Eyes on the Prize

"You're holding on awfully tight, there, Flora."

She doesn't even register, at first, which one of them said it, just beaming and tightening the circle of her arms around the handsome bicep-tricep combo she's found as her prey.

The larger, looser one would belong to Addam. The leaner, lighter one would belong to Minoth. For one, freckles. For the other, ether lines.

But there's nothing hard and inorganic for her pendant to knock against, no reality to disturb her bliss. All Flora knows is warm comfort and flowering dominion. All this, all for her.

And so Flora dreams, more whimsically and wishfully than ever she would permit herself to do - more so than she would ever admit to being able to do, so mature and sensible as she is and has always made herself to be. She dreams of:

Princess carries, lofting high, with cheek kisses and hands beneath crooks of knees; necks and shoulders and safest places and the pink stardust cast of specialness, of being her loves' favorite cherished.

Piggyback rides, however childish, again with cheeks available and hands hugging knees; but this time, she can see what her bearer sees, look where he looks, take into the teamwork of it all as that she is clasping hands across his chest.

Fireman lifts, if you like, not that she'd like to be in danger but oh! if she ever was; insistence and urgency, a strong arm and flat palm looped over her back, the not-so-distant promise that they will face each other, again, very soon, when this is past and they breathe easier, together, once more. And hands beneath knees, once again!

But better than all of this creativity in holding her, Flora loves to dance with Minoth, to sing with Addam. Holding hands, yes, always joined, but to move together, both sets of feet on the ground (or hers upon his, if you must), creating joy and cultivating it, embracing their precious time and doing something silly but oh so wonderful with it.

When Flora awakens, partway through the night, the arm she'd been holding is still there in her grasp, supporting her cheek just as any proper tender wife carry would. No subtraction, but the addition, however, is that Minoth has moved to her other side and embraces her midsection in the same fashion. In fact, Addam has turned over (rotating about the axis of his right arm) to close the loop, such that they are all cuddled together, two upon one and three upon three.

No chance that she can wake the prince, slumbering deeply as he is, but perhaps Minoth...

And what would be the point, in fact? How could she possibly think to disturb them now, when they'd been so attentive to her sleepy, contented mood?

Flora frowns, nose buried in Addam's chest. Surely they know, still? That she loves? How very much she loves? Much as it wouldn't do to wake them, it would be truly awful for them not to realize, to be confronted, with the scale of Flora's gratitude and affection.

Affection is for her, they have always reasoned. She kisses cheeks and boops noses as she wills, but it is they who must pay the piper and dote on devotion, is it not?

She'll tell them in the morning. For now, her goal and target remains clear. Flora nestles down, sinking deeper into Minoth's arms and his love.