yeah I got heartbreak that I reminisce about
The corset gives way, the black fabric slipping down to her waist in a whisper of silk and breathlessness, and Flora inhales sharply; not just at the sudden bite of cool air against her skin but at the sensation of his hands replacing it, warm and greedy and reverent in a way that makes her toes curl inside her heels. She lets her head tip back as his lips drag down her neck, unbothered by whatever makeup smears between them, unthinking except for the fire he's kindled along the length of her throat.
She doesn’t bother trying to pull the cloak from his shoulders, doesn’t care for the tangle of fabric around them except to gather it in one hand, fingers twisting high enough to find the buckle of his belt beneath. Her other hand remains tangled in his hair, holding him to her as if distance were the only thing that could break the spell they’ve cast together. There’s no finesse in her movements, only urgency, only the aching need to feel all of him against her without a single layer left in between.
His words brush against her skin like a match dragged slow and deliberate, and without the truth-ring to hold her to anything but instinct, for a moment, the words only echo in her ears, because it isn’t the declaration that wrecks her, it’s the pause. The way he lets it hang there, that single suspended second, stretched wide with something too heavy to name.
This is the man she’d wanted since she was seventeen. The one she'd once imagined marrying. And maybe it’s a terrible consolation prize after everything they’ve been through together, but gods, there's still something near joy that bubbles up in the back of her throat at the sound of it. That it—she—might still matter to him. That he might wish, even just a little, that it had gone differently.
Panting, her hands still curled into his shirt and cloak and everything else in the way, Flora breathes the words against his mouth, softer than they should be, but soaked with everything she means. "Then have me." Her thigh tightens around his hips, drawing him closer still. "Say I’m yours." And whether it’s true or not, she doesn’t care. She only wants to hear it, if only tonight. If only just once more.
She doesn’t bother trying to pull the cloak from his shoulders, doesn’t care for the tangle of fabric around them except to gather it in one hand, fingers twisting high enough to find the buckle of his belt beneath. Her other hand remains tangled in his hair, holding him to her as if distance were the only thing that could break the spell they’ve cast together. There’s no finesse in her movements, only urgency, only the aching need to feel all of him against her without a single layer left in between.
His words brush against her skin like a match dragged slow and deliberate, and without the truth-ring to hold her to anything but instinct, for a moment, the words only echo in her ears, because it isn’t the declaration that wrecks her, it’s the pause. The way he lets it hang there, that single suspended second, stretched wide with something too heavy to name.
This is the man she’d wanted since she was seventeen. The one she'd once imagined marrying. And maybe it’s a terrible consolation prize after everything they’ve been through together, but gods, there's still something near joy that bubbles up in the back of her throat at the sound of it. That it—she—might still matter to him. That he might wish, even just a little, that it had gone differently.
Panting, her hands still curled into his shirt and cloak and everything else in the way, Flora breathes the words against his mouth, softer than they should be, but soaked with everything she means. "Then have me." Her thigh tightens around his hips, drawing him closer still. "Say I’m yours." And whether it’s true or not, she doesn’t care. She only wants to hear it, if only tonight. If only just once more.
some real big things I still gotta figure out
