BEXLEY BRIAR
It is strange, to look at him again. She watches closely to see if he limps, and he doesn’t - she watches closely to see what bruises remain, and only a few do. He is healed again in the sunlight, and a smile almost crosses her lips: it’s charming to see how coolly he regards her, to see how easily they both ignore the undercurrent of whatever it is that is, has always been, passing between them. Ah, to be young.
The sun is hot overhead, and Delumine is a possibility unfolded, is so many worlds opening up on each side, and Bexley cannot help thinking I want him, and this admission is one of those worlds.
Bex bats her eyelashes as she watches him, heart tattooing a soft beat against the inside of her chest. They are not far apart, and to see the lines of his body so perfectly, the bites of blue flowers in his hair, that way he looks at her with those strange dark eyes, is almost nauseating. She hates herself for the way it warms her to be near him. Hey there, Goldilocks - and all her bones are weak. She feels her body slipping apart, her brain warm and hazy, and she hates herself for it. Hate-hate-hate. She tries to repress a smile and gives up almost immediately, and in the white sunlight she glimmers in and out of focus, gold sparkling off her skin, brightness flashing from her curls so violently that she becomes a mirage, almost, moving back and forth even as she stands still, watching him as quietly as she can.
Never thought I’d see you wearing flowers -
He moves toward her then, quick and brutal, and Bexley flinches without forethought. She feels it before she can know to stop it. For all that she wants of him, still some part of her brain begs for healing, knows better than to trust his mouth so close to her skin; as much as she wills herself to turn it off, it remains in the back of her head, black and foreboding. His breath on her neck is dizzying. His eyes, meeting hers, are deeply rattling. Bex is half-turned toward him, the soft part of her chest exposed, and the prey part of her knows it is a mistake.
She does not correct it.
Instead, she pauses in place, watching him with those cool blue eyes. Though outwardly she is still, inside her stomach seizes and rolls, and her brain goes fuzzy-black with unintended pleasure, and heat crawls across her skin, makes a livewire of her spine.
Her shoulder brushes his as she steps forward, and it takes Herculean effort to keep her eyes down, to keep her shudder contained, to keep her cheeks cool, but she does. So, she says, those long lashes fluttering, you’re here. What for?
Of course, her mind is somewhere else, is back inside that dripping fire, in the Night Court, watching him bleed - her mind is replaying what they said about that bet, everything they promised each other. Of course, she doesn’t mention it.
@acton <3
