tiffany twisted

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

One might say the feeling is mutual. Bexley bites her lip and holds in a snort - her eyes glittering with amusement, a feverish white gleam within the closing purple-darkness. I gathered, she teases, but her voice is light, saturated with affection, lilts so casually that it would be impossible to think she was really making fun of the Dusk girl. Warmth floods through her chest and her limbs as she watches Florentine across that insurmountable space of only a few inches. An expanse that stretches where words should stands.

Words, or - or - well.

Bex is so distracted by the implication - a mutual feeling - the right reasons - that she doesn’t notice Flora leaning forward until her lips are already on the delicate skin of Bexley’s throat, that divine touch tugging at the thin gold chain so that, feeling pressure from it on the back of her neck, she sways and tilts forward, takes an unconscious step until the weight loosens, the frontmost part of her shoulder accidentally meeting Florentine’s chest. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move away. Now there’s next to no space between them, an electric hum that moves back and forth. She can feel the warmth that radiates from Florentine’s body - energy that leaks from every pore. The smell of something floral and honey and sweet.

What was the question?

Oh, uh, it’s… it’s my… For a moment she debates saying anything at all, much less telling the truth: it’s a strange, sad story, really personal, and she doesn’t know Florentine, not really, but for some inexplicable reason she’s talking before she even realizes it, the words spilling over and over themselves, heat blazing through her cheeks and throat. My parents gave it to me. It, um, it matches my brother’s. He… Bexley’s voice fades out, thinking about her choices again. When she speaks it’s unsure, but overwhelmingly sincere. He’s not around anymore, but I still don’t really, um, take it off, ever. More verbal fillers than Bexley’s probably ever used at once, but there it is - stiff and soft-spoken and real. There’s even something like anxiety buried deep within her voice. Bex inhales, swallows. Forces herself to come down again.

Her body is warm and dark, a wild thing, filled top-to-bottom with gauzy pleasure and black anxiety. Bexley, uncomfortable with the hot numbness that’s spreading over her skin, uncomfortable that she knows so surely she’s not in control, attempts to regain it; she slips her muzzle under Flora’s cheek, draws her lips under the Dawn girl’s ear, a line down her neck, humming absently into that satin skin. You should visit me sometime. in Solterra, she says matter-of-factly, grazing teeth over Florentine’s nape. 

@Florentine <3

love, space