flora
Everything about this feels like a balm to something still tender and raw beneath her ribs, and as Kaisel rolls her with the warmth of his laughter and the heat of his affection, Flora lets herself be spun, the sequins rasping softly beneath her like the shifting glitter of broken glass reformed into something dazzling and new. It's impossible not to laugh with him, impossible not to feel the lightness he brings blooming in the places she'd thought were already scorched dry, because the truth is that Jack never would have done this; never would have coaxed her into his arms just to hold her in the ruins, never would have kissed the grin off her mouth and scattered joy like it was sacred. It isn't a comparison she wants to make, not when she has fought so hard to let go of the ache Jack carved into her, but when grief and loss have crept so close again—when she's still reeling from yet another crack in the façade she's tried to hold—it feels impossibly good to be touched with this much love, to be known in her tangle of hurts and still so thoroughly cherished.
The first kiss is a little off-centre, not from lack of want but from the swell of her smile, her cheeks pressed up chipmunk-round beneath his hands, her joy almost too wide for her own mouth, but Flora doesn't care. She's already reaching for him, looping her arms around his shoulders and curling one leg over his thigh to bring him closer still, so there’s no space left between them; nothing but the soft give of skin and the press of her chest and the warmth she feels all the way through. Her smile lingers between them, melting slowly as her mouth finds his again, this time more sure, more searing, a kiss that says I’m here and I choose this and don’t you dare let go.
It still feels new in the best kind of way—uncharted but safe, wild but wanted—and maybe that’s the difference. There’s no guilt wrapped around the edges of this moment, no looming consequence or stolen glances. There’s just this, a cascade of feeling she doesn’t want to stop, and when at last they part, breath shared and hearts thudding like surf beneath a full moon, Flora is smiling so brightly it almost hurts.
The kisses that follow—soft, dotting her face with reverence—make her giggle, giddy and barely able to contain the sound. Her body is warm and tangled perfectly with his, her fingers already threading through the back of his hair when he starts in on his absurd empire-building plans. Her laughter bubbles again, and she tilts her nose playfully against his, brushing it with a sweetness that’s so wholly because of him. "Okay," she says with mock solemnity, her eyes still laughing, "but Floratopolis can only be open on certain days. I mean, if I have a whole region to run and a city to manage, when am I ever going to get time to lie around with you like this?" Her voice dips at the end, her gaze holding his, and the smile softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. "Right now, that’s all I really want to do."
And then he's kissing her, her mouth finding his with a hum that’s more a purr than anything else, the sound of contentment wrapped in want. She lets herself fall fully into the moment, into the press of him and the warmth and the promise of what they might still build, not just with their hands but with all the little pieces of themselves they’ve been brave enough to give. There is no bar, no crown, no ex that matters more than just now than the man she's been so completely swept away by.
The first kiss is a little off-centre, not from lack of want but from the swell of her smile, her cheeks pressed up chipmunk-round beneath his hands, her joy almost too wide for her own mouth, but Flora doesn't care. She's already reaching for him, looping her arms around his shoulders and curling one leg over his thigh to bring him closer still, so there’s no space left between them; nothing but the soft give of skin and the press of her chest and the warmth she feels all the way through. Her smile lingers between them, melting slowly as her mouth finds his again, this time more sure, more searing, a kiss that says I’m here and I choose this and don’t you dare let go.
It still feels new in the best kind of way—uncharted but safe, wild but wanted—and maybe that’s the difference. There’s no guilt wrapped around the edges of this moment, no looming consequence or stolen glances. There’s just this, a cascade of feeling she doesn’t want to stop, and when at last they part, breath shared and hearts thudding like surf beneath a full moon, Flora is smiling so brightly it almost hurts.
The kisses that follow—soft, dotting her face with reverence—make her giggle, giddy and barely able to contain the sound. Her body is warm and tangled perfectly with his, her fingers already threading through the back of his hair when he starts in on his absurd empire-building plans. Her laughter bubbles again, and she tilts her nose playfully against his, brushing it with a sweetness that’s so wholly because of him. "Okay," she says with mock solemnity, her eyes still laughing, "but Floratopolis can only be open on certain days. I mean, if I have a whole region to run and a city to manage, when am I ever going to get time to lie around with you like this?" Her voice dips at the end, her gaze holding his, and the smile softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. "Right now, that’s all I really want to do."
And then he's kissing her, her mouth finding his with a hum that’s more a purr than anything else, the sound of contentment wrapped in want. She lets herself fall fully into the moment, into the press of him and the warmth and the promise of what they might still build, not just with their hands but with all the little pieces of themselves they’ve been brave enough to give. There is no bar, no crown, no ex that matters more than just now than the man she's been so completely swept away by.
lust's a liar, a short lived fire
it isn't what you and I are at all
it isn't what you and I are at all
