flora
Flora's mischievous smile softens, though the sparkle in her eyes stays as bright as the memory. She remembers the trip exactly as he names it: the way she’d shown him around the Greatwood like she was opening a secret, dragging him between trees in search of Ianto’s wagon and then sprawling together in the guardians’ tree house, raiding her father’s stash of gin. It had been good, better in hindsight, but it never occurred to her that Jack had tucked it away as something more. Her thoughts shift with the memory, the garden in her mind stretching into something wilder, an untamed forest drenched in rose gold, until she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too fondly. "It was nice to show you the woods," she says quietly, aqua eyes flicking toward his with the kind of restraint that keeps her from blurting an invitation for them to go back.
When he nods at the space beside him, her eyes widen a fraction. She had been half-planning to cause a little chaos—maybe shuffle through the papers on his desk just to watch him huff about it—but the offer makes her cheeks warm. She hides it quickly with a smirk, her voice tipping coy. "Plenty of places I could think of perching," she teases, letting the implication slide between them as her gaze threatens to wander. Rising smoothly, she sets the empty glass on his desk and lets her fingers tug free the single clasp holding her ragged lingerie together. The whole thing collapses at once, pooling to the floor. It’s ruined anyway, and she has no intention of keeping anything between them when he’s just gone and offered cuddles like it’s nothing.
Sliding down beside him feels familiar in a way that has her breath softly catching. She tucks her head into the curve of his shoulder, body moulded against his with a comfort that needs no practice. Her curls spill across him, her skin warm against his. Then, as if to disguise how many layers they're currently stripping away, she asks almost offhandedly, "Heard anything about my big construction project on the beach yet?"
When he nods at the space beside him, her eyes widen a fraction. She had been half-planning to cause a little chaos—maybe shuffle through the papers on his desk just to watch him huff about it—but the offer makes her cheeks warm. She hides it quickly with a smirk, her voice tipping coy. "Plenty of places I could think of perching," she teases, letting the implication slide between them as her gaze threatens to wander. Rising smoothly, she sets the empty glass on his desk and lets her fingers tug free the single clasp holding her ragged lingerie together. The whole thing collapses at once, pooling to the floor. It’s ruined anyway, and she has no intention of keeping anything between them when he’s just gone and offered cuddles like it’s nothing.
Sliding down beside him feels familiar in a way that has her breath softly catching. She tucks her head into the curve of his shoulder, body moulded against his with a comfort that needs no practice. Her curls spill across him, her skin warm against his. Then, as if to disguise how many layers they're currently stripping away, she asks almost offhandedly, "Heard anything about my big construction project on the beach yet?"
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
