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+---- Thread: i look fly, i look good (/showthread.php?tid=12510)
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
When The Ark presses his palm to her skin, she feels the heat inside her surge toward him, rising eagerly to meet the contact. So when he jerks his hand back with that sharp hiss, her first thought is that she’s burned him. Her gaze drops instinctively to his fingers, searching for some mark, some blister, some sign that the flame has leapt outward, only for him to insist again that it isn't fire.
Her eyes lift slowly to his face as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and something tightens behind her expression. Skepticism first, then something sharper as he says it’s an emotion. Says they’ll get her a book. Call her entitled, but there hasn’t been a single thing in her existence that she’s had to puzzle out alone. From the moment he dragged her out of wreckage, he has been there, teaching, shaping, guiding her through a world in the only language she understood. Rope and current and leverage and men. Every lesson came from him, until now, apparently.
Ironically perhaps, given that she knows him best in ways others don’t, that she can't see how he is the least equipped man in Caido to tutor someone through the architecture of feeling. She only sees that he is stepping back, hand off. [say]"Fine,"[/SAY] she snaps briskly, the word is clipped, not wounded but offended, and she lifts her chin as she turns away from him. The wind answers her mood almost immediately, a stiff gust rolling down the pier and rattling the thin walls of the stalls. Newspapers go skittering, astack of empty cups clatters and tumbles, the lemon rind rolls off the boards and into the water below.
She strides toward the harbour without waiting to see if he follows, shoulders tight, the new ring heavy and unfamiliar on her finger, the heat in her belly still burning, only now it feels unquenched, misunderstood, unsatisfied, and very much real.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
Fine in that particular tone is already more than enough to have Jack remembering an entire rainbow of prior arguments, though the woman he'd pissed off back then had been a lot more blonde. Regardless it's enough to have something uncomfortable burning in the back of his throat, and with his jaw set and his hands still shoved in his pockets, he follows after her.
Wind stirs the tips of his hair and has his shirt lifting at the hem, but Jack (perhaps wisely) keeps his head down as they head for the dock where The Ark is at anchor. The majority of the crew are out on shore leave, but of course the dark eyed first mate has nowhere else he'd rather be, and so Murphy is the first one to glance up where he's swabbing the deck to greet them - well, her - as she marches up the gangplank.
Jack almost doesn't follow, in truth - he almost turns on heel and takes the familiar road up to the House of Midnight, but in the end his sullen footsteps carry him aboard, taking him smartly across the deck where he can hole up in his cabin for however long it takes for the heat in his blood to cool off.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The gangplank thuds beneath her boots as she mounts it, each step deliberate enough that the boards answer in low, emphatic groans. The leather fits her stride well; the ring flashes once at her hand as she grips the rail and swings herself onto the deck. Murphy looks up from his work, dark eyes tracking her approach, and she meets his gaze head-on. She adores him for the way he handles her, for the steadiness of his hands on her lines, for the quiet competence that sometimes reads her moods more smoothly than Jack’s temper does—but the thought of telling him what had happened, of him seeing the distance opening between captain and ship, feels like a betrayal she can’t name. Like if Jack had driven her hard into hidden rocks and her own planks creaked loud enough to accuse him while she was hauled into harbour for repairs. So she gives Murphy only a single, sharp look—nothing more—and moves past him.
The heat that had flared so bright in her belly has thinned now, leaving behind something stranger. Not relief, not calm, but a hollow place that feels newly carved, hungry in a way she doesn’t understand. It sits low and quiet and insistent, and she resents it for existing at all. Jack has never sailed her into new and tumultuous waters and simply abandoned her there before, he has never left her rudderless, and yet the space between them now feels like drifting without wind.
She crosses the deck toward the bow, the breeze lifting the satin at her waist and snapping at her hair. The water below is restless but inviting, flashing bright beneath the afternoon light. She pauses at the rail, fingers curling around it, considering the drop. Perhaps the sea could cool what ice could not. Perhaps if she dove deep enough, whatever strange new emptiness has taken root inside her would quiet. For a moment she simply stands there, staring down at the water, boots planted on her own boards, the ship beneath her feet humming faintly with the echo of her mood.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
With anyone else, Jack would have sealed himself in that cabin for the rest of the day, building up the walls he'd started to take down brick by brick, taking back any amount of ground he'd given, or considered that he'd given. But The Ark isn't anyone else. At any other time she'd have been the one at his back in that cabin, beams and planks and the sway of her beneath his feet as he'd pace or brood or, at best, simply try to sleep this off.
It doesn't mean he emerges right away - he's still got to give himself a few minutes to cool himself off too, a feat achieved with a few swallows of strong liquor and icy fingers pressed to his temples. But he does emerge.
