![[Image: 500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/75f6/f/2017/192/d/5/500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png)
" BEXLEY BRIAR "
Bexley can’t remember the last time she was overwhelmed, yet here it comes and here she is, all dry and still suddenly half-drowned. Her heart thuds like a wild thing in the shallow parts of her chest, against bone that now seems much too delicate. The world is so bright, so close and so intense. It’s hard to decide if Bexley wants this or hates it - the rush of being around someone she enjoys, and then the decline of knowing she has to leave - the thrill of being enamored coupled with the disgust of being vulnerable - a hundred conflicting feelings that fight in so many small ways inside her body, that whirling mess of teeth and temper. The velvet of the night only amplifies this more. She realizes with horror that she now has to fight to keep her brain clear, to keep her head above water.
This is not what she came to Novus for. Not going to help her in any way. Not going to move her plan along or give her any foreseeable advantage. Yet she doesn’t leave, doesn’t even pull away. Inexplicably Bexley dares to lean closer.
Stupid, stupid girl, she says to herself - hums it under her breath, lets it sit under her tongue, a stone there, buried remarkably deep.
She does not miss the way that Florentine’s gaze lingers on her face, the weight of her stare something hot and luscious. How is she so uncomfortable and yet so intrigued? Then Florentine’s breath is whispering across her cheek, and her mind goes blank, so completely blank that she her nerves seen to go numb, her limbs light and tingly, a blushing heat spreading to all corners of her body. She wants to flinch but doesn’t - lets Flora’s lips brush her cheek with only a resulting shudder, much less than what her body is asking for.
Would you like one? Her immediate thought is another kiss? Bexley gives her a wide stare, realizes she’s still talking about the flowers, and then, with a sheepish smile, nods. Delicately she dips her head to match Florentine’s height and with the careful movement of one shoulder pushes forward a clump of curls in offering. From under her hair that golden chain starts to peek, a supernatural shine in the darkness. She measures her inhales, her exhales, her swallows. The night presses in on all sides, warm and insistent.
I won’t need a gift to remember you, she flirts in that ever-lowering voice, looking up at Florentine from underneath a thick swash of lashes. Now the power returns to her body - all at once, a heady, sugary blackout rush. A lazy smile tugs Bexley’s lips. With a bat of those lashes she lifts her head again, tilts it coquettishly at the purple-eyed girl, and says, light and innocent, Why, are you worried you’re not making an impression? Because I promise you, you are.
@Florentine <3
