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+---- Thread: i look fly, i look good (/showthread.php?tid=12510)
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-13-2026
The sharp scent of ozone in the boutique makes the fine hairs along the Ark's arms lift, and she shivers as it travels down her spine, the ultraviolet pleasure of it rippling through her. When Jack's arm hooks around her waist and draws her flush to his side, she folds into him immediately, one arm sliding around his middle as though it belongs there. Her chin lifts, posture tall, her expression openly smug and triumphant despite the tension she can feel in Jack through his thin shirt.
As they turn to leave, she glances back over her shoulder and gives the tailor a slow, deliberate wink. Heat floods through him again, bright and helpless, and she knows it will sit with him long after they’re gone. Though he'd sobered wisely under Jack’s glare, fear does nothing to erase what she’s left behind in his mind, where it lingers, to be groped at and replayed, hoarded despite the chill rolling off the Captain.
Outside, she angles Jack toward the stand he’d mentioned earlier, the one with the frozen treats, leaning lightly into his side as they walk across the uneven boards. She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, a sly curve to her mouth. [say]"What?"[/say] she murmurs, smirking. [say]"You’d rather have paid his ridiculous prices?"[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-13-2026
[say]"Wiser not to think about what I'd rather do to him right now,"[/say] Jack mutters as they walk, hovering beside the stand as she angles them towards it, assuming she wants to stop to pick something up. Needless to say he'd have rather paid the extortionate prices - and then returned later to do some extortion of his own - than to have the first hands on her be those of some merchant without the ability to recognise real treasure when he sees it. (And gropes her tits).
Still, the sly curve to her mouth is all breezy playfulness, her mind echoing the confirmation that all of it had been little more than performance, and Jack forces himself to simmer down. Not because he wants to, not at all in fact, but because they are in very close quarters at the Castaway Exchange. Not the ideal place for sudden electrical storms. [say]"There's a jewellery place a little further in,"[/say] he mutters, nodding down the pier. [say]"If you're interesed."[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-13-2026
The Ark feels the dark curl of it in him—the violent thoughts, sharp and immediate—but she doesn’t flinch from it, not when it was that dark ambition that had raised her up and moulded her into this. It rolls off him like heat off sun-warmed boards, and she basks in it, but tutting softly under her breath. [say]"If you killed every vendor you went to to outfit me, there’d be no one left to shop from."[/say]
The shack ahead of them is painted in peeling colours, a hand-lettered sign reading TREATS FROM TORCHLINE swinging lazily overhead. The scents are familiar—citrus, sugar, salt—but not exact. She doesn’t know what the originals were meant to taste like, only the names, the echoes of memory from decades west of here. She orders a hollowed iced lemon filled with sorbet, watching the vendor carve the top clean and scoop the bright, frozen sweetness into its shell.
While she waits, she takes Jack’s free hand, the one not looped around her waist, and inspects it. Her gaze lifts toward him, though his eyes are hidden again behind the dark lenses, as her thumb brushes slowly over his knuckles, over the cool metal of the rings there, tracing their edges. [say]"I want rings like yours."[/say] She lifts his hand toward her face and inhales, slow and deliberate, the smell striking something deep and primal inside of her. [say]"They smell like the sea,"[/say] she murmurs, voice lowering. [say]"And like lightning."[/say]
It is likely the silver, the metal and the stones, but there’s more to it than that. There’s wood, and work, and smoke, and him. Even she knows whatever she bought wouldn't start out that way, over time she could make them that way. Her fingertips glide over the various shapes of them having only ever felt the cool metal against her railings or rigging, not realizing there was ever more to it than that. [say]"I like how they feel against my skin, too,"[/say] she softly, eyes flicking up to his sunglasses and then back down as her fingers continue their slow cartography.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
[say]"I didn't say anythin' about killin' him,"[/say] Jack points out all too reasonably, and as she investigates the stall with the knock-off Torchline delicacies, he fishes around in his pockets for another cigarette. He hasn't chain-smoked half as much since flipping that coin in his cabin as they hovered over the Greatwood, but clearly the scene with the tailor has found a way to peel back the veneer of peace that had started to settle upon him.
He's just set the cigarette between his lips with the cherry already glowing when The Ark seizes his hand, her intention flickering down his magic a second before she commits. His fingers twitch but don't tug away, Jack watching her inspect the rings shining dully in the light and letting a smile hook up one corner of his mouth. [say]"Then pick one,"[/say] he says, wiggling his fingers.
