flora
Flora sinks into the deep waters of a haze so blissful it feels suspended outside of time, the words just like that, love drifting through the darkness like pale ribbons of light. Her hips eventually ease, her body loosening its grip on urgency, long legs sliding down to curl more comfortably around Jack’s waist. Even that small shift sparks faint tremours through her, echoes of the wave that had drowned her so completely still humming inside.
Her chest rises and falls with a sharpness that rivals her morning runs across the Torchline shore, every breath dragging fire and salt back into her lungs. When her mind begins to rethread itself into something coherent again, she realises her hands have tethered themselves to him of their own accord; one braced firmly across the muscle of his back, the other buried in the mess of his hair, both holding him there as though he might vanish otherwise. The awareness makes her will herself to loosen, fingers softening, muscles slowly unwinding as she melts back against the bed.
And yet—despite knowing how often he pulls away, despite how practiced he is at vanishing back into himself the moment the fire has burned down—she’s not ready to let go so soon this time. If he tries to roll from her, she’ll meet him with the quiet resistance of her limbs wound around him, wordless but unyielding, trying to keep him here just a little longer, pressed against the heat of her skin while the remnants of pleasure still thrum between them. "We're very good at that," she whispers against his shoulder.
Her chest rises and falls with a sharpness that rivals her morning runs across the Torchline shore, every breath dragging fire and salt back into her lungs. When her mind begins to rethread itself into something coherent again, she realises her hands have tethered themselves to him of their own accord; one braced firmly across the muscle of his back, the other buried in the mess of his hair, both holding him there as though he might vanish otherwise. The awareness makes her will herself to loosen, fingers softening, muscles slowly unwinding as she melts back against the bed.
And yet—despite knowing how often he pulls away, despite how practiced he is at vanishing back into himself the moment the fire has burned down—she’s not ready to let go so soon this time. If he tries to roll from her, she’ll meet him with the quiet resistance of her limbs wound around him, wordless but unyielding, trying to keep him here just a little longer, pressed against the heat of her skin while the remnants of pleasure still thrum between them. "We're very good at that," she whispers against his shoulder.
you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours
