Flora
The final waves roll out of her in shivers, leaving her boneless in Jack's arms, her breath catching on the quiet, unsteady rhythm of coming back to herself. It’s almost startling how easy this is, and her mind can’t help drifting to how different it had been at the start. Back when she’d had to bait and dare him into bed with her, dressing the pursuit in theatrical airs. When he’d roll away immediately after, or keep her in his arms but make sure she knew it was only until he caught her breath, and to keep her mouth shut about it. All the fights and stumbles, the bruised egos and sharp words, had somehow sanded themselves into something that felt polished in certain places; if you didn’t look too closely at the rest.
Flora's knees are trembling in earnest now, threatening to give way beneath her despite his grip, and the quiver in her exhale betrays it. "Jack," she whispers, his name a warning even spoke through a breathless laugh. In the garden of her thoughts, the idea forms that she’s going tocollapse lay down. He can come with her if he likes, pitch forward into the bed with her tangled against him, but the idea of holding herself upright, even wrapped tight in his arms, is already slipping out of reach.
When she finally lets herself sag forward, the plush spill of her bed swallows her whole. The scent of lilac and saltwater rises up from the pillows, cool air curling over sweat-warmed skin as she sinks into the softness with a sigh that’s half contentment, half surrender. Every muscle is loose, heavy, the kind of spent that makes her limbs feel like they’ve melted into the mattress. Her mind still hums with the echo of his hands and mouth and hips, satisfaction sprawling through her like a cat in a sunbeam. Whatever storms were outside, whatever noise waited beyond the Sugartide, for now she was nothing but satisfied and utterly, gloriously undone.
Flora's knees are trembling in earnest now, threatening to give way beneath her despite his grip, and the quiver in her exhale betrays it. "Jack," she whispers, his name a warning even spoke through a breathless laugh. In the garden of her thoughts, the idea forms that she’s going to
When she finally lets herself sag forward, the plush spill of her bed swallows her whole. The scent of lilac and saltwater rises up from the pillows, cool air curling over sweat-warmed skin as she sinks into the softness with a sigh that’s half contentment, half surrender. Every muscle is loose, heavy, the kind of spent that makes her limbs feel like they’ve melted into the mattress. Her mind still hums with the echo of his hands and mouth and hips, satisfaction sprawling through her like a cat in a sunbeam. Whatever storms were outside, whatever noise waited beyond the Sugartide, for now she was nothing but satisfied and utterly, gloriously undone.
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
