your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand
The answering pulse of heat that colours him through the bond draws a thoughtful little sigh from Flora, the sound too sleepy to be smug and too pleased to be innocent, because there is absolutely a version of her with functioning limbs and a less thoroughly scrambled brain that would already be making good on that promise. Unfortunately, that version of Flora has been postponed by several hours and probably at least one glass of water, so all she can do is let the anticipation curl warmly through her, soft and lazy now instead of sharp, something to look forward to when morning finds them again and their bodies remember how to be useful. "Deal," she mumbles emphatically, the word half-smushed against him, before a weak snicker escapes her as his teeth click shut at the mere thought of her ruining his yawn, the wicked little satisfaction of it slipping through the bond even though she can’t so much as lift a finger to follow through.
She nuzzles her head down properly against his shoulder after that, fitting herself there with the boneless persistence of someone sleep is beginning to claim one inch at a time, her breath evening out by degrees even as her mind keeps circling lazily around the idea of being married-married, rather than secretly married the way they are now. "Maybe we get married in whatever season we don’t already have something to celebrate in," she murmurs, which sounds like a good idea, at least until she tries to remember which season that actually is based on their birthdays and current anniversary and immediately discovers that her brain has put up a little sign that says closed for excessive love and other damages. That, clearly, is also for morning Flora.
For tonight, she only sighs indulgently and lets herself sink the rest of the way into the warmth of him, the world loosening around the edges as sleep reaches for her in slow, velvet pulls. The bond still hums between them, softer now, carrying the last drowsy drift of affection where her voice can’t quite decide if it wants to work anymore, and whether she murmurs it against his skin or simply lets it slip through the golden thread between them, the last thing in her mind is the same as the last thing in her heart. I love you.
~FIN
She nuzzles her head down properly against his shoulder after that, fitting herself there with the boneless persistence of someone sleep is beginning to claim one inch at a time, her breath evening out by degrees even as her mind keeps circling lazily around the idea of being married-married, rather than secretly married the way they are now. "Maybe we get married in whatever season we don’t already have something to celebrate in," she murmurs, which sounds like a good idea, at least until she tries to remember which season that actually is based on their birthdays and current anniversary and immediately discovers that her brain has put up a little sign that says closed for excessive love and other damages. That, clearly, is also for morning Flora.
For tonight, she only sighs indulgently and lets herself sink the rest of the way into the warmth of him, the world loosening around the edges as sleep reaches for her in slow, velvet pulls. The bond still hums between them, softer now, carrying the last drowsy drift of affection where her voice can’t quite decide if it wants to work anymore, and whether she murmurs it against his skin or simply lets it slip through the golden thread between them, the last thing in her mind is the same as the last thing in her heart. I love you.
~FIN
