never be so kind you forget to be clever
For all the blood the captain has spilled, his hands remain suspiciously free of his own father's Flora just now realizes. Drawing their combined hands up toward her mouth, she leans forward to press a soft kiss against one of the scars that slice across his knuckles. "Why haven't you killed him?"
Letting their hands fall back into her lap in order to continue her ministrations, the Doubletake rolls her eyes. "Just another of your secrets for me to keep." She hums warmly under her breath, her lips curling into a barely-there smile that would nevertheless have her bursting with soft golden light.
Wondering if there would come a day when the captain's affections weren't wrapped in layers of tight resentment—but understanding now a bit more about where the rock had come from that Jack had used to build the walls that towered around him—as he reaches for her, the queen doesn't bother to stifle her hum of encouragement. As he knew it would, the press of his lips against her forehead has the landscape of her mind unfurling, every piece of her stretching and twisting toward him like a field of sunflowers straining to follow the movement of the sun.
If Jack had ever been loved before, and gods it wouldn't have surprised her if a favourite whore of his had fallen for him, Flora was suddenly quite confident that no one had ever loved him the way she did. Despite the brazenly girlish way that might have initially sounded, of the four people to whom he'd ever told his secret, two were dead (one by his own hand), and one was about to marry her mother. (Yes, it was weird that Jack had fucked 3/4 of them, but never mind that). In so realizing, understanding dawned on something the captain had said to her weeks before that she'd brushed off as nothing more than an excuse: Because I don't. I don't know what it's like, how it feels, what it's meant to be. So maybe, instead of resisting the urge to tell him that she loved him at all hours of the day, of treating her affections like something that might bother him if she let them come on too strong, she ought to have been drowning him in it to make up for all the lost years he'd never known what it was to be cared for. To be loved.
"I love you, Jack." Flora whispers as she places his oil-soft hand against her cheek. Kiss me, her mind encourages as she reaches for him as well, her touch full of a gentle confidence as her fingers comb through his hair.
Letting their hands fall back into her lap in order to continue her ministrations, the Doubletake rolls her eyes. "Just another of your secrets for me to keep." She hums warmly under her breath, her lips curling into a barely-there smile that would nevertheless have her bursting with soft golden light.
Wondering if there would come a day when the captain's affections weren't wrapped in layers of tight resentment—but understanding now a bit more about where the rock had come from that Jack had used to build the walls that towered around him—as he reaches for her, the queen doesn't bother to stifle her hum of encouragement. As he knew it would, the press of his lips against her forehead has the landscape of her mind unfurling, every piece of her stretching and twisting toward him like a field of sunflowers straining to follow the movement of the sun.
If Jack had ever been loved before, and gods it wouldn't have surprised her if a favourite whore of his had fallen for him, Flora was suddenly quite confident that no one had ever loved him the way she did. Despite the brazenly girlish way that might have initially sounded, of the four people to whom he'd ever told his secret, two were dead (one by his own hand), and one was about to marry her mother. (Yes, it was weird that Jack had fucked 3/4 of them, but never mind that). In so realizing, understanding dawned on something the captain had said to her weeks before that she'd brushed off as nothing more than an excuse: Because I don't. I don't know what it's like, how it feels, what it's meant to be. So maybe, instead of resisting the urge to tell him that she loved him at all hours of the day, of treating her affections like something that might bother him if she let them come on too strong, she ought to have been drowning him in it to make up for all the lost years he'd never known what it was to be cared for. To be loved.
"I love you, Jack." Flora whispers as she places his oil-soft hand against her cheek. Kiss me, her mind encourages as she reaches for him as well, her touch full of a gentle confidence as her fingers comb through his hair.
