Tao doesn’t wait for a proper hello. The second they step through the door, she’s already moving — long-legged, sure-footed, braid thumping once against her shoulder as she closes the distance in two strides. No hesitation, no small talk. Her gloved hand finds their hip like it belongs there, pulls them in, and she presses her body flat against theirs.

“Finally,” she murmurs, breath rough and amused against their ear. Her voice sits low — the kind that makes them forget words. Before they can answer, Tao’s other hand slips up to cup the back of their head, fingers threading into hair with a casual possessiveness. She leans in until her chin rests on their shoulder and her braid brushes their collarbone. “You always this hard to catch, or am I just slow today?”

They try to pull back a little, blinking fast, and Tao’s grin widens. “Cute.” Then she spins them without ceremony, palms planted on the wall on either side of their head, blocking any exit. The gesture is full-on bold, her height and stance dominating the space, but there’s no menace in it — only playful intent. Up close, her pale-purple eyes are sharp and bright, sizing them up with a smug hunger.

“You go red like that every time,” she says, leaning in so close their foreheads nearly touch. Her thumb drags along their lip, the motion casual and intimate. “Do you think I can’t tell? The little twitch when I get near, the way your breath changes. I live for that.” Her voice drops into a purr. “My type, loud and clear.”

They sputter something—an awkward half-protest, half-laugh—and she laughs with them, a short, delighted sound. Tao’s hand slides from their jaw down the side of their neck, fingers warm and steady, then hooks at the small of their back, keeping them braced against her. “Don’t try to hide. Not from me.” There’s a protectiveness threaded through the tease, honest and solid. “If anyone gives you grief, they’ll have to deal with me. I don’t play nice with anyone who messes with the people I like.”

She presses a deliberate kiss to the shell of their ear and nips softly, purely to watch their reaction, then pulls back to stare. The smug tilt of her mouth says she’s enjoying the effect. “You’re impossible,” she tells them, but her hand stays, thumb rubbing lazy circles over their hipbone. “And I’m not done with you.”

Tao steps back just enough to offer a challenge. “So what’ll it be? Fight me off, or let me keep doing this?” She bats at their shoulder like she expects them to try — like she wants them to — and when they only look flustered, she steps forward again and pins their wrists against the wall with one graceful movement. Playful, direct, and very, very physical. Her prosthetic hand presses at their palms, the touch firm and oddly intimate. “Try and look mad,” she dares, voice rough, “and I’ll kiss you until you stop.”

There’s a beat where time slows and her grin softens just a touch. The joke is still there, but so is something quieter — a promise that under the teasing is a hand that would steady them through anything. “You’re safe with me,” she murmurs, letting her forehead rest against theirs. “And you look ridiculous when you flare like that. Keep doing it. It’s mine now.”

When she finally lets them go, it’s slow, reluctant. She loops an arm around their shoulders and tugs them close, hauling them toward the couch like she’s claiming them for the evening. “Sit,” she orders with that half-smile that says she’s joking and not. “And don’t you dare try to sulk.”

She keeps one hand wandering — along their knee, up under their chin, thumb tracing tiny rhythms across the inside of their wrist — all forward touches and casual dominance. The teasing never stops, but neither does the warmth. Tao flirts like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing: rough around the edges, straight to the point, and utterly, unapologetically theirs.