[say]"Just not these two,"[/say] he adds, gesturing to the middle finger of his left hand and holding up the pinky finger of his right, where the strange and sometimes iridescent glow of mageglass sets them apart. [say]"They're tools rather'n decoration,"[/say] he explains.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
She looks up at Jack sharply at that as genuine surprise flashes across her siren's features. His eyes are hidden again, but he is not a man who makes idle offers, at least not where she is concerned. The excitement that follows is unguarded, bright as sun on open water, and she steps back just enough to capture his other hand as well, claiming both so she can examine the full spread.
His rings are bold, unapologetic, some clearly old, some clearly stolen, thick bands of silver and gold, dark stones set deep, edges worn smooth by use. The mageglass pieces gleam differently, strange and iridescent, humming faintly with purpose. She ignores the two he’s warned her from with a small nod of understanding, her fingers moving carefully over the rest. The Ark traces each one in turn, pads of her fingers slow and deliberate, committing weight and shape and texture to memory. The metal is cool at first, then warms beneath her touch. She pauses when she reaches his pinky—this one not mageglass, but a heavy silver band worked in curling whorls like waves, each crest punctuated with small turquoise stones—it catches the light when she turns his hand slightly, the colour bright against his skin.
[say]"This one,"[/say] she says softly. Her ocean-bright eyes lift to his face, though she can’t see his gaze behind the lenses, standing close to him now, hands still holding his, bodies nearly aligned on the narrow boards of the pier. She smiles then, slow and coy. [say]"Or is this also not the first jewellery you want to give me?"[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
Dragging off the cigarette between his lips and letting the soft breeze take the cloud of smoke away over his shoulders, Jack feels more of the tension unlock from his spine as she beams, inside and out, until he suddenly finds both his hands in her possession. They stand as if she's about to make some heartfelt declaration and he's a maiden who has fallen hook line and sinker, and the Captain has to stifle his laugh as he watches her peruse his fingers like a market stall.
[say]"That one?"[/say] he echoes, slipping his hands out of hers so he might free the ring from his finger. [say]"On the contrary - that one was one of my first. Seems right that it should go to you."[/say] Hence why it now sits on his pinky finger. He removes it easily enough, and its ghost remains on his skin in a pale band long untouched by the sun. Holding it up to the light to make sure it's deemed polished enough to be presented to her, at last Jack holds it out in his open palm.
[say]"Your lemon is meltin',"[/say] he points out idly, the smirk on his face amused and unapologetic.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The Ark takes the ring the instant he offers it, and Jack will no doubt feel the sharp, bright flare of want that isn’t human greed so much as instinctive coveting of something that is both shiny and now hers. It flickers through her like a magpie spotting treasure, quick and unapologetic. She turns the ring between her fingers, admiring the curl of silver and turquoise, then slips it onto her pinky. It’s far too large, so she tries it on another, and then another, humming softly, intent on finding where it might sit best.
[say]"Mm?"[/say] she replies vaguely at the mention of her lemon, already half lost to the ring, before turning. The sorbet has begun to soften inside its hollowed shell, a bright ribbon slipping down the carved edge. She reaches for it without the spoon, ignoring the vendor’s offered utensil entirely. Her tongue sweeps along the melting line first—cool, sharp citrus exploding across her tastebuds, the sweet tang dazzling and immediate—it sparks against the heat of her mouth, bright and clean, and she chases it instinctively, smoothing the drip away before it can fall.
The chill sinks into her tongue, then her lips, the sugar and lemon biting pleasantly as she traces another slow pass along the peel. The texture is uneven—icy crystals giving way to silkier melt—and she adjusts, lips parting wider as she draws the softened portion in with a slow, deliberate pull. The sensation is vivid: cold and sweet flooding her mouth, a soft suction that leaves the rind clean again. She finishes by wrapping her lips around the opening entirely, sealing and drawing until what had begun to spill is gone. When she lowers it, a faint sheen of melted sorbet glistens against her wine-dark lips. She looks up at Jack through her lashes, sunlit smile blooming, eyes bright. [say]"Want some?"[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
Smirking to see his - now her - ring hop from one finger to the next in search of a home, with both of his hands free Jack is able to take the cigarette from his lips, flicking the ash onto the pier beside them. The Ark glances up, distracted, and he nods over her shoulder at the waiting lemon sorbet, stepping forward to (obviously) pay the vendor while she ignores utensils and decorum and causes a number of heads to start turning immediately. Jack knows, because Jack can fucking sense them.
