Flora
Flora’s mouth curves into a slow, catlike smirk as she tips her shoulders in a loose shrug. "Maybe they’d like it," she muses, letting the thought hang for just a breath before adding, "Seems to me I remember you quite liking being put in handcuffs." Her tone drops quieter, silkier, as if the words aren’t entirely meant for public consumption. "Even if you did beg me to take them off in the end."
She hums her agreement when he speaks of backup, the sound low and easy, before her gaze flicks over her shoulder toward the Sugar Tide. "Next day or two," she says. "Don’t want to give Deepfrost even the chance to think about settling in."
The garden of her mind warms, soft flushes of coral and garnet blooming in the spaces between thought as her eyes trace the line of his fingers, lingering on the glint of metal there before rising—slyly—to meet his. The memory of bark against her back and his hands on her skin teases like a tide just beyond reach, and she lets the corner of her mouth tip in invitation. "Unless," she says, casual in cadence but laced with flirtation, "you want to come aboard and check my rigging yourself. I’d feel a whole lot better knowing your hands had gone over it thoroughly." The way she says better leaves little doubt she isn’t talking about knots and lines, but if what had happened in the woods was to be a one-off, she was sure that Jack could come up with a number of ways to decline.
She hums her agreement when he speaks of backup, the sound low and easy, before her gaze flicks over her shoulder toward the Sugar Tide. "Next day or two," she says. "Don’t want to give Deepfrost even the chance to think about settling in."
The garden of her mind warms, soft flushes of coral and garnet blooming in the spaces between thought as her eyes trace the line of his fingers, lingering on the glint of metal there before rising—slyly—to meet his. The memory of bark against her back and his hands on her skin teases like a tide just beyond reach, and she lets the corner of her mouth tip in invitation. "Unless," she says, casual in cadence but laced with flirtation, "you want to come aboard and check my rigging yourself. I’d feel a whole lot better knowing your hands had gone over it thoroughly." The way she says better leaves little doubt she isn’t talking about knots and lines, but if what had happened in the woods was to be a one-off, she was sure that Jack could come up with a number of ways to decline.
I trace the evidence, make it make some sense
why the wound is still bleedin'
why the wound is still bleedin'
Code stolen from Queen Sky
