"You'll overheat standing." He said to Noir
She didn't move. The black tip of her tail betrayed her, curled once, involuntarily, against the orange of the rest of it.
"I don't…" Noir started, all iron authority.
Then Liam reached over without looking and brushed a smudge of ash off her knee. Just his thumb, brief. Pressure against bare skin between her armour plates, just above where her hip flared wide under the vambrace's shadow. His thumb dragged slowly across the curve of muscle there, not lingering, just thorough. Like he was wiping down a cutting board.
She sat.
Too fast. Close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. The smell of him hit her full, smoke-soaked linen, fresh herbs, and underneath, clean skin.
Her thigh pressed against his, and she didn't pull away because pulling away would mean admitting she'd noticed.
You've sat next to people before, Noir thought. This is nothing.
