Koa
You keep telling me to live right
"That's true, maybe you are a ghost." He lets his eyes go wide in simulated shock, hand flying to his face to hide the gasping 'O' of his mouth. Then his demeanor shifts to one of mischief: lips pursed in exaggerated contemplation, fingers stroking at his chin. "You know, I've heard a kiss can bring the dead back to life," he suggests slowly, eyebrows raising over twinkling eyes. "Perhaps we ought to try? For science, of course."
And so he does, quick and cheeky, his lips brushing comfortably over hers.
For science, of course.
Then it's back to the unpleasant present, complete with god-like demagogues and harrowing news. Koa nods his approval to learn she had backup, trying to hide the flicker of disappointment that it hadn't been him. He assumes, of course, she means Remi or Ronin: both better candidates for any sort of conflict, more capable of protecting her than ever he could. Still it stings that chip on his shoulder as surely as salt in a wound, the fear of inadequacy never too far from his thoughts. He tries to redirect it by squeezing at her fingers, reminding himself that a bruised ego matters less than ensuring Flora is safe. That Torchline is safe, and Stormbreak, too, even if its protection has him torn in ways he never expected to be.
Koa does indeed tense like a wire at the idea of Flora becoming infected, alarm bells ringing in his eyes and the way his hands tighten on hers. But she anticipates it well, soothing him before he has a chance to react (and oh, isn't it amazing, having someone who knows your reactions before they occur?), the press of her nose and the heat of her breath making him catch and steady his own. "Good," Koa growls, dropping his neck to press his forehead into hers. "Even if Ever seems okay so far, we don't know what the long term effects might be. And I don't like the idea of sharing you with Dahlia," the Dragoon adds, not quite playful enough to cover the very real possessiveness in his voice.
And so he does, quick and cheeky, his lips brushing comfortably over hers.
For science, of course.
Then it's back to the unpleasant present, complete with god-like demagogues and harrowing news. Koa nods his approval to learn she had backup, trying to hide the flicker of disappointment that it hadn't been him. He assumes, of course, she means Remi or Ronin: both better candidates for any sort of conflict, more capable of protecting her than ever he could. Still it stings that chip on his shoulder as surely as salt in a wound, the fear of inadequacy never too far from his thoughts. He tries to redirect it by squeezing at her fingers, reminding himself that a bruised ego matters less than ensuring Flora is safe. That Torchline is safe, and Stormbreak, too, even if its protection has him torn in ways he never expected to be.
Koa does indeed tense like a wire at the idea of Flora becoming infected, alarm bells ringing in his eyes and the way his hands tighten on hers. But she anticipates it well, soothing him before he has a chance to react (and oh, isn't it amazing, having someone who knows your reactions before they occur?), the press of her nose and the heat of her breath making him catch and steady his own. "Good," Koa growls, dropping his neck to press his forehead into hers. "Even if Ever seems okay so far, we don't know what the long term effects might be. And I don't like the idea of sharing you with Dahlia," the Dragoon adds, not quite playful enough to cover the very real possessiveness in his voice.
You don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then
