bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
When Jack pulls back from her, the absence of his weight is immediate and acute. Her chest rises and falls quickly, the whole of her straining toward him even as she lies there like dark, waiting water. Her eyes move over him without shame or restraint, drinking in the lines of his body, the tension in him that mirrors her own.
She blinks at the mention of pain, but she believes him when he says it will be pass. There is no hesitation in her when she nods, knowing instinctively that even if it did linger, it would be worth it. The heat he has drawn out of her has climbed too high to retreat now; stopping would feel like being stranded in a windless sea after sails have already filled, like sinking.
When he settles over her again, when his body blankets hers and their skin presses fully together, something in her quiets and surges at the same time. It feels fundamentally right, as if this alignment has always existed beneath the surface waiting to be discovered. One hand lifts to his cheek, fingers soft there, and she parts her lips in invitation, her tongue brushing his in a slow echo of his earlier beckoning finger.
Her lips still against his as unfamiliar resistance flares bright through her mind. The sensation is sharp and overwhelming for a heartbeat, and she inhales sharply against his mouth. It feels like forcing her hull through a crust of ice, that initial fracture and strain, of wood meeting something unyielding. A small, involuntary wimper escapes her, not one of fear but intensity, her nails biting into his shoulder as her other hand tightens there. Rather than waiting for him, her hips lift, pushing forward, urging them through together. And then, like breaking through the ice on the Eurybia, the resistance gives and as the tension releases, the sensation that follows is staggering; heat and fullness and connection all at once, a sudden, complete joining that floods her with sensation so bright it almost steals her voice. She moans against his mouth, the sound raw and ringing, her body arching into him as the overwhelming surge washes through her.
Her thoughts fracture under it, scattering into bright shards of feeling, the ocean of her mind rolling vast and limitless again as the sheer magnitude of it threatens to crest once more. She clings to him, breathless and wide-eyed, as the force of it nearly pulls another orgasm from her on the spot, stunned by how completely he fills her and how fiercely her body answers in return.
She blinks at the mention of pain, but she believes him when he says it will be pass. There is no hesitation in her when she nods, knowing instinctively that even if it did linger, it would be worth it. The heat he has drawn out of her has climbed too high to retreat now; stopping would feel like being stranded in a windless sea after sails have already filled, like sinking.
When he settles over her again, when his body blankets hers and their skin presses fully together, something in her quiets and surges at the same time. It feels fundamentally right, as if this alignment has always existed beneath the surface waiting to be discovered. One hand lifts to his cheek, fingers soft there, and she parts her lips in invitation, her tongue brushing his in a slow echo of his earlier beckoning finger.
Her lips still against his as unfamiliar resistance flares bright through her mind. The sensation is sharp and overwhelming for a heartbeat, and she inhales sharply against his mouth. It feels like forcing her hull through a crust of ice, that initial fracture and strain, of wood meeting something unyielding. A small, involuntary wimper escapes her, not one of fear but intensity, her nails biting into his shoulder as her other hand tightens there. Rather than waiting for him, her hips lift, pushing forward, urging them through together. And then, like breaking through the ice on the Eurybia, the resistance gives and as the tension releases, the sensation that follows is staggering; heat and fullness and connection all at once, a sudden, complete joining that floods her with sensation so bright it almost steals her voice. She moans against his mouth, the sound raw and ringing, her body arching into him as the overwhelming surge washes through her.
Her thoughts fracture under it, scattering into bright shards of feeling, the ocean of her mind rolling vast and limitless again as the sheer magnitude of it threatens to crest once more. She clings to him, breathless and wide-eyed, as the force of it nearly pulls another orgasm from her on the spot, stunned by how completely he fills her and how fiercely her body answers in return.
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.
