bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
When his hands slide to her hips and guide her forward, the sensation flares through her with startling immediacy, no longer a distant bloom but a live current. The friction of leather against him, the firm pressure of his grip directing the rhythm, sends a sharp pulse low through her belly and she hears herself make a small, breathy sound she’s only ever catalogued from behind cabin doors, but it escapes her before she can examine it. Her breath leaves her in a rush, and when his mouth finds the side of her neck, just beneath her jaw, the world narrows to that point of contact. Heat spreads outward from where his lips touch, racing down her spine, spilling through her limbs. Her fingers tighten in his hair without thought, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, coiling around him.
Inside her, the fire she had feared turns molten. It no longer feels destructive; it feels consuming in a different way, thick and liquid and rising. The sea of her thoughts, once bright and blue, begins to gild at the edges, burnished with copper and gold as more heat is poured into her. Each guided movement of her hips draws a fresh surge through her, and she leans into it greedily, chasing the friction, chasing the press of him against her. She can feel his response as clearly as her own, the shared current between them no longer confusing but intoxicating.
By the time he draws back, she is breathless in his arms, chest rising and falling quickly, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep and warm. Her eyes are unfocused for a moment, pupils wide, the sensation still echoing through her in slow waves. She understands what he means without him needing to say more such that she tangles her fingers firmly into his and pulls him with her, moving quickly across the deck. If doors snap shut along the way were curious crew members have poked their heads out, she doesn't notice. The only thing she feels is the heat still coursing through her and the urgent desire to see where it will lead.
Inside her, the fire she had feared turns molten. It no longer feels destructive; it feels consuming in a different way, thick and liquid and rising. The sea of her thoughts, once bright and blue, begins to gild at the edges, burnished with copper and gold as more heat is poured into her. Each guided movement of her hips draws a fresh surge through her, and she leans into it greedily, chasing the friction, chasing the press of him against her. She can feel his response as clearly as her own, the shared current between them no longer confusing but intoxicating.
By the time he draws back, she is breathless in his arms, chest rising and falling quickly, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep and warm. Her eyes are unfocused for a moment, pupils wide, the sensation still echoing through her in slow waves. She understands what he means without him needing to say more such that she tangles her fingers firmly into his and pulls him with her, moving quickly across the deck. If doors snap shut along the way were curious crew members have poked their heads out, she doesn't notice. The only thing she feels is the heat still coursing through her and the urgent desire to see where it will lead.
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.
