i'd wipe the dirt off your name with the shirt off my back
Flora grins, sharp and sunlit, and leans a little heavier on one elbow just to drive the point home. "Say more nice things about wanting to touch me," she purrs, lashes fluttering like a challenge. "I think I’m owed at least that much."
But when he complains about hips and acrobatic injuries, she wrinkles her nose in mock dismay, affection blooming behind the expression. "Mmmm, but...don’t you normally like that sort of thing? Don’t tell me you’re getting delicate in your old age." When he offers to teach her to bake, though, the flirt flickers, dims just slightly. She shakes her head, not unkindly. "Mm. Pass." Her smile softens at the edges, voice lowering just a touch. "Baking reminds me too much of Jack." A roll of her eyes follows, as if brushing past the weight of it. "But I'll eat whatever you bake. Or..."
And because of course he hasn’t noticed the jam still clinging to his cheek, Flora reaches out with a single manicured finger, making a little tsk as she swipes it clean. "Can't believe this is the only taste of you I’m getting tonight" she sighs dramatically, then, with deliberate slowness, slides her fingertip between her lips and draws it clean.
Then, proud as anything, she straightens up and declares, "Asta pulled out his very big and very scary new magic and when I held up my little dagger to block it, what do you know? It didn’t." She laughs, bright and biting. "He happily walked right into it."
Flora notices Danta's gaze slipping, and she lets it, basking in it like a girl stretched out in summer sun. Though just when he might have thought the moment was nothing but jokes and cleavage, Flora leans forward, voice dipping into a hush like a shared sin. "Do you think the rage room would bring you back if you died inside it?" she asks, chin tilted, eyes narrowed with something wicked. "Or...is that too far?" She’s joking. Probably. But the heat in her voice has cooled just slightly, like maybe because she’s already walked the line once or twice, she wants to see how intentionally close she can get to it again.
But when he complains about hips and acrobatic injuries, she wrinkles her nose in mock dismay, affection blooming behind the expression. "Mmmm, but...don’t you normally like that sort of thing? Don’t tell me you’re getting delicate in your old age." When he offers to teach her to bake, though, the flirt flickers, dims just slightly. She shakes her head, not unkindly. "Mm. Pass." Her smile softens at the edges, voice lowering just a touch. "Baking reminds me too much of Jack." A roll of her eyes follows, as if brushing past the weight of it. "But I'll eat whatever you bake. Or..."
And because of course he hasn’t noticed the jam still clinging to his cheek, Flora reaches out with a single manicured finger, making a little tsk as she swipes it clean. "Can't believe this is the only taste of you I’m getting tonight" she sighs dramatically, then, with deliberate slowness, slides her fingertip between her lips and draws it clean.
Then, proud as anything, she straightens up and declares, "Asta pulled out his very big and very scary new magic and when I held up my little dagger to block it, what do you know? It didn’t." She laughs, bright and biting. "He happily walked right into it."
Flora notices Danta's gaze slipping, and she lets it, basking in it like a girl stretched out in summer sun. Though just when he might have thought the moment was nothing but jokes and cleavage, Flora leans forward, voice dipping into a hush like a shared sin. "Do you think the rage room would bring you back if you died inside it?" she asks, chin tilted, eyes narrowed with something wicked. "Or...is that too far?" She’s joking. Probably. But the heat in her voice has cooled just slightly, like maybe because she’s already walked the line once or twice, she wants to see how intentionally close she can get to it again.
