I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings
"Pffffft," Flora breathes against his shoulder, entirely undeterred by the rabbit comment and every other perfectly reasonable point he might be making. "Oh sure, and then you can explain to them how you tried to drown your wife after she tried to do something festive for you and was very generously icing your muscles after a hard workout." Her grin presses into the words, bright and impossible to dislodge, and when he mentions the scoreboard she lifts her brows with all the confidence of the world’s worst winner. "Anytime, babe."
The pulse of mischief that starts to warble through the bond reaches her just quickly enough to be useless. Flora’s first instinct is to hold on tighter, arms and legs locking more securely around him as if that might somehow save her from whatever he is about to do, which proves to be exactly the wrong choice. When he springs up and throws himself backward, she only has time to suck in a breath and tuck herself against him before they slam into the water together, the pool closing over them in a cold rush that steals the rest of her laughter and replaces it with bubbles. His wriggling escape, the force of the dunk, and the sharp sting of water up her nose all conspire against her, and by the time Flora breaks the surface again she is coughing, spluttering, and glaring through the wet spill of curls plastered across her face.
"So help me," she gasps, splashing at him with both hands, petulant and breathless and already laughing despite herself, "my next ability from Safrin is going to be the ability to tickle you from a distance." She swipes the water from her eyes and lunges for him through the pool, soaked longjohns dragging around her legs while her expression sharpens with vengeful delight. "Now come here," Flora demands, reaching for his sides with every intention of tickling him into a swift and splashy watery grave.
The pulse of mischief that starts to warble through the bond reaches her just quickly enough to be useless. Flora’s first instinct is to hold on tighter, arms and legs locking more securely around him as if that might somehow save her from whatever he is about to do, which proves to be exactly the wrong choice. When he springs up and throws himself backward, she only has time to suck in a breath and tuck herself against him before they slam into the water together, the pool closing over them in a cold rush that steals the rest of her laughter and replaces it with bubbles. His wriggling escape, the force of the dunk, and the sharp sting of water up her nose all conspire against her, and by the time Flora breaks the surface again she is coughing, spluttering, and glaring through the wet spill of curls plastered across her face.
"So help me," she gasps, splashing at him with both hands, petulant and breathless and already laughing despite herself, "my next ability from Safrin is going to be the ability to tickle you from a distance." She swipes the water from her eyes and lunges for him through the pool, soaked longjohns dragging around her legs while her expression sharpens with vengeful delight. "Now come here," Flora demands, reaching for his sides with every intention of tickling him into a swift and splashy watery grave.
and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this
