her fight and fury's fiery, oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing
The Ark presses herself more fully into his hands, generous curves yielding beneath his touch like the private rise and fall of water only he has ever known how to sail. "Oh, no?" she whispers, playfulness darkening the sound as she leans just far enough away to threaten the loss of her warmth, as if she might take back the gratitude with it if that's what he thought best, draw herself entirely beyond his reach and leave him with nothing but the memory of her mouth on his. She has no intention of doing so, of course, and the crooked little smile at the corner of her lips gives her away before the game can become anything more than that.
Straightening enough to listen, she nods at the new itinerary he sets out, but it's as he mentions Flowerbirth and wind in her sails, that the waters of her mind brighten at once, anticipation flashing through them in warm, clear currents. She can feel it all too easily: canvas bellied full with a wind that doesn’t bite, rigging singing instead of groaning beneath ice, the whole of her moving cleanly through air and over water without cold worrying at every seam. A shiver travels through her in his hands, fine goosebumps lifting along the back of her neck at the thought alone, as she turns a wry, crooked smile on him. "Don’t threaten me with a good time, Captain." And gods help her, but the next few days would feel all the longer for the promise of what was to come.
Straightening enough to listen, she nods at the new itinerary he sets out, but it's as he mentions Flowerbirth and wind in her sails, that the waters of her mind brighten at once, anticipation flashing through them in warm, clear currents. She can feel it all too easily: canvas bellied full with a wind that doesn’t bite, rigging singing instead of groaning beneath ice, the whole of her moving cleanly through air and over water without cold worrying at every seam. A shiver travels through her in his hands, fine goosebumps lifting along the back of her neck at the thought alone, as she turns a wry, crooked smile on him. "Don’t threaten me with a good time, Captain." And gods help her, but the next few days would feel all the longer for the promise of what was to come.
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.
