flora
Flora laughs too brightly, too quickly, like she needs the sound to scatter something heavy in her chest. "You're welcome to them," she says, her voice airy even as her fingers trail one last time across the silvery edge of a scar, brushing over his like a secret handshake. The touch lingers for half a breath, and then her hand slides off to rest lightly on her hip, fingers drumming faintly. "I’ve thought about getting them removed," she admits, quieter now, her voice barely audible beneath the sun and sea. Her gaze stays fixed forward, on the horizon beyond the deck rail, like it’s easier to look into the distance than at him. "Magic can erase them like they were never there. But—" she shrugs, and the gesture feels like an unfinished sentence, but she's pretty sure Kaisel can fill in the blanks.
She feels Kaisel move as he crouches behind her, feels the deliberate press of his hand to the back of her thigh, feels it in the way his fingers find the tender dip between hem and skin, hovering like a question they both know can't be asked. When his hand finally moves downward, she very nearly sighs with disappointment, her mind having fully prepped her to expect his fingers to follow the curve of her body between her thighs. Not that it'd be a good idea anyway; no one wants sunscreen there.
Still, she lets herself enjoy the ghost of what didn’t happen, the almost-touch as much as the real one. When his fingers smooth over the arch of her foot and between her toes, she wiggles them with a smirk, clearly not as ticklish as him. The second leg makes her roll her eyes and grin to herself, and when he finally rises, she throws a glance over her shoulder that’s equal parts innocence and wicked amusement. "Passing grade," she pronounces, as if she’s a sun-drenched school master bestowing praise, before rubbing in the excess on her sides and thighs that had been left because, gods forbid, he touches her front. Then she reaches out, palm open for the sunscreen.
"Your turn," she says, turning slightly toward him as if inviting him to argue with her about it (all while having to look at her), or turning around.
She feels Kaisel move as he crouches behind her, feels the deliberate press of his hand to the back of her thigh, feels it in the way his fingers find the tender dip between hem and skin, hovering like a question they both know can't be asked. When his hand finally moves downward, she very nearly sighs with disappointment, her mind having fully prepped her to expect his fingers to follow the curve of her body between her thighs. Not that it'd be a good idea anyway; no one wants sunscreen there.
Still, she lets herself enjoy the ghost of what didn’t happen, the almost-touch as much as the real one. When his fingers smooth over the arch of her foot and between her toes, she wiggles them with a smirk, clearly not as ticklish as him. The second leg makes her roll her eyes and grin to herself, and when he finally rises, she throws a glance over her shoulder that’s equal parts innocence and wicked amusement. "Passing grade," she pronounces, as if she’s a sun-drenched school master bestowing praise, before rubbing in the excess on her sides and thighs that had been left because, gods forbid, he touches her front. Then she reaches out, palm open for the sunscreen.
"Your turn," she says, turning slightly toward him as if inviting him to argue with her about it (all while having to look at her), or turning around.
I want to be when you fall on me like night
I wanna kill the lights
I wanna kill the lights
