i see nothing better, i'll keep him forever, like a vendetta
There might have been pleasure in tugging at the domestic thread Jack has offered her, in discovering how many ordinary, almost boyfriend-shaped indulgences she could coax from him between racks of clothing and unsolicited opinions, but the water of The Ark’s thoughts has been stirred too deeply for anything so light to keep its footing. His arm lies warm and certain around her, and the possessive spread of his hand across her hip sends her heartbeat stumbling against her ribs before the generous squeeze of her ass pulls a darker current through everything else.
As he names the places he means to have her, The Ark does not think of replacing old memories or staking some jealous claim over streets and shorelines that knew him before she ever walked them. She wants something far more satisfying than that; she wants Jack to see Torchline again through her eyes, to rediscover every fountain, alleyway, beach, and market stall alongside someone who has barely begun to know them as anything other than shapes glimpsed from the harbour. The city may already belong to him in a dozen ways, but there are still new memories waiting to be made in it, and she intends to leave her mark on every one.
As it turns out the colour she wants is simply whichever booth stands closest. The handle holds fast as she wriggles it, but The Ark merely shrugs. Bracing her hands against the counter jutting through the open serving window, she lifts herself up with easy grace and slips through, dropping into the cramped interior among a stack of towels, an empty cash box, and a lone chair. There is barely room for two people to stand comfortably, which only sharpens the anticipation coiling low through her.
Whether Jack follows her through the same opening or finds some other way inside hardly matters. The instant he appears, she'll reach for him with both arms, hands curved like a predator’s paws as she catches hold of his shirt and drags him into her. Her mouth will meet his with none of the teasing patience she has spent all morning pretending to possess, the kiss demanding and hungry enough to suggest she has been deprived of him for years rather than less than an hour. She presses closer, pouring every darkened current in her thoughts straight into the contact, as though the only sensible way to begin seeing Torchline anew is with Jack pinned against her and no space left between them.
As he names the places he means to have her, The Ark does not think of replacing old memories or staking some jealous claim over streets and shorelines that knew him before she ever walked them. She wants something far more satisfying than that; she wants Jack to see Torchline again through her eyes, to rediscover every fountain, alleyway, beach, and market stall alongside someone who has barely begun to know them as anything other than shapes glimpsed from the harbour. The city may already belong to him in a dozen ways, but there are still new memories waiting to be made in it, and she intends to leave her mark on every one.
As it turns out the colour she wants is simply whichever booth stands closest. The handle holds fast as she wriggles it, but The Ark merely shrugs. Bracing her hands against the counter jutting through the open serving window, she lifts herself up with easy grace and slips through, dropping into the cramped interior among a stack of towels, an empty cash box, and a lone chair. There is barely room for two people to stand comfortably, which only sharpens the anticipation coiling low through her.
Whether Jack follows her through the same opening or finds some other way inside hardly matters. The instant he appears, she'll reach for him with both arms, hands curved like a predator’s paws as she catches hold of his shirt and drags him into her. Her mouth will meet his with none of the teasing patience she has spent all morning pretending to possess, the kiss demanding and hungry enough to suggest she has been deprived of him for years rather than less than an hour. She presses closer, pouring every darkened current in her thoughts straight into the contact, as though the only sensible way to begin seeing Torchline anew is with Jack pinned against her and no space left between them.
i see how this is gonna go, touch me and you'll never be alone
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.