His footsteps are lighter, contrite almost, along the deck towards the bow. Murphy has wisely taken his leave at the sight of the Captain, wanting nothing to do with whatever hairline cracks have appeared between sailor and ship, and so when he arrives beside The Ark, they're alone.
[say]"You know that tailor? The one whose hands you put on you?"[/say] he mutters, voice quiet, rough, but gentle. [say]"After we left, he'd have felt a lot like this. 'Cause he wanted you, not just the way you want new clothes, or the ring on my hand, or sorbet. He wanted you in a way that made him feel like he was on fire, an' he couldn't have what he wanted. Does that make sense?"[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The Ark feels the subtle shift of Jack's weight in the cabin, the quiet pause at the door, the measured tread of his boots crossing her deck. She is bent over one knee, unlacing her new boots when that awareness moves through her, and by the time he reaches the bow she has slipped free of them and risen barefoot to face him. There is no turning away, no dramatics, no withholding of her gaze or leaping off the side of the ship as if to reprimand him for the time it took him to cool off. When he comes to stand beside her, he'll find her already watching him, red hair lifting in the wind behind her.
As he speaks of the tailor, she listens without interrupting, though at first she is not certain why the man matters. The trembling hands, the stuttering voice, the fevered pulse in his thoughts, all of that feels distant compared to the fire that had ignited in her own belly. She follows Jack’s explanation carefully, weighing it as she might the balance of wind against sail. The tailor had felt like that, he says. The heat. The wanting. The sharp impossibility of having what he desired. She turns the comparison over in her mind. It is new information that what she'd felt and what she'd forced into the tailor was the same, yes, but not quite the revelation he seems to intend. Unless he means to say that what she felt had been one-sided—that he had only provoked it in her without burning in return the way she'd done in the shop—she cannot see the equivalence fully.
Still, she inclines her head in acknowledgment, accepting the shape of what he offers even if its depth eludes her. [say]"Of course he couldn't have it,"[/say] she answers. Her bare toes curl slightly against her own boards as she studies his face, not wounded and not defensive, but intent, searching for the part of this that explains the hollow place the heat left behind and why Jack seemed so reluctant to explain it to her.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
[say]"No, of course he couldn't,"[/say] Jack agrees. [say]"Not unless you wanted him to, anyway."[/say] For one of Caido's villains, arguably, to be so hung up on something like little ol' consent might seem strange, but given the way the Captain's magic works... maybe not. But then she gazes up at him, open and waiting and quietly curious, and he can't help the soft laugh that huffs from his throat and chest, Jack raking his fingers back through his hair.
[say]"I'm reluctant, love, 'cause this is somethin' I assumed you already knew. Ain't your fault. It's just hard to find the words for it without makin' it seem..."[/say] Like he's grooming her for something she might want only because he does, maybe? Jack pinches at the bridge of his nose, shrugs, and leans back against the rail.
[say]"It meant he wanted to have sex with you,"[/say] he says of the tailor at last, because it's not like someone else is going to sweep in and do the job for him. [say]"That's what you felt earlier too, when I kissed you. Attraction, arousal, the sort of feelin' that leads to all the thumpin' against the cabin walls. When you said it felt like somethin' was wrong, though..."[/say] He winces. [say]"I'd never do anythin' you felt wrong about, if I could help it."[/say]
The sense of alarm had been understandable, of course, but now that he's had some distance from the moment, he realises that it also felt a bit like rejection.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
She blinks at him, and for a moment the uncertainty shows plainly on her face. Should she have known? He speaks as though this is something obvious, something most people carry without instruction. She has never needed to be taught how to float, never needed guidance for her sails to fill with air; those things had been built into her. So had this been left out? Had something been missed when Rae parted her from hull and mast and made her flesh instead of timber?
As Jack leans back against her rail she feels it in a way that has nothing to do with wood anymore, a faint warmth along her ribs where his weight rests against her. She listens as he explains, as he names the heat for what it was and links it plainly to sex. That part she understands in structure if not in detail. Sex is commotion in cabins, laughter and thumping against walls, and usually a certain looseness in Jack’s posture afterward. It is something she associates with him in good moods, with release, with satisfaction. So she nods, absorbing that much easily enough.
