[P] Don't let the colours fade to grey

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

It is a strange mixture of affection and fear that turns Bexley’s stomach to electricity under her bones, flushes heat up to her throat and cheeks, turns her azure eyes into something like a cesspool under auburn lashes. Still she meets Florentine’s gaze with level excitement, the good or bad kind it’s hard to tell. It’s fascinating to watch the way that the Terrastellan reacts to her nickname, the luxurious raise of an eyebrow, the curiosity that floods across that delicate face, the sweet, daring curl of her lips, a look of intensity, of strangeness, that makes Bexley tremble and blink too hard, and though she wants to say she’s become accustomed to it, that’s a lie.

She flinches at the ghost of Florentine’s lips across her skin, but not from pain. Inexplicable feeling races up and down her side, into her muscles, her bones, thrums like a plucked string in the recesses of her chest, spreading a warm, gauzy pleasure across every inch of Bexley’s body. And thank Solis this is when Florentine turns away, for the Solterran can’t imagine what would have come of one moment longer spent in some close proximity. Bexley ducks her head back toward the sand. How strange is it that she feels so ashamed of something that has never bothered her before? Or is it simply fear - a fear of falling too deep and too quickly, when Bex has never not been in control.

What’s - the golden girl starts, then cuts herself short, eyes moving uncertainly over the bag that Florentine brings down with her. So who told you about the Teryr? Not something I would’ve pegged to be of interest to the Dusk Court… She raises both eyebrows in a bleary question. Perhaps Bexley is the one out of the loop, assuming that any Court would not be keeping eyes on its brethren. With Herculean effort she shifts upward, and, trusting Florentine despite the innate suspicions that tugs at her heart, takes the leaf into her mouth. A bitter sting spreads across her tongue; Bexley wrinkles her nose, not bothering to hide any expression. After what she’s let show there’s not any point to it.

When the taste finally subsides, and Bex catches her counterpart’s compliment, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. Right, she snorts, you just want me for my looks. Despite the forced glint of humour in her eyes, her voice is even and serious, so serious it almost fades at the end, black and uncertain. You sound just like everyone I’ve ever met. An ancient smile passes over Bexley’s lips. Dusty and well-worn, it belies the sliver of suspicion that has now been lodged into her brain, as if she wouldn’t be surprised to find that Flora is using her - a knowing flash of teeth to brag that she’s well aware that people will use her, and she’s remembering all the times it’s been done in the past.

All at once realizing that the pain in her side has lessened, she says, abruptly, Thank you for that, and awkwardly gestures at her wounds.

@Florentine

love, space