bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
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. "How did you..?" 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.
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. "How did you..?" 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.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