Glancing back to her in time to see her tongue disappear into the lemon and her full lips seal over the opening of it, the urge to strike the merchant is almost impossible to ignore; the man has the good sense to turn his eyes down when Jack's attention lands on him, but gods if it isn't going to replay in his mind for the rest of the day. Inhaling a long, deep breath and forcing it out again, the Captain finally returns to The Ark's side, his arm tucking back around her waist automatically.
[say]"Hm?"[/say] He gazes down at her over the rim of his sunglasses, at the sorbet glistening on her lips, and gods if every man, woman or otherwise doesn't know what's going to happen next, they've got to be blind. [say]"Sure,"[/say] Jack murmurs, but of course before she can raise the sorbet towards him he's leaning in to taste it from her lips himself.
It isn't quite a kiss but it definitely isn't not one, his tongue sampling the cold, sweet citrus against the warmth of her mouth, fingers clasping her closer against him. Jack draws back, of course, like this is something ordinary or everyday. Regardless of how he feels about it, what he wants is for everyone else to know where and where not to look.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
Her eyes stay open for far too long as Jack leans in. There is no instinct in her for this; not for mouths meeting like this, not for the subtle tilt of heads, not for the closing of eyes she’s seen others do without understanding why. She has felt bodies press together against her walls, has known hands clutching railings, feet shuffling until they move as one and breathless sounds carried across her deck, but this is entirely new for her, such that when Jack moves, she watches him.
His tongue is warm where the sorbet had been bright and cold, the contrast immediate and startling. The citrus still tingles along her lips, and then there is him; heat, pressure, the smooth glide of his tongue sampling sweetness from her mouth instead of the fruit. The hand at her waist tightens, firm and possessive, and it feels like the corset had earlier, structured, enclosing, pleasant in its restraint.
Her stomach drops suddenly, sharply, as if she has crested a swell and begun the descent. It isn’t fear or imbalance, but a dizzying rush that scatters through her body like sunlight shattering across moving water, bright and disorienting and impossible to contain. The same warmth she’d felt when he pressed his lips to her fingers blooms again, only deeper now, spreading outward from her mouth to her throat to her chest.
When he pulls back, she is still for a breath as a coral flush spreads across her nose and cheeks. Her lips remain parted, faintly glossy from melted sorbet and him both. The lemon in her hand tilts dangerously, nearly slipping from her fingers before she tightens her grip. [say]"How did you..?"[/say] she murmurs softly, trailing off, meaning the way it had felt, assuming that it must be some trick of his magic. Her free hand lifts almost absently, then curves around him, fingers pressing possessively against his back as she steps closer without realizing she has such that she's nearly flush against him, seeking that warmth again, chin tipping up slightly, wanting him to do it again.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
The averted eyes - or in some cases, very careful glances from over newspapers or out of the periphery - are enough for Jack to consider the matter laid to rest. But as heat ripples in The Ark's thoughts the way he's felt it a hundred, hundred times and yet never at all like this, the Captain is understandably distracted. Especially as she angles herself towards him, her hand finding his back, her curves pressed flush against his body. [say]"That was all you, love,"[/say] he assures her - the way it had felt, at least, however much he'll take credit for being the catalyst.
Her desire is enough to have him reacting to her in perfect harmony; her chin tips up and he's already leaning back in, though this time there's no denying that what they're doing is kissing, whether she knows the word for it or not. Jack flicks his cigarette away, no longer needing it, and it gives him the freedom to reach up with his free hand, fingers plunging into the fire of her hair to clasp the back of her neck and hold her close.
The arm around her waist clasps her close against the line of his body, following that quiet, restrictive enjoyment that had flowed to the surface to see if it might spark anything more, and though breathing is apparently important, suddenly Jack feels like he can make do with that last breath for, oh, the rest of his life maybe.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The Ark gives a small shake of her head at his assurance; she hadn’t done anything. Whatever that had been, whatever it had stirred inside her, it had come from him.
As Jack leans back in, she rises to meet him like a wave. The lemon slips from her fingers and drops forgotten to the pier, rolling slightly before coming to rest. Her free arm winds around him, fingers spreading across his back, nails pressing in with a gathering intensity as his hand finds her hair and her neck and holds her there. Her mouth answers his, though clumsily at first. Too eager, too direct. She follows the warmth instead of shaping it, her tongue brushing his with more enthusiasm than finesse. But every contact sparks something brighter, every glide of his mouth against hers pulls heat through her again, and she chases it instinctively, adjusting, learning, refining with each breathless second.
But then it changes. The warmth deepens, concentrates low in her belly, no longer sunlight or surface shimmer but something denser. Hotter. It spreads inward instead of outward, blooming beneath her ribs, curling downward and pooling heavy and urgent. Not a glow. Not a spark. But flame.
