She's Whiskey in a Teacup.

F/F
G
She's Whiskey in a Teacup.
Summary
Passion and yearning bubble just beneath the surface with these two, a thinly veiled guise breaks in their intimate conversation.
Note
This was originally intended as part of a short story/period piece, but the idea never really took off so I'm posting it here!Hope you enjoy and if you would like more, feel free to comment. :)(Feedback is also welcome.)

I trace her movement with my eyes. My heart drumming lightly in my chest.
The light hits her eyes, brightening the murky brown of her iris, turning it into a bolder, richer earthy colour. She’s dainty, slim. in the way she walks, in the way her lips curl up to form a smile.
“What are you looking at?”
She teases. The words falling from her tongue with the same gentle grace and poise.
“Nothing at all.” I let my eyes wander down her loose green dress, a young woman’s figure barely ripples the surface of the fabric. She watches as my attention wanders to the window, a cloud coming over the sun. I try to look as if I meant what I said.

Her eyes go dark again.
She strides forward, sitting beside me on the lounge with an exaggerated huff.
“What are you thinking?” She asks, her tone dropping just slightly at the end of the sentence. A hint of something hidden behind a question that I can’t begin to answer. I meet her eyes with a cheeky smile.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I reply, watching the amused grin spread across her face. Her shoulder grazes mine as she smooths the fabric of my dress with a gentle brush across my thighs.

“Well then you’re quite empty-headed aren’t you?” The playfulness in her voice brings a tint of colour to my cheeks. I stare into her eyes for a moment, she stares back.
“I don’t think I could tell you.” I try sincerity on like a tight-fitting bra, it’s uncomfortable, but I can hope, it improves my appearance. “Even if I wanted to,” I add after a beat.
She hums, pondering the words that tumbled from my lips with no grace or style to them. The light streams back through the window and I invest myself with the pattern embordered on a pillow by me.
The way her eyes glow in the light, the summer sun of a brighter shade of earth. I see the earth in her eyes. As much a world as it is the bottom of my own shallow grave. All contained in those tiny illuminated circles embedded in her skull. It’s far to easy to stare, the pillow does not need my attention but I’ve no other place to put it.
“Do you want to know what I’m thinking?” She asks I glance to find her expression changed drastically. Her playfulness replaced by something I can’t quite pick, like a subtle smell carried by a cool breeze. The atmosphere of the room seemed to change with her question.

“If you would tell me. I would listen.” the odd turn of phrase makes her nose crinkle as she smirks, shuffling a little closer. She leans over as if to whisper.
Taking a gentle hand, she lifts the few strands of hair away from my ear. I try not to move, try not to listen to my heart beating ever so slightly faster as her hand lightly brushes against me. Her lips rest near my face, a short exhale of breathe resting hotly over my neck. It sends a shiver down my spine that I can’t fully suppress.

“I’m thinking of how beautiful you look.”

I stifle a gasp at her words, my spine stiffening involuntarily.
“The light makes your eyes look…wonderous.” I supply, the word doesn’t quite fit but the sentence tumbles from my mouth before I can correct it.
Her attention shifts to the pillow beside me, then to the windowsill. A silence hangs between us that isn’t forced, awkward or stuffy. She is still so close to me, I can nearly feel her breathing. It’s a comfortable silence between us, filled with words that neither of us needs to say.

“I like that.” She says softly, a hint of pink rising to her cheekbones. Her attention now entirely devoted to me, she reaches forward.
Her lips brushing mine with all the gentleness of her words. Resting against me for just long enough that I can feel her heartbeat against my own. Just a little faster than it should be. Faster still with the expectation of pressing further into the tender warmth of her soft, soft lips.
She pulls away, we smile together slyly, a secret born between us like a flower popping from beneath the snow. The flower’s existence is not doubted because it cannot be seen. hidden but not dead.
“I like it too,” I add, desperately trying to think of something I could say to bring her back.

A word drips over her tongue like honey, falling from her lips as if she had plucked it from my mind herself. “Wonderous.”