get my car door, isn't that sweet? then pull me to the backseat
Flora remains blissfully ignorant of the nails scattered across the floor, the hammer abandoned somewhere beneath the general category of Things That Are Currently Not Safrin Making Her A Demigod, and the paint and dust streaked over Kaisel like he’d crawled out of a wall in the middle of a home renovation fever dream. Normally, she’d notice. Normally, she’d absolutely have questions, several of them dramatic and at least one involving whether her husband had joined a secret carpentry cult without telling her. But right now the whole demigod-ness of it all has swamped every observant part of her beneath a golden tide, and in his arms she’s nothing but a vibrating ball of sunlight, breathless laughter, and limbs wrapped around him as if physics is simply a suggestion for people with less exciting news.
When the wall catches them, or him, or whatever part of this glorious collision needs architectural support, Flora only laughs harder, her curls spilling forward as she nods so fervently that her earrings flash against her neck. "I know, I know, I know," she gasps, though she absolutely does not know anything beyond the fact that Safrin had kissed her and called her mine and left her with a vow glowing somewhere beneath her ribs like a star swallowed whole. Then he’s spinning her and Flora tucks herself beneath his chin with a squeal of delighted laughter, clinging tighter as the bond between them blazes wide open, all incandescent joy and champagne-bright adrenaline, her thoughts scattering in every direction like sunlight broken over waves.
The pride she feels from him is something she’ll marvel over later, when the first impossible brightness has dimmed enough for her to actually touch the shape of it without burning her fingers. Later, she’ll think about how he hadn’t been upset, hadn’t gone cold with jealousy, hadn’t doubted whether she should have been offered this or whether she deserved it or whether something so enormous might tip the careful world they’d built together onto its side. Later, it will find some soft, permanent place in her chest, tucked beside every other reason she’d married him. Right now, though, Flora can only laugh with sheer, ridiculous delight, her hands sliding into his hair as she grins against him.
"Oh, you’d better channel me," she says, the words bright and breathless, as if this is not only obvious but immediately mandatory, and the idea of him calling on her power sends another glittering rush through the bond because gods, what an absurdly perfect thing, what a stupidly beautiful thing, to become something divine and have his first thought be not distance or danger but reaching for her.
Then the rest of what he says catches up properly, and because this is them, because somehow becoming Safrin’s demigod and maybe possibly changing the entire shape of her future still has to include a practical crisis about divine interruption during sex, Flora’s mouth drops open in theatrical horror. "Oh my gods," she says, aqua eyes widening, "what if they channel right as I’m about to cum and then they ruin it?" A missed orgasm, of course, being more of a travesty in Flora's mind than suddenly showing up somewhere naked.
When the wall catches them, or him, or whatever part of this glorious collision needs architectural support, Flora only laughs harder, her curls spilling forward as she nods so fervently that her earrings flash against her neck. "I know, I know, I know," she gasps, though she absolutely does not know anything beyond the fact that Safrin had kissed her and called her mine and left her with a vow glowing somewhere beneath her ribs like a star swallowed whole. Then he’s spinning her and Flora tucks herself beneath his chin with a squeal of delighted laughter, clinging tighter as the bond between them blazes wide open, all incandescent joy and champagne-bright adrenaline, her thoughts scattering in every direction like sunlight broken over waves.
The pride she feels from him is something she’ll marvel over later, when the first impossible brightness has dimmed enough for her to actually touch the shape of it without burning her fingers. Later, she’ll think about how he hadn’t been upset, hadn’t gone cold with jealousy, hadn’t doubted whether she should have been offered this or whether she deserved it or whether something so enormous might tip the careful world they’d built together onto its side. Later, it will find some soft, permanent place in her chest, tucked beside every other reason she’d married him. Right now, though, Flora can only laugh with sheer, ridiculous delight, her hands sliding into his hair as she grins against him.
"Oh, you’d better channel me," she says, the words bright and breathless, as if this is not only obvious but immediately mandatory, and the idea of him calling on her power sends another glittering rush through the bond because gods, what an absurdly perfect thing, what a stupidly beautiful thing, to become something divine and have his first thought be not distance or danger but reaching for her.
Then the rest of what he says catches up properly, and because this is them, because somehow becoming Safrin’s demigod and maybe possibly changing the entire shape of her future still has to include a practical crisis about divine interruption during sex, Flora’s mouth drops open in theatrical horror. "Oh my gods," she says, aqua eyes widening, "what if they channel right as I’m about to cum and then they ruin it?" A missed orgasm, of course, being more of a travesty in Flora's mind than suddenly showing up somewhere naked.
no one's ever had me, not like you
