lay your soul onto mine
Flora grins, pushing off the door and sauntering toward the desk where Jack has so generously poured her a drink. Snatching it up with a flick of her wrist, she takes a sip, letting the warmth of it bloom in her chest before sighing dramatically. "I wasn’t robbing him," she corrects with faux innocence, aqua eyes gleaming as she leans against the desk. "He just happens to be very, very bad at multitasking. And I just happen to be very good at exploiting that."
At the mention of Bassian’s shirtless state, she laughs, shaking her head. "His shirt I couldn't care less about. His pants though..." Grinning, she bounces her brows as she watches Jack over the rim of her glass. He looks good like this: relaxed, maybe even a little loose around the edges, and gods if it doesn't have something velvety and dark unfurling in the pit of her stomach.
But then he gestures toward the wardrobe, and her brows lift in curiosity. "Oh?" She tilts her head, lips curving into a slow, pleased smile as she pushes off the desk, padding toward the locked compartment with an exaggerated sway of her hips that has nothing at all to do with the waters cradling the Ark. The little bronze key glints in the dim light, and she reaches for it, twisting it with an easy flick of her fingers. The door swings open with a soft creak, and she peeks inside, eager and expectant. "If this is your way of trying to get me to do your laundry, you can think again."
At the mention of Bassian’s shirtless state, she laughs, shaking her head. "His shirt I couldn't care less about. His pants though..." Grinning, she bounces her brows as she watches Jack over the rim of her glass. He looks good like this: relaxed, maybe even a little loose around the edges, and gods if it doesn't have something velvety and dark unfurling in the pit of her stomach.
But then he gestures toward the wardrobe, and her brows lift in curiosity. "Oh?" She tilts her head, lips curving into a slow, pleased smile as she pushes off the desk, padding toward the locked compartment with an exaggerated sway of her hips that has nothing at all to do with the waters cradling the Ark. The little bronze key glints in the dim light, and she reaches for it, twisting it with an easy flick of her fingers. The door swings open with a soft creak, and she peeks inside, eager and expectant. "If this is your way of trying to get me to do your laundry, you can think again."
