marked me like a bloodstain
Laughing at that, Flora quite liked the Honeybee even before the pair realized that they were well on their way to being cousins, but she could certainly understand Jack's choice of words. "Why'd you never tell her?" She asks quietly. Jack and Mel had been shipmates for a good deal longer than the Doubletake had known him for, and he'd given her a fucking ship to keep her in Torchline rather than going off to King's End.
Having to swim across the bed to reach him, Flora silently tries to wipe the tears on her shoulder before slipping herself against the captain's side. It's as familiar as it isn't, and while her hands have certainly pawed over almost the entirety of his body, now she wasn't sure where they ought to go, or what they ought to do.
Why, because that's your job? The words are held back if not the thought, and against the thorns that feel like they're pressing behind her eyes, the queen gives her head a little shake. "I'm just...feeling it.." She wasn't punishing herself (yet), it was still too early for that. For now she was lost at sea after having capsized; there wasn't time to think about what she could or should have done when she still had to swim toward shore. For now there was only time for how it had all felt: how it felt to see the sudden predatory shift in Asta's gaze, the way it felt to swallow down a cry of pain only to have it lodge in her throat, to have arousal mixed with panic until the two were nearly indistinguishable. To want to beg for pain if only to keep him close. How it felt to have him pushing her away, telling her to go, telling her he was sorry and having it feel like a dismissal.
"I'm just...hurt." She admits as silent tears trickle onto his chest. "Don't you ever get hurt?"
Having to swim across the bed to reach him, Flora silently tries to wipe the tears on her shoulder before slipping herself against the captain's side. It's as familiar as it isn't, and while her hands have certainly pawed over almost the entirety of his body, now she wasn't sure where they ought to go, or what they ought to do.
Why, because that's your job? The words are held back if not the thought, and against the thorns that feel like they're pressing behind her eyes, the queen gives her head a little shake. "I'm just...feeling it.." She wasn't punishing herself (yet), it was still too early for that. For now she was lost at sea after having capsized; there wasn't time to think about what she could or should have done when she still had to swim toward shore. For now there was only time for how it had all felt: how it felt to see the sudden predatory shift in Asta's gaze, the way it felt to swallow down a cry of pain only to have it lodge in her throat, to have arousal mixed with panic until the two were nearly indistinguishable. To want to beg for pain if only to keep him close. How it felt to have him pushing her away, telling her to go, telling her he was sorry and having it feel like a dismissal.
"I'm just...hurt." She admits as silent tears trickle onto his chest. "Don't you ever get hurt?"
