and all that we intend is scrawled in sand
Flora shoots him a playfully withering look over her shoulder the moment he veers off into that spectacularly wrong conclusion, the kind of look that could only ever be affectionate because it comes paired with a helpless spark of laughter. Even half-turned, she gets to watch the comedy of his expression unfold in real time, disbelief giving way to wild speculation, and she doesn’t even try to stop herself from reacting.
By the time he surges up over her, the sound bursting out of him is so loud she reacts on instinct, twisting and slapping her palm over his mouth to muffle it. The result is anything but dignified; she giggles outright beneath him, breathless and bright, the laughter spilling free as the mattress shifts and she’s jostled along with it, curls tumbling, limbs flailing inelegantly as she’s rocked back and forth.
"Shh—" she tries, but the word dissolves into another laugh, her shoulders shaking as she looks up at him, beaming despite herself. In the sliver of light slipping in from outside, his face is all sharp lines and widened eyes, lashes casting shadows, and something warm and fond blooms in her chest at the sight of him so openly delighted. She finally pulls her hand away from his mouth, letting it slide instead to his upper arm, fingers curling there with easy familiarity. One of her legs hooks around his waist, not just to draw him closer but to coax him back down, grounding both of them in the bed rather than the excitement threatening to lift him straight off it.
"He said he doesn’t have it planned yet," she says, shrugging beneath him, voice still whispery with amusement. "But knowing Asta..." Her smile turns knowing, a little fond, a little amused. "I think he’ll try to plan something elaborate and then just...end up doing it in the heat of the moment."
By the time he surges up over her, the sound bursting out of him is so loud she reacts on instinct, twisting and slapping her palm over his mouth to muffle it. The result is anything but dignified; she giggles outright beneath him, breathless and bright, the laughter spilling free as the mattress shifts and she’s jostled along with it, curls tumbling, limbs flailing inelegantly as she’s rocked back and forth.
"Shh—" she tries, but the word dissolves into another laugh, her shoulders shaking as she looks up at him, beaming despite herself. In the sliver of light slipping in from outside, his face is all sharp lines and widened eyes, lashes casting shadows, and something warm and fond blooms in her chest at the sight of him so openly delighted. She finally pulls her hand away from his mouth, letting it slide instead to his upper arm, fingers curling there with easy familiarity. One of her legs hooks around his waist, not just to draw him closer but to coax him back down, grounding both of them in the bed rather than the excitement threatening to lift him straight off it.
"He said he doesn’t have it planned yet," she says, shrugging beneath him, voice still whispery with amusement. "But knowing Asta..." Her smile turns knowing, a little fond, a little amused. "I think he’ll try to plan something elaborate and then just...end up doing it in the heat of the moment."
