i see nothing better, i'll keep him forever, like a vendetta
It’s fortunate for Jack that she isn’t a telepath as well, because if she caught the direction of that thought, the hand at his jaw might turn sharp instead of gentle. Whatever threads run between past and present, whatever similarities might flicker at the edges between she and Flora, she refuses to examine too closely; she won’t draw that comparison out into daylight until her hull is shattered and her boards sink for good. Instead, she only smirks at him, something warm and proprietary in the curve of her mouth, and when his lips brush her palm, the sensation splinters through her thoughts like sunlight breaking across open water.
She lets him go when he pulls away, watching without commentary as boots thud to the floor and his belt is uncoiled and cast aside. The weariness in him is obvious now that the night has settled, clinging to his shoulders, dragging at the line of his spine. With a small shake of her head and a low laugh, she says, "far from it," before peeling her own shirt away and stepping cleanly out of her pants. "I’d expect nothing else from you." If anything, silence between them was still more of the norm than talking was.
She joins him on the bunk, lowering herself beside him rather than over him, her body close but not demanding. Instead of reaching for the tight cords in his shoulders again, instead of trying to coax or tease him into something sharper, she lets her eyes fall closed and turns her mind toward a distant horizon, to the steady rhythm of water striking her hull and the warm spray lifting in golden arcs as she sails forward under a clear sky. Her fingertips drift lightly across her own skin, slow and intentional, not to provoke him, but to luxuriate in the simple sensation of touch, knowing he’ll feel the echo of it through his magic. It isn’t heat she offers him now but warmth, the soft awareness of shared sensation for him to enjoy from a safe distance.
She lets him go when he pulls away, watching without commentary as boots thud to the floor and his belt is uncoiled and cast aside. The weariness in him is obvious now that the night has settled, clinging to his shoulders, dragging at the line of his spine. With a small shake of her head and a low laugh, she says, "far from it," before peeling her own shirt away and stepping cleanly out of her pants. "I’d expect nothing else from you." If anything, silence between them was still more of the norm than talking was.
She joins him on the bunk, lowering herself beside him rather than over him, her body close but not demanding. Instead of reaching for the tight cords in his shoulders again, instead of trying to coax or tease him into something sharper, she lets her eyes fall closed and turns her mind toward a distant horizon, to the steady rhythm of water striking her hull and the warm spray lifting in golden arcs as she sails forward under a clear sky. Her fingertips drift lightly across her own skin, slow and intentional, not to provoke him, but to luxuriate in the simple sensation of touch, knowing he’ll feel the echo of it through his magic. It isn’t heat she offers him now but warmth, the soft awareness of shared sensation for him to enjoy from a safe distance.
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.
