finalflight | PSL; [ we could fight a war for peace ]

[He remembers when he had been on the verge of death, staring up at the gnarled canopy of the Iifa tree as it swayed, crumbling on all sides. Weighed with regret, his body battered with pain and wrung dry with exertion, the sense of clarity he possessed was strange and freeing. He will never forget it, even before his preemptive acceptance of his passing was proven false via his arrival to another world.

A part of him wonders if Primrose experiences that same feeling, if revelations has been imparted to her as she bleeds out and into the rug. There is the corpse of an unknown man elsewhere in the room—and maybe he’s long passed death’s threshold—but Kuja does little more than give him a passing glance as he moves to Primrose’s side instead. Though there is little alarm in his expression, very little rush to his step, his brows crimp in a way that is rare beyond more extreme bouts of emotion.]

What trouble have you gotten yourself into today? Dear flower, you’ve made a mess.

[He crouches down, silver hair framing his face as a fingertip presses gently against her skin that’s wetted itself with blood. Still warm — and she’s still breathing. Is she conscious? Kuja manages a proper frown.]

Can you hear me? At least breathe into my ear who’s done this to you — the audience can only be left hanging for so long.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He hums, satisfied. Though nothing is set in stone, and the future forever unclear for the both of them, it’s a promising answer — even if it proves untrue, Kuja is always the sort to appreciate the fantasy. A stage play, after all, is just an idealized, exaggerated form of reality, given a more flattering—and poetic—coat of paint.]

I should show you a few now, if it wasn’t for that very inconvenient wound of yours.

[ To that, Primrose snorts, as delicately as one can manage such a sound. ]

How very unlike you, to be so uncertain of a performance. Or is it your doubt that your partner might not be up to par? I can assure you, I would not use such a small thing as an excuse.

[ Please, it's not going to reopen without some truly creative... activity. ]

Are you certain? [He coos, and it's obvious that he's teasing -- since when does Kuja ever double-guess either of their capabilities for such strenuous activity?

One hand glides up her torso from beneath the water, and he leans in a little more, his chest pressed against her back.]

It was such a nasty wound, and this space is so small; how shall you move about in it, other than twisting and turning so uncouthly?

[ ... Well, he wouldn't be Kuja if he didn't tease her so lightly.

Primrose hums faintly, lowering one hand-- if just to reach behind her and trace her nails beneath his chin. He's close enough that it's not much of a stretch, and most certainly close enough that she can rather purposefully squirm against him to encourage his interest. ]

Oh, I think I can manage just adequately without much twisting. And if I must do so, you can be reassured it won't be uncouth.

[Well, it hardly takes much to encourage Kuja’s interest, and her quick dismissal of his faux-concern of the tub’s limited space only heightens it. Not to mention her squirming against him just so, which has him humming a lilted, pleasurable noise — teasing, almost.]

Maybe the real challenge is whether or not we can perform our dance without sloshing scented water all over the floor. I’m not one for cleaning up an easily avoided mess.

[And his hand, that had hovered over where her muscles smoothly define themselves beneath the contours of her abdomen, slips down even farther, to almost tease between her legs.]

Don’t you agree?

[ Almost. This is Kuja, prepped, nearly prissily perfect and playful, teasing as ever and Primrose is accustomed enough to this that she speaks smoothly and holds herself still so as not to encourage him. For now. ]

I do, indeed. I believe we're up to the task of avoiding excess movement, performers though we may be.

Let's not waste this indulgence, shall we?

Good.

[It’s an interesting challenge, indeed, to be so subtle in their dancing that they’d not spill excess water — nearly ridiculous to think that either of them would care about the state of the bathroom floors near their inevitable climax, but the thought’s a fun one for now. Playful, as she’d describe him, and she’d not be wrong.

And so Kuja shifts, just a little, with one arm curling around her front, as though to keep her pulled in close. The hand slipping between her legs ceases to tease any longer, properly moving to low enough to touch her, slowly at first. Even though the warmth of the water encasing them, he can feel her heat.]

No squirming, now.

I can't say you've heightened that temptation for me yet. [ Airily. She's far too used to playing the part of a very sensitive young maiden who only wants to please the man who lays with her, but she's just as capable of seeming unaffected for the sake of the show.

For now. She can't deny that Kuja has clever fingers, and while he's being slow now, she doubts that will last. It just means the pleasure starts off low, a gentle simmer that has her sighing in approval. ]

‘Yet.’

[He says, practically cooing. Kuja rests his chin on her shoulder as his hand remains dipped between her legs. His movements stay slow, almost self-indulgent, and he tilts his head just enough so she can feel the curve of his smile against her skin.]

I’m sure the water will be spilling all over sooner rather than later. ...As a result of your movements, not mine.

[He teases her. Because of course he does.]

Oh?

[ And there's a hint of a playful spark in her voice; she remains still, almost lazily soaking in the indulgent feeling of being touched for no reason other than just to touch. To tease.

And then she moves, but just to reach one hand down, to just as slowly glide her fingers along his shaft. ]

You think you won't be contributing to a display of passion whatsoever? How surprisingly passive of you.

[What other reason is there, than to indulge? Even framed as a little challenge between them, surely they both know the truth: in the end, it's just for fun. To lose themselves in each other, as they often do.

And, oh- Her touch shouldn't startle him in that pleasant way, but it does, and he arches his back, pressing his chest a little closer to her.]

Passive? Never. You conflate passivity with elegance enough not to make a terrible mess, hm?

I suppose we'll see just how well you can control your movements. But you are speaking with a dancer.

[ She knows how to wield her body like a weapon, after all. ]

And you're already responding rather beautifully.

PSL; [ we could fight a war for peace ]

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