am I stitching up seams, or pulling on triggers?

flora

Flora rolls her eyes, her mouth curving into something dry and fond as she lets out a soft, "Yeah, very different." Whether or not it’s true hardly matters; part of her wants to believe that it hadn’t only been chemistry that held him, but even she can’t deny that being able to make a man as complicated as Jack Barclay feel good, telepathy not withstanding, probably was a trait worth staying for.

Leaning forward, Flora's fingers idly trace the dark stems and petals blooming across Jack's shoulder. "Oh?" she hums, brows lifting too lightly, as though daring him to say something she isn’t entirely sure she wants to hear. "What did it in the end?" It's an ill-advised ask given they’ve just found something that resembles ease again, but if there’s anyone who can breeze past the weight of the question if he finds it doesn't suit their current where or when, it’s Jack.

When he sinks back into the sheets, Flora happily takes the glass from him, smiling down at him as she tips the last of the amber liquid back. The heat spreads through her in a rush that she doesn’t bother to hide, letting him taste the burn in her thoughts as easily as if she’d kissed him with it.

you're under the feeling like teenagers in cars
it ain't robbing or stealing if the moment is ours

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!