When he winces at her use of the word wrong, she steps forward until she is directly in front of him, close enough that she must tilt her chin up to keep his gaze. She gives a small shake of her head, as if wanting to erase her use of the word wrong. [say]"It did feel like fire,"[/say] she begins carefully, [say]"but...not like the kind that burned my sails."[/say] That fire had been external, destructive, devouring in a way that left only damage. This had been different. She glances upward toward her mast as though searching for comparison and frowns slightly, struggling for language. [say]"But..in a way, it also did feel like that other fire, because of how big it was, how greedy it was, how it wanted more and more all at once."[/say]
What startled her was not simply the heat, but the speed and scale of it. She is unused to something blooming inside her without warning, unused to warmth that does not come from sun or friction or friction’s aftermath. It had risen before she understood it, and that lack of control had unsettled her. Her cheeks flush again as the memory surfaces, fresh warmth curling low in her belly just from thinking about it, and she swallows before continuing. [say]"I don't think that could come from anyone but you."[/say] At least, it was laughable to place the feeling over the tailor's fumbling, and even when she thinks of Jack's crew, specifically those who have sailed her well in the past, there is nothing she thinks that could ignite her the way Jack had.
[say]"I don't ever want to jeopardize what I am to you,"[/say] she says, because despite how it had felt, fire had only ever damaged her and she couldn't imagine putting Jack at risk in that way. [say]"But I also haven't been able to stop thinking about it,"[/say] she admits, cheeks flushing anew.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
She appears in front of him, filling his field of vision, and Jack is immediately reminded of the endless blue of the Arclight on a sunny day, the way the light makes the sails seem aflame without the heat or the complication of the other types of fire they've discussed today. Reaching for her in this shape is as easy as reaching for rigging or canvas or the wheel, the Captain's arm hooking around her waist to draw her closer against him in a half embrace.
[say]"No fire is ever gonna burn you that way again if I've got anythin' to say about it,"[/say] he tells her, and the promise is easier than breathing. Jack's fingers tease through a lock of her red hair, a shadow passing across his expression at the mere thought of it, cleared only by the pretty flush that rises in her cheeks. [say]"Oh, I dunno,"[/say] he says, the ghost of a smile on his lips, [say]"Murphy's real good with his hands, though you ain't his type."[/say]
The joke is a suitable distraction for the depth of feeling that pools low in his belly at the meaning in her words, Jack exhaling a long, deep sigh and relaxing further back against the rail. [say]"You an' me both, love,"[/say] he admits, scoffing out a laugh. [say]"For what it's worth, you ain't gonna burn me. If I thought you were, I'd not have gone to Rae in the first place."[/say]
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The Ark steps into him without hesitation, arms sliding up around his neck as though that is where they belong, leaning her weight fully into the half-embrace until it becomes something steadier. His promise settles inside her without resistance. There is not a single splinter of doubt in her; when he says no fire will burn her like that again, she accepts it as law.
Her mouth grows crooked at the mention of Murphy, and she lets out a low, amused chuckle. [say]"I’ve felt what he gets up to in his cabin,"[/say] she replies dryly, shrugging one shoulder. [say]"And it feels the same."[/say] There is no judgment in it, only observation. Heat is heat and she knows its rhythm against her boards. But then she remembers what Jack said earlier, about assuming she already knew, and her expression shifts. She eases back just enough to look up at him properly, her hands still resting loosely behind his neck. [say]"If there’s somewhere I can go...somewhere you could send me to learn, I would."[/say] She holds his gaze as she says it, not ashamed of the admission. Whatever holes were in her, now that she had the hands to do it herself, she could patch them if only someone could point them out.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
[say]"Oh, it's plenty the same,"[/say] Jack assures her, his smile something easy and impossible to wipe away now. [say]"I just don't reckon you'd get the same reaction from him as someone with less curves."[/say] Still, it's just as she's said - heat is heat, and the Captain is relaxing despite himself as she leans into him, as they lean against the bow of the ship as if they've stood here thousands of times. And they have, in truth, just... never as physically as this.
But as she glances up at him, candid, unashamed, all frustration and upset forgotten, and suggests she go somewhere else? The cold The Ark had been yearning for appears all at once then, frost against Jack's fingers in her hair, his hand a line of cold at her hip, and he hitches in a breath that rides out on an apologetic laugh. [say]"There ain't a single bit of you that needs patchin',"[/say] he tells her simply. [say]"That's an insult to my upkeep of you. This is just just a new course you're on. Gotta get a feel for the weather an' the waves, then you'll be all set."[/say]
And they've learned the rest together, so why not this?
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
The Ark huffs a quiet laugh at his reassurance about Murphy and gives a small shrug. Jack's first mate was never going to be someone she needed to manipulate, and his steadiness was already more than well known to her such that even thinking about trying to upset his balance with her wiles was laughable.
When frost blooms along Jack’s fingers instead of warmth, she does not recoil. The cold kisses her skin at her hip and along her hairline, and she shivers at the sharp contrast of it. Instead of stepping away, she presses closer, closing what little space remains between them until her body fits fully against his. Her arms tighten around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as though anchoring herself there. [say]"A new course we’re on,"[/say] she corrects softly.
