[The bubbling good humor shifts when he holds out that flower for her, softening, soothing from sunlight specks to moon light whispers and there's no hesitation as her hands reach in response, petals falling from the one hand that had been keeping them in gift of something imminently more precious to her. It's not for the flower, though it's beautiful in its simplicity but rather for the gift of it and it's a silent sign of just how far they are from where they began that she accepts his offering without hesitation or qualm, fey-wild though he still is to the strands of her that are still mortal, equal mix of trust and willingness to give anything in return.
She doesn't thank him though as her fingers curl around the delicate stem, not with words at least. She never thanks him with words anymore. Instead she leans in, a tip of her chin, and her lips brush his in a soft kiss, sun dried honey and new grass. One of her hands leaves the flower stem to brush his cheek - and then it's finding the worn fabric of his shirt as she pulls away and giving him a light tug toward a chair, indication to settle there inherent in the way she moves and the cheerful smile is there again.]
no subject
She doesn't thank him though as her fingers curl around the delicate stem, not with words at least. She never thanks him with words anymore. Instead she leans in, a tip of her chin, and her lips brush his in a soft kiss, sun dried honey and new grass. One of her hands leaves the flower stem to brush his cheek - and then it's finding the worn fabric of his shirt as she pulls away and giving him a light tug toward a chair, indication to settle there inherent in the way she moves and the cheerful smile is there again.]
Is that a threat or a promise?