flesh-Eater Blade cowboy to sneak into the master bedroom window of a principal province's farm estate manor, at stagnant wartime or any other.
First there was getting around the back of the building, which was, of course, terrifying, given its proximity to a drop straight down into the sea (the sea was neither cold nor prone to drowning, but swimming next to your own floating sick after the drop was...not a lovely prospect), and then there was navigating the mid-level roof in silence and security, sans creaks.
Minoth had spent a long, long time on the back corner, waiting for the Ardainian soldiers lollygagging in gossip with each other to move away, and then a long, long time further clung to the underside of the roof, waiting for them to lackadaisically correct their double back again.
Yes, it was difficult physically, but he hadn't gotten caught, was the key detail that indicated wonderfully convenient holes in the manor defense. What if he had been an Indoline assassin come to experiment with the Driver of the Aegis? What if he had been an Ardainian spy funnelling information to foreign interests thought tanked? What if he had been a Gormotti thief come to pilfer in the off-brand and off-shore royal kitchen(s)?
All very, very concerning. However, now that Minoth himself had made it inside, there was no worry about any of these unfortunate events coming to pass, because he himself was more than enough defense for this guardpost.
Definitely. Absolutely.
Even if...
"Minoth!"
Blinking owlishly as he finished swinging his left leg onto the stone floor and adjusting his eyes to the light, Minoth offered an attemptedly graceful, gregarious "That's the one!" along with a polite, but never quite impotent, curse under his breath (something about a weak entrance, he couldn't ignore). He didn't have all that much time to worry about either the entrance or the explanation that would surely need to follow, however, because the next thing he knew, Flora's hands were on his face and her lips on his mouth.
His first question was how she'd reached him, short as she was and tall as he was. It would likely never cease to be his first question upon seeing her; he couldn't help it, people's heights or lacks thereof, and the resulting comparisons in between, were endlessly endearing. A beanpole adolescent, a pint-size young professional, short kings of all shapes and relative sizes... Like it or not, Minoth was a born people-watcher.
Regardless! Irrelevant! The other reason Minoth was thinking of heights - such an inane, overbeaten topic at the best of times - was the relative lack of brainpower and concentration he had available to devote to thinking of anything but this wonderful, bewildering kiss. Flora was making sounds, noises, he'd quite honestly never imagined her capable of making - soft ones that begged his arms around her, slightly more obscene ones that pleaded his active participation and reciprocation with his arms and hands and...otherwise.
He needed to know why she was doing this - that was his second question, following on from the second reason - but first he just, oh, needed to kiss her more, and more, and more. Her lips drove into his like he'd float away the second she let go. A good job they'd actually discussed (and maybe not only discussed) things like this last time they'd been together, eh?
Oh, think of something punny, something witty, to say once you've broken apart, so as to sweep her off her feet (are you strong enough to actually do so with any measure of confidence and surety? probably not, so the words will have to do) and make sure she's glad you came, even though she already seems so, something like...
"Hi."
Anything but that.
Flora grinned, eyes glittering. "Hi."