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

[Florentine]

f l o r e n t i n e

It is only a brush, a gentle bump and yet to Florentine, it was like worlds colliding. Her eyes close as nerves tingle, her body awakening and it becomes so much easier to just feel. Her neck arches in, links of golden chain running through her lips and chiming against her teeth. Bexley’s breath hitches and against her cheek, Flora feels the other girl’s heart beat, rapid and strong – a hummingbird’s wings fluttering, fluttering.
 
The dusk girl makes no effort to let go of the necklace she holds, for all thought is lost to scent, to feel, to exploration. It is comfortable here, so close to this other creature of golden skin and daylight hair. But soon she does release that golden chain, and it falls, chiming in the air as it sways and settles at Bexley’s throat.
 
“It is beautiful.” She breathes in twilight. Her voice is but a whisper, for as they stand, so close, so tight, who else was here to hear them? They are a tangle of woven gold in a field of moonlit silver. “He is lucky then, that you are here to remember him.” Florentine offers, her eyes dark, dark in the shadows of the night. They lift to take in the sun-girl’s vibrant blue and the flower-girl smiles soft and warm. It feels a secret, this thing she has been told through hesitant lips, and so her smile is thus: a promise, a vow to keep this necklace secret. Slow and steady, her lips reach up to rest between the girl’s eyes. Slowly, as though blind, as though an eternity would never be long enough to map the contours of her face, Flora trails her lips down Bexley’s nose and away. It was a gentle caress, a comfort for muscles still held tight with their confession.
 
But, Florentine should have foreseen, like the tide turning, Bexley becomes lava beside her. She is too soft, too hot and too dangerous. Bexley’s dominance, armed with teeth and heavy breath, plays out across Florentine’s skin. There are teeth at the emissary’s nape, breath at the shell of her ear and skin chafing, rubbing, burning. Through it all the flower girl remains still, a rose within a storm, bowing low, breaking none. She trembles with this touch of gold, vibrating with the rhythm of the hum Bexley slides across her skin.
 
“I might.” The twilight girl sings in starlight words and evening breezes. Quick as a flash, her teeth are at the necklace again and there is a tug, a pull so gentle, so firm, to bring Bexley closer still. “Or maybe you could visit me?” Her suggestion falls to silence, but her lips laugh on, curved with a laughter that would never die.
 
Florentine steps back, peeling their skin apart and it feels like she is remade. They had been one, Bexley and she, too tangled, too entwined to even know where one ended and the other began. But here, with skin apart and only cold to surround her, Flora feels bereft as her body rebuilds as her skin aches and turns to its memories of where Bexley had once been. 


@Bexley

this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

[Bexley]

" BEXLEY BRIAR "

Mentions of Lazslo has Bexley on high alert, nerves like open wires, eyes flashing restlessly over the plain, muscles tensing and untensing without a thought given to them. She is disrupted, overwhelmed. The memory of his death has not left her. Not in the slightest. Though Florentine is saying exactly what she wants to hear, Bexley’s mind still turns over with the image of his skull, and as there is another tug at the back of her neck, she almost forgets to breathe, oxygen wasting away in her lungs, vision blackening at the edges, her heart hammering a horrifically intense beat within each corner of her body. 

Florentine’s lips on her face are not a comfort, but a torment: still Bexley remains in place, frozen into place at the limbs. Her pulse flutters unsteadily. Heat races in waves over her body, subsiding and flaring up again. It’s something like panic, but also like love - the stubborn, ordinary kind of affection that holds the sun in the sky, that tells footsteps where to land - the kind that sticks her heart to her tongue, her hooves to the ground, the kind which she hasn’t felt in a long time, and maybe not ever. It’s not safe to be like this - so stupidly head-over-heels. Bex holds her breath as Florentine’s lips skate her cheeks, blinks slowly and with fear.

When they step apart it’s startling, all cold and breeze, like falling into an ice bath, a river with only black at the bottom. Bexley’s head is smoke-dark with a hundred unwanted thoughts. I’ll try my best, she manages in answer, voice cooler than it has been all day. With a step back she sways away, relieved, and partially disgusted, by the immediacy with which the knot in her chest loosens afterward. I’m going to go. You know where to find me - she smiles halfway, a succinct flash of teeth, saying just enough. Nice to meet you, babe. 

With that Bexley spins and disappears, gold melding with the incoming darkness.

@Florentine <3

love, space

[inkbone]

Staff note: OBSIDIAN and REDANDBLACK both redeemed signos for completing a thread and threading with each other for the first time.