flora
Flora can’t help it; laughter bursts free, bright and helpless. "Been waiting years to use that one," she teases, mouth curling in delight. The words she almost says next—that if he needs something to do with his hands she has ideas—scatter like startled birds, because suddenly the space between them is gone.
Her breath catches, and instinct takes her hand from the warmth of his chest to his cheek, fingertips brushing the rough stubble there before sliding higher into the softness of his hair. The kiss lands with the gentleness of something unlooked-for, warm lips pressing to hers with no rush, no fire meant to consume. His breath mingles with hers, the faint bite of rum still clinging at the edges, and she leans into it, her body caring little for the way her mind worries. It feels absurd—how something so simple can spark through her like lightning in still water. To anyone else it would be impossible to explain, how she could go from waiting in his cabin for the familiar chaos of their bodies colliding to having her world tilt off its axis at a kiss as soft as this.
When she pulls back, it’s only far enough to see the ocean-deep blue of his eyes, her own searching his as though they might hold the answer she’s too afraid to voice. He’ll feel it anyway—the flood of her thoughts tangled tight against the tether of his magic, the chorus of we can’t, we can’t, we can’t, beating against her ribs like wings. Butterflies riot in her chest, battering against the edges of her smile until she swears they might escape through it, fluttering into the space between them where the taste of him still lingers. "Jack.."
Her breath catches, and instinct takes her hand from the warmth of his chest to his cheek, fingertips brushing the rough stubble there before sliding higher into the softness of his hair. The kiss lands with the gentleness of something unlooked-for, warm lips pressing to hers with no rush, no fire meant to consume. His breath mingles with hers, the faint bite of rum still clinging at the edges, and she leans into it, her body caring little for the way her mind worries. It feels absurd—how something so simple can spark through her like lightning in still water. To anyone else it would be impossible to explain, how she could go from waiting in his cabin for the familiar chaos of their bodies colliding to having her world tilt off its axis at a kiss as soft as this.
When she pulls back, it’s only far enough to see the ocean-deep blue of his eyes, her own searching his as though they might hold the answer she’s too afraid to voice. He’ll feel it anyway—the flood of her thoughts tangled tight against the tether of his magic, the chorus of we can’t, we can’t, we can’t, beating against her ribs like wings. Butterflies riot in her chest, battering against the edges of her smile until she swears they might escape through it, fluttering into the space between them where the taste of him still lingers. "Jack.."
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
