Hug — Part 2

The rocking ship is like a moving beast beneath you. You stagger in your step, almost flying as the ground drops and then rises up in a mad pattern that leaves you breathless. The sea is angry, waves rolling up and down like rushing mountains made of water, and if it wasn't for the suffocating walls inside your cabin, you wouldn't brave the outside.

But you needed to breathe. You need to see the sky, even though it's dark and filled with heavy clouds that threaten to spill their wrath into the earth. The sea rumbles, the sky thunders, and the only thing worse than the possibility of flying overhead is the prospect of spending one minute more between the claustrophobic walls of the cabin.

You lean against the main mast of the ship, propped right in the middle of the deck, and take a deep breath before leaving its safety to—

"Hey, there!" Wooden planks rise to meet you, but a large hand grabs your elbow and yanks you back. You go flying against a hard surface, your cheek hitting a surprisingly warm wall. "Now, now, what have I caught here?"

You blink, mind still swimming, but look up to meet the two black eyes of the captain of this ship. The Pirate King smirks at you, the gold ring on his beard catching the grey light. "A fish out of water?" he quips, not even swaying as the ship lurches once again. The ground moves, but his legs seem to shift effortlessly along with it as if the wood is but an extension of himself.

You can't say the same. Your feet slip on the damp planks, and you're sure you would have finally fallen if it wasn't for the Pirate's iron grip on your elbows. The man holds you again, lifting you until you can put the weight back on your legs. "Is that what you're trying to do, hmm? Go back into the water?"

You're steady enough to catch the way his expression changes then. The Pirate still smiles, but his eyes harden, as do the fingers holding you captive. "Because you're making it surprisingly easy," he says, voice low over the crash of the waves.

He thinks you careless, and it's not as if you can deny it. Part of you wants to bite back, to tear yourself from his grasp, but as the ship rocks again, you're nothing but grateful for his support. "I can't go back there," you explain instead, hands holding onto his biceps. You look at the stairs that lead to the hull, then look back at him. "It's... I can't."

The Pirate studies you for a while, quiet, swaying in tandem with the waves. You hold on as the clouds gather above and the smell of rain swells in the air.

But then, he sighs. "Ah, it's those eyes," the Pirate says under his breath, turning towards the edge of the ship with one arm securely wrapped around your waist. "Can't resist those pretty eyes." He flashes you a grin. "Fine, walk with me. But don't take long" —he looks up, brows furrowing— "a storm is coming."

You nod, doing your best to follow along as he leads you to the railing. The Pirate waits until you grab the wood with both hands before he finally lets go of you. "Take a deep breath," he says, voice softer than before. He hesitates but then takes a step away. "Land isn't far, peach. This will end soon."

He moves to go, but you snatch your arm forward and grab his wrist. The Pirate freezes, looking from your hand, nails on his coat, then to you. He cocks his head in a silent question. "Stay," you simply say. The sea roars ahead, and you find you don't want to be alone. You don't want him to leave.

The Pirate stares for a while longer, eyes boring into yours. You look back, fighting the heat on your cheeks. But finally, finally, he smirks once again and swaggers closer, quickly closing the distance.

"Can't resist them," he murmurs again. Your body wobbles with the ship, but he's a solid wall to fall back to. His hands curl on your waist, his arms like poles on your sides, and the tip of his chin presses the top of your head in a steadying weight.

You let go of the rail to put your hands on his forearms. The ship rocks, but you simply sway with him, his muscles clenching to keep you upright. "Good," you say, smiling at the horizon. You let your head fall on his chest, sinking deeper into his embrace. "Because I plan to stay here for a long while." You pause, glancing up at him with glinting eyes. "And I need my supporting cane with me, so don't think of going anywhere. You were wrong; I'm not a fish looking to find my way back into the water."

His chuckle reverberates through you. "Hmm," he hums, arms tightening, fingers carefully tracing the curve of your hip. "From admiral to a tool."

You close your eyes, breathing in the crisp salt air. "Yes."

The Pirate tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, the gesture so soft, it takes you by surprise. "Can this tool take you back to his cabin, then?" he whispers beside your earlobe. You shiver when his arms tighten once again. "Once you're done with the sights."

His teeth graze your skin, and you don't know what you started, but suddenly, you want to see it to the end. "He may," you gasp back.

The Pirate smiles.

- - -

"You're doing it wrong."

The rough voice is more akin to a growl than a sentence, but you can surmise its meaning nonetheless. And it sends sparks of irritation crackling down your spine. "I am not," you push back through gritted teeth, even as your fingers slip once again and the rope falls with a dull thud between your feet. You bite your tongue to keep from cursing out loud because you can feel her.

Staring at your back with two blazing, annoying, prying eyes. "What a shitshow," Neia says in her growl-like tone, but you'll be damned if you don't hear the amusement in it. "How long have you been there, half a damn day? And you still can't make a proper knot."

