i look fly, i look good

JACK

There's no point repeating himself - if it just feels that way hasn't made it through the first time he doubts it'll do any good a second or third, so Jack instead focuses on trying to quell the heat in his own body (and the way it's painfully trapped against the line of his belt, might he add). Raking his hands through his hair and doing his best to draw up some flimsy mental shielding against the arousal that still screams in the air between them, it's easy to guess how effective that is when The Ark turns and presses his hand to her bare skin.

Hissing in a breath and snatching his fingers away again, the Captain laughs - not because anything is funny, but because he never considered that he'd have to explain this to her. "I can't make it cold, because it ain't real fire," he tells her, voice quiet and careful, his hands jamming in his pockets in case she tries to grab him again to palm her breast or touch her ass or something.

"It's an emotion. Like when you feel angry or happy or anythin' else. We'll get you... I dunno, a book or somethin' to tell you about it." For now, though, he'd very much like to not be in public with an awkward boner he can't do anything about. "C'mon, let's head back."

you're the last of a dying breed; write our names in the wet concrete
I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me

Code stolen from Queen Sky