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Thorne has a bad habit of playing meat shield for anyone and everyone, so what doesn't surprise Elma when the tyrant launches her is this- Thorne dropping his javelin and catching her.
The kiss is something else entirely, though. She knows it's an accident once she has time to think about it later- they simply collide and go tumbling to the ground, after all, and their mouths happened to meet in the impact. It's the worst, most B-film reminiscent situation Elma's ever been in with the man. And there have been a few by now, including his blurted confession to her not a month prior(Which she still hasn't properly replied to, because she still doesn't know what she wants to say.)
Anyway, they hit the ground in a cloud of dust, searing Oblivian air filling their lungs, and all Elma is aware of once she has her head again is the solid, firm feeling of Thorne beneath her. His eyes, green and bright, wide with shock- oh. They're very close, aren't they? And, and...shit.
That's when she realizes the press of their lips on each other (why is his mouth so soft) and remembers the tyrant, and pushes off to grab her weapons again. She doesn't hear Thorne move for another few seconds but he's next to her and Lin again soon enough to have their backs, as always.
But it sticks with Elma and it drives her to distraction for days after.
Thorne is genuine, kind, and selfless. He's also very pleasing to look at and (apparently) a little in love with her. He's said it multiple times by now, never expecting an answer or any action from Elma in return. He just wants her to know, it seems, and that's fine, but there's still so much she hasn't- can't- tell him, so how could he really...?
She muses on this as she watches him sleeping on the couch a few days later. He stumbled in after being out all day despite having time off. Likely, Elma thinks, he was helping his little sister at the test hangar again. Thorne is six foot five inches of broad shoulders and muscle compared to the petite five foot nothing of his sister Pip, so he often volunteers himself as a work assistant when she's doing heavy repairs on skells. And sometimes, as a crash test dummy.
His shirt is covered with engine oil spots and there's a smudge of oil on his cheek as well, confirmation of her suspicions. But he's draped over the couch bonelessly, features relaxed as he naps. She knows she's staring, but they're alone and he's asleep, so it can't hurt for now.
He really is pretty, she thinks, smooth features and soft hair(at least, it looks soft.). He's too big for the small sofa so his knees and lower legs are hanging off of it at a funny angle, and his muscular arms are crossed over his chest as it rises and falls.
Did you like it?
The thought comes into her head as a memory of something Lin asked her when the young mechanic decided to press her about the (very accidental) kiss yesterday. She's been distracted even worse ever since because- and it's painful to admit- she did. She's been distracted because she can't stop thinking about it and it's maddening.
Because, truth be told, Elma is frightened. Frightened of feeling anything serious for Thorne- or for anyone else for that matter. She has so much to hide that, when shed light on, could ruin and tear away almost all of her relationships. The thought of how painful that will, or could be, is enough for her to try and deny any skipping heartbeats or flushed cheeks that Thorne might cause.
He snuffles in his sleep and wrinkles his nose. It's cute.
Elma walks over and crouches by the sofa to look at him more closely. Still, she thinks, Thorne makes her pulse do little flips from time to time when he smiles or touches her or- honestly, she might be scared to say it to anyone else but there's no denying to herself anymore that she returns his feelings for her. At least, in some capacity.
She looks around furtively to make sure no one is around to see what she's about to do. When the coast is clear, she inhales deeply, leans in...
She kisses him. It's soft and brief but satisfying as hell. She stays and stares at him for a moment, drinking him in, feeling her cheeks flush and a fond smile on her face.
Which, of course, freezes on her face when his eyes flutter open and flick over to her. Oh hell.
She's about to let an excuse of some kind tumble out of her mouth, but his hand drifts up, and it brushes a few strands of hair out of her face. All intelligent thought ceases.
“Hey...” Is his mumbled greeting. Nothing about what she's just done, so she assumes and hopes that he isn't aware of it. Still, he's...smiling. It's goofy and sleepy, eyes crinkled half shut, and...
Without thinking, she leans in again.
“Hey.” She whispers as their lips meet.
The intake of breath on Thorne's end is sharp and short, a sign of surprise, but she doesn't pull away quite yet. A good decision, because it's only half a moment for him to adjust and then kiss back, fingers reaching up to sift through her hair as he breathes out again.
This, Elma thinks, is much better than an accidental collision in the middle of the desert. No tyrant to worry about, no heat other than where they're touching each other. She pulls back long enough to press a kiss to his cheek before leaning down again. She presses her hands to his cheeks, strokes her thumbs over them (god, they're smooth) and...
Somehow or another she ends up nestled on top of him, his mouth nipping at her jaw and her neck, teasing out little gasps and sighs while she pecks at his cheeks and mouth periodically. She knows this is a huge lapse of control and judgment on her part, but she can't find it in her to care just now. She fists her hands in his shirt and runs her tongue over his lips, teases his mouth open, kisses him as deeply as she possibly can, and-
And Pharaoh, Thorne's abyssinian, knocks a cup off of the counter.
She jolts into a sitting position immediately, which is a little awkward because she's straddling him with one hand on his chest now, but she lets herself forget about that and catch her breath first.
She shouldn't be doing this, she concludes.
But to hell with that.
“Thorne, I-” She starts, brow furrowed. What does she even want to say?
He's taken her hand and is rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. His look is expectant, perhaps a little nervous. She touches his cheek.
“I...still don't have an answer for you.” She murmurs apologetically, referring to his feelings. He seems to know what she's talking about.
“It's okay.” He replies, smile soft, and kisses her knuckles. “You take your time. I'll be here whenever.”
Elma can't help herself when she leans back down and kisses him again, because the gentle acceptance of her reluctance is part of what she's growing to love about him. His patience is saintlike, she thinks as she presses her lips to his temple and rises from the couch.
“I have some paperwork to do.” She lies smoothly, “I'll see you later.”
“Okay. See you.” Is his easy reply.
But she sees his fingers move to his lips and his face flushing deeply as she leaves the room, and smiles.