The heat returns at once, blooming low in her belly, but this time she does not flinch from it. The instinctive alarm flickers and dies almost immediately, replaced by curiosity and something steadier. The bright, clear sea of her thoughts thickens, heavy with humidity, the air charged rather than sharp. She shifts her hips forward without thinking, as though she might pin the sensation in place, contain it rather than let it flare unchecked. Warmth spreads through her in slow, deliberate waves, no longer startling but rising and falling with her breath. Her grip tightens around Jack's neck as she rides it out, learning its shape in real time, feeling how it gathers and lingers and responds to even the slightest movements on her part.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-14-2026
[say]"I stand corrected,"[/say] Jack says, a ghost of reproach in his expression entirely ruined by the heat and laughter dancing in his eyes. As fresh fire thrums through her and the frost at his fingertips dies away, the Captain would be lying if he said he hadn't expected her to kiss him again. Instead though, it's something maddeningly better and worse all at once, her hips rocking against him, her arms tangled around his neck, and there's no liquor strong enough in the world to stifle the reaction his body is guaranteed to give her.
Rather than ruin it immediately with words, Jack opts for action instead, both hands dropping to her hips now to guide the rock and grind of them against him, his head tilting to press hot kisses against the side of her neck, the space just beneath her jaw where touch and sensation are more sensitive. His magic doesn't seek to follow direction now - it explores as much as she does, ready to catch on anything she enjoys to tease it further into life.
There's a point though, of course, where the bow of the ship becomes problematic for space and logistics, and though Jack would have fucked her up here for all to see given just a fraction more experience, he forces himself to draw back. Eyes hazy, magic swamped by the feel of her and the sensations crackling beneath her skin, and with his body standing very much to attention, he nods over her shoulder towards the cabin. [say]"C'mon,"[/say] he says gruffly, urging her to lead the way.
RE: i look fly, i look good - The Ark - 02-14-2026
When his hands slide to her hips and guide her forward, the sensation flares through her with startling immediacy, no longer a distant bloom but a live current. The friction of leather against him, the firm pressure of his grip directing the rhythm, sends a sharp pulse low through her belly and she hears herself make a small, breathy sound she’s only ever catalogued from behind cabin doors, but it escapes her before she can examine it. Her breath leaves her in a rush, and when his mouth finds the side of her neck, just beneath her jaw, the world narrows to that point of contact. Heat spreads outward from where his lips touch, racing down her spine, spilling through her limbs. Her fingers tighten in his hair without thought, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, coiling around him.
Inside her, the fire she had feared turns molten. It no longer feels destructive; it feels consuming in a different way, thick and liquid and rising. The sea of her thoughts, once bright and blue, begins to gild at the edges, burnished with copper and gold as more heat is poured into her. Each guided movement of her hips draws a fresh surge through her, and she leans into it greedily, chasing the friction, chasing the press of him against her. She can feel his response as clearly as her own, the shared current between them no longer confusing but intoxicating.
By the time he draws back, she is breathless in his arms, chest rising and falling quickly, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep and warm. Her eyes are unfocused for a moment, pupils wide, the sensation still echoing through her in slow waves. She understands what he means without him needing to say more such that she tangles her fingers firmly into his and pulls him with her, moving quickly across the deck. If doors snap shut along the way were curious crew members have poked their heads out, she doesn't notice. The only thing she feels is the heat still coursing through her and the urgent desire to see where it will lead.
RE: i look fly, i look good - Jack - 02-15-2026
They're lucky, perhaps, that the vast majority of the crew are enjoying all that King's End has to offer today - though the crew might not see it that way based on the symphony they might be about to miss. Regardless, Jack follows in The Ark's wake without any thought for them; his hand is warm in hers, his steps quick and sure across the deck even if walking is becoming deeply uncomfortable for a lot of quite obvious reasons. Never has the length of the ship felt so endless, and by the time the quiet shade of his cabin is upon them, his patience has all but worn away.
Kicking the cabin door shut with his heel, Jack's hands are back on her with unmistakable urgency. He walks her back against the edge of his desk, meeting her lips in a kiss that will steal breath and leave sultry promises with every practiced flick of his tongue. Rough hands corset her waist, mapping the sweet curve of her body, and whilst in the near future he might tear her blouse open, today he's careful in the unfastening of those buttons, relishing the silk of it against her skin and his fingers.
[say]"You have no idea how hard it was to watch that tailor with his hands on you,"[/say] he mutters against her lips, his voice pitched low. He leaves the bralette for now, hand skimming over the lace panelling and the swell of her breast beneath it, as if to leave his mark on something that should never have been touched by anyone else.