i want to taste you again
"Don't threaten me with a good time." It might be a joke, but in comparison to what happens next, Jack can say for certain he'd prefer to be hosed down on deck in the middle of Deepfrost with no magic at his disposal. He's certain this hurts much more than the initial pain of the wound, and it's just as the world starts to slip away from him in an attempt to escape the pain that her voice cuts clear and bright through his magic like a hand gripping his chin, forcing his gaze back up.
He's seen The Ark use this branch of her power on others, felt it from a distance, but this is the first time he's had it turned directly onto his own mind, and the resistance is both immediate and faltering. Later he'll have time to be grateful, time to understand what she's done and why, but in the moment it's a control she'll have to wrestle from him with every fibre of the magic she possesses, and ultimately it will only serve to exhaust them both all the more.
As the ship rolls he nearly topples off the desk with it, only the shape of her between his knees giving him something to hold onto, both literally and figuratively. She stands against him and his forehead drops to rest against her shoulder, damp with sweat and still caked in grime, every breath trembling and hard earned. Beneath her hand the hole in his forearm has indeed closed, still raw and half healed, but no longer actively festering with the swamp's deadly work.
Jack doesn't speak, partially afraid that he'll vomit if he does, but also worried he won't be able to keep the sharpness out of his words when, in reality, all he feels is gratitude.
He's seen The Ark use this branch of her power on others, felt it from a distance, but this is the first time he's had it turned directly onto his own mind, and the resistance is both immediate and faltering. Later he'll have time to be grateful, time to understand what she's done and why, but in the moment it's a control she'll have to wrestle from him with every fibre of the magic she possesses, and ultimately it will only serve to exhaust them both all the more.
As the ship rolls he nearly topples off the desk with it, only the shape of her between his knees giving him something to hold onto, both literally and figuratively. She stands against him and his forehead drops to rest against her shoulder, damp with sweat and still caked in grime, every breath trembling and hard earned. Beneath her hand the hole in his forearm has indeed closed, still raw and half healed, but no longer actively festering with the swamp's deadly work.
Jack doesn't speak, partially afraid that he'll vomit if he does, but also worried he won't be able to keep the sharpness out of his words when, in reality, all he feels is gratitude.
like a secret or a sin
JACK
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
