never be so kind you forget to be clever
Alas, Flora, who has never properly hated anyone the way that Jack hates his father, wouldn't have guessed, even if the answer, when it comes, isn't surprising. Despite the comparative goodness the queen still possesses, no part of her is tempted to tell the captain to release his father from his grudge; no part of her doubts him or his actions. While it might be an insidious punishment for them both, one that would surely bring Jack no joy when it ended, the queen was content to try and strip what tension he brought home with him away at the end of each day and to let him carry the remainder of it with his own wirey and hard-won strength.
Despite the way Flora still hates to think about Jack outliving her by decades—centuries if he played his cards right—to be able to claim this first in his life? Maybe it was selfish of her to take such delight in the knowledge that this first was properly hers, but she couldn't deny the dark velvet rush that coated her thoughts. No matter who came after, she'd loved Jack first, and she'd love him hard enough to make up for all the years he'd gone without.
Tugging at the hem of her dress to slide it higher up on her thighs in order to properly perch herself in Jack's lap, the queen melts bonelessly against him. Kissing him with all the careful exploration as if it was the first time, the Doubletake doesn't try and douse the butterflies that take flight in her belly, or the way his lips against hers feels like she'd being tickled from the inside out. Caring very little about how the oils would stain the fabric of her dress or about how their silhouettes would be clearly visible to anyone strolling below, Flora presses herself forward, pinning the captain against the wall and tilting his chin up with one of her hands in order to deepen the kiss.
Until Jack knew that he was loved, all the way down to his bones, until the knowledge came as easily to him as breathing, Flora would repeat it; would allow it to echo out amidst her every thought, and through everything that she was. "Come to bed," she whispers softly against his lips before sliding out of his lap and turning her back to him that he might unzip her from her dress.
Despite the way Flora still hates to think about Jack outliving her by decades—centuries if he played his cards right—to be able to claim this first in his life? Maybe it was selfish of her to take such delight in the knowledge that this first was properly hers, but she couldn't deny the dark velvet rush that coated her thoughts. No matter who came after, she'd loved Jack first, and she'd love him hard enough to make up for all the years he'd gone without.
Tugging at the hem of her dress to slide it higher up on her thighs in order to properly perch herself in Jack's lap, the queen melts bonelessly against him. Kissing him with all the careful exploration as if it was the first time, the Doubletake doesn't try and douse the butterflies that take flight in her belly, or the way his lips against hers feels like she'd being tickled from the inside out. Caring very little about how the oils would stain the fabric of her dress or about how their silhouettes would be clearly visible to anyone strolling below, Flora presses herself forward, pinning the captain against the wall and tilting his chin up with one of her hands in order to deepen the kiss.
Until Jack knew that he was loved, all the way down to his bones, until the knowledge came as easily to him as breathing, Flora would repeat it; would allow it to echo out amidst her every thought, and through everything that she was. "Come to bed," she whispers softly against his lips before sliding out of his lap and turning her back to him that he might unzip her from her dress.