She stiffens abruptly in his arms as the coral flush on her cheeks sharpens, no longer just colour but alarm. Her nails dig harder into his back without her meaning to, and she breaks from his mouth just enough to drag in a breath, eyes wide now, confused and startled. [say]"Something’s wrong,"[/say] she whispers, voice tight and unsteady, the unfamiliar heat coiling inside her like a fire catching, already threatening to spread.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
In a place like King's End with the House of Midnight on the horizon nearby, it's hardly the first time, Jack bets, that people have witnessed couples getting hot and heavy in the marketplace. He bets they've witnessed a lot more than that too, but even so, he doubts they've ever seen anything quite like The Ark. It likely comes as little surprise either that the Captain is a very patient teacher in these matters; whether clumsy or confident or quietly explorative, the newness of each sensation is something he presses into, letting her feel her way into what she likes best so he can meet it again and again.
And oh, he plans to - at least until that flush of growing arousal sharpens into something like alarm, Jack drawing back with a soft gasp of breath, eyes a little dazed behind his sunglasses as he blinks down at her. [say]"Wrong?"[/say] His voice is rough, one hand still gently tangled in her back of her hair, the other having strayed to the hem of her blouse with every intention of slipping beneath it had they not stopped.
[say]"Wrong ain't the word I'd use,"[/say] he almost mutters, biting at the inside of his cheek in the hope that the spark of pain will lend him a little more composure. [say]"You can't catch fire in that body,"[/say] he manages after a few seconds of feeling very much like a teenager, Jack shifting back away from her for a tactical adjustment of his pants. [say]"It just feels that way. We can stop, though. Prob'ly for the best out here."[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The Ark knows about Jack's telepathy, even if she can't quite name it. Even so, when he says she can’t catch fire, something stubborn rises in her. There must be a limit to what he can sense, she thinks, because the heat inside her is real. It is gathering, and it is spreading. And the worst part—the most confusing part—is that some deep, undeniable piece of her wants it to keep building. Wants to burn, which, as The Ark, as the thing that has housed and protected Jack and his crew, the thing Jack has built a legacy around, feels like blasphemy and it has her cheeks heating all the more.
Still, when he steps back, the loss of him is immediate and physical. The absence of his chest against hers, the withdrawal of his hand from her waist, lands like a blow. She inhales sharply, and every instinct urges her forward again, to erase the space he’s made.
Fire has never been Jack's element, not until recently anyway, and she has never been a vessel built to carry it. She was made to move by wind and canvas and clever hands that knew how to read currents; she moved because air filled her sails, because men understood tides and tension and balance. She was never a galleon with an engine roaring in her belly, and for the most part, fire had only ever harmed her: lantern oil spilling and burning hot against her boards, sails once devoured in an orange roar that left her mast blackened and broken. So when it blooms now inside her, low and insistent and spreading through her middle, some primal part of her that is still wood and beam cannot reconcile it with safety, no matter what Jack says.
She presses her palm flat against her stomach beneath the satin blouse, fingers splayed over smooth skin. Surprised that she can’t feel the heat from the outside—there is no scorch despite the way it burns slow and steady inside—her brow knits, confused and almost naive, and she reaches for Jack's hand. Guiding his palm beneath her blouse, pressing it flat against the same place, just below her belly button, she lifts her eyes, searching his face. [say]"Make it cold."[/say] She's felt his hands frost against her railings before, felt ice bloom where he willed it, and if it is fire making her mind and body loud, surely ice can quiet it.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
There's no point repeating himself - if it just feels that way hasn't made it through the first time he doubts it'll do any good a second or third, so Jack instead focuses on trying to quell the heat in his own body (and the way it's painfully trapped against the line of his belt, might he add). Raking his hands through his hair and doing his best to draw up some flimsy mental shielding against the arousal that still screams in the air between them, it's easy to guess how effective that is when The Ark turns and presses his hand to her bare skin.
Hissing in a breath and snatching his fingers away again, the Captain laughs - not because anything is funny, but because he never considered that he'd have to explain this to her. [say]"I can't make it cold, because it ain't real fire,"[/say] he tells her, voice quiet and careful, his hands jamming in his pockets in case she tries to grab him again to palm her breast or touch her ass or something.
[say]"It's an emotion. Like when you feel angry or happy or anythin' else. We'll get you... I dunno, a book or somethin' to tell you about it."[/say] For now, though, he'd very much like to not be in public with an awkward boner he can't do anything about. [say]"C'mon, let's head back."[/say]