her fight and fury's fiery, oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing
Held just shy of him by the tightening of his fingers in her hair, The Ark strains forward anyway, if only to feel the tug of it, that slow gathering pressure like water held behind a dam just before it gives. There is nothing in her vision but the storm-blue of Jack’s eyes, and his words are heard as much as felt, carried across the last thin breath of space between them where the warmth of his mouth brushes hers.
As he speaks, it's her turn to still against him. Not because she’s inclined to gloat, nor because there is any satisfaction to be wrung from hearing that she was right. Torchline is what she wants, has always wanted, its heat and salt and familiar waves calling to something fundamental in her, but she knows what this decision will cost him and it has questions rising in her thoughts like white-caps breaking against the otherwise dark surface of them: questions about Jack not wanting to aid in anything that would benefit Flora and about what they would do about the Snot Take in general. They were storms on another horizon, but unlike so many they had weathered together, this was not one she could carry the weight of for him, despite knowing the exact shape of the wounds left behind. Even so, those worries could wait a moment, as what rises over and above the chop is far warmer, breaking through her like sunlight through deep water.
The Ark leans forward and closes the small distance between them, kissing Jack not with a siren’s deadly song meant to lure and drown, but with something far sweeter, if no less dangerous: the gratitude of the sea itself, vast and salt-warm and wholly given. Her hands remain loose around his neck as she kisses him, letting the moment linger until her tongue leaves one final, soft flourish against his own before she draws back only enough to sigh against his lips. "Thank you."
As he speaks, it's her turn to still against him. Not because she’s inclined to gloat, nor because there is any satisfaction to be wrung from hearing that she was right. Torchline is what she wants, has always wanted, its heat and salt and familiar waves calling to something fundamental in her, but she knows what this decision will cost him and it has questions rising in her thoughts like white-caps breaking against the otherwise dark surface of them: questions about Jack not wanting to aid in anything that would benefit Flora and about what they would do about the Snot Take in general. They were storms on another horizon, but unlike so many they had weathered together, this was not one she could carry the weight of for him, despite knowing the exact shape of the wounds left behind. Even so, those worries could wait a moment, as what rises over and above the chop is far warmer, breaking through her like sunlight through deep water.
The Ark leans forward and closes the small distance between them, kissing Jack not with a siren’s deadly song meant to lure and drown, but with something far sweeter, if no less dangerous: the gratitude of the sea itself, vast and salt-warm and wholly given. Her hands remain loose around his neck as she kisses him, letting the moment linger until her tongue leaves one final, soft flourish against his own before she draws back only enough to sigh against his lips. "Thank you."
sweet and right and merciful, all but washed in the tide of her breathing
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.
