flora
"Then what are you doing all the way over there, hmm?" Flora purrs the moment Danta so much as suggests jealousy, bouncing her brows in his direction. When he drinks without sharing first, though, she lets out a soft gasp, more scandalized than upset. "Gods, now who's making who jealous?" she mutters now knowing precisely what the Maverick's mouth felt like before nudging Asta with her shoulder and glancing up at him over it, wrinkling her nose with mock offence that doesn’t hide the adoration brimming in her eyes.
As Danta flops back onto the chaise, Flora shifts instinctively, rearranging herself to give him more room before curling her fingers into his blonde hair without hesitation. Her nails slide through the strands as if seeking out tension to soothe, carefully smoothing back the waves around his diamond horns, her movements unhurried and fond. When Asta offers the bottle, she accepts it with a little sigh of appreciation, taking a swig that sends a hot line down her throat and pools low and warm in her stomach.
Outside, the muffled sound of the party rages on; chants of SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS followed by triumphant cheering as someone, surely, made a very poor decision. Flora winces and lifts one hand to look at the smears of blood still drying across her fingers. "Honestly," she murmurs with a sigh, "with the two of you like this, I absolutely could stay here all night." But even she knows that eventually she’ll have to return to her adoring public. Just...in a minute.
"Let’s at least work our way through a bit more of the whiskey first," she suggests with a wicked little grin, settling deeper between Asta’s warmth and Danta’s weight on her lap. "Wouldn't want anyone out there to think anything about what we were doing in here was hurried."
As Danta flops back onto the chaise, Flora shifts instinctively, rearranging herself to give him more room before curling her fingers into his blonde hair without hesitation. Her nails slide through the strands as if seeking out tension to soothe, carefully smoothing back the waves around his diamond horns, her movements unhurried and fond. When Asta offers the bottle, she accepts it with a little sigh of appreciation, taking a swig that sends a hot line down her throat and pools low and warm in her stomach.
Outside, the muffled sound of the party rages on; chants of SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS followed by triumphant cheering as someone, surely, made a very poor decision. Flora winces and lifts one hand to look at the smears of blood still drying across her fingers. "Honestly," she murmurs with a sigh, "with the two of you like this, I absolutely could stay here all night." But even she knows that eventually she’ll have to return to her adoring public. Just...in a minute.
"Let’s at least work our way through a bit more of the whiskey first," she suggests with a wicked little grin, settling deeper between Asta’s warmth and Danta’s weight on her lap. "Wouldn't want anyone out there to think anything about what we were doing in here was hurried."
We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.
But you can make me a drink.