You scoff, picking up the rope in an angry swipe. "It's not been half a day," you mumble, but it sure feels like it. You're sitting on a log, back firmly turned towards the ex-Inquisitor, bent over the long rope that refuses to do as you tell it. "I only need to—"

"Enough." The command has your jaw snapping closed and your fingers instinctively stiffening. You hear Neia's heavy footsteps approaching, one after the other until they stop right behind you. The world stands still as you feel her towering height loom over you. "You may be full of patience, sweetling, but that's never been one of my virtues."

A strong hand pushes your back, then, making you flinch and drop the rope to the ground again. Neia's scoff sounds right beside your ear, but she doesn't comment. She just pushes you until your backside is almost out of the log.

"Watch very carefully," Neia rumbles near your head, settling herself behind you. Your ears buzz when two scarred, calloused hands grab yours and drive them to pick up the rope. "I'm only going to do this once."

Her inner thighs are against yours, her armored chest brushes your back, and your head swims as Neia Dawnseeker starts to manipulate your fingers as if they're strings attached to a puppet. With fluid, almost graceful movements, she guides until, before you, you have a perfect sailor's knot. "So fucking easy," Neia says, letting go of your hands.

You stare at the knot, your breath held in because she doesn't move away. Neia stays seated right behind you, her white hair brushing the side of your face. You feel hyper-aware, your whole body tingling. She's so close, but not close enough.

You lick your lips, stomach twisting in your belly, but finally, you find your voice. "I missed it," you say, untying the knot. Neia's hands twitch as if they want to stop you, but she stills them immediately. Her chin presses into your cheeks as slowly, the Dawnseeker turns her face to the side. And yellows eyes watch you. "You need to do it one more time," you continue past your nerves. Your voice doesn't waver, and you even find the strength to look back into her eyes.

You find the strength to touch her hands with your fingertips, nails lightly scratching the skin. "Just to be sure I learned it."

Neia holds very still. It's almost unnatural, the way she doesn't even seem to be breathing. But finally, the woman takes the rope from you and then presses your wrists together, a large hand keeping them in place. "You're a bold little thing," she rumbles, scarred lip grazing the skin of your cheekbone, sending thrills down your spine.

Thrills that shoot like lightning when she takes the rope and ties another knot. This time, around your wrists. "I don't like that," she says, but you don't believe her because her arms completely close around you, and the tips of her canines press into the curve of your neck. "I don't like that at all."

You gasp when she tugs the rope a final time, the threads digging harshly into your skin, but her kiss is so surprisingly gentle.

- - -

You find him curved over his lyre.

One knee bent, the other leg dangling from the bed, blue hair falling past his chin and hiding the concentrated look in his eyes. He has discarded a shirt, and loose pants hug his hips, one foot covered by a purple sock, the other naked. His fingers, however, move as if nothing can ever bound them. Smooth and fluently, they pluck notes from the strings and fill the air with a slow, sweet melody. No other part of him moves besides his fingers, and from where you lean on the doorway, you can see the way his back is taut, muscles tightened, neck too stiff.

Who knows how long Lance has kept like this? All of him in the notes and his fingers, and neglecting he has a mortal body.

With a small sigh, you push away from the door and step inside the room. He doesn't hear you, of course. You'd say he's deaf to the world if the world wasn't filled with his song. He's simply deaf to anything else. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you study the blue tips of his hair. It's slightly wet, you can tell. He had bathed, at least. It seems Lance hasn't completely forgotten to take care of himself.

You walk right behind him, knees sinking into the soft mattress of your large bed, but even still, your bard doesn't hear you. Deaf to the world. You pause... and then simply drape yourself over his shoulders.

"Ah—" The song ends in a sudden string of shrill notes. Lance's shoulders jolt, bringing you up with them, and he fumbles with the lyre, almost dropping it to the ground.

"Shh," you soothe him, rubbing your hands along his arms, palm and glove kneading the muscles. Your chest and belly melt with his spine, following its gentle curve, and you rest your lips at the back of his neck, right in the spot where his hair parts, and you can find soft skin. "It's me, Lance."

You can feel his shiver as your lips move against him. "Oh, that is good to know. This whole arrangement would be quite awkward were you someone else," Lance says in a light tone, making your smile widen. You feel the way his arms are still tight, however, and the stiffness of his back, and when you lift your head to peer at his face, you're not surprised to see the faint flush on the top of his cheeks. "But it's you, so feel free to keep using my back for support. Life is quite heavy, is it not?"

You laugh, and he turns his face to meet your gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks," you say before sinking even further into him. Your cheek goes back to press against his nape, your nose filling with the smell of his soap, while your hands continue their exploration. You roam your fingers up his arms and then cross them at his chest, pulling him further into you. "I was watching you," you inform him.

Lance hums. "Did you enjoy the show?"

You nod. "Always. But if you keep this up, Lance, you'll develop a hunchback."

You're lifted up and down by his laughter. "A hunchback minstrel? That could work in my favor. I would be talked about throughout the lands, nobles, and affluents would travel from afar just to hear my song." He starts playing a silly tune, tilting his head back until it rests on your collarbone. Your faces press together, cheek with cheek, and you can feel the smile on his lips as much as you can hear it in his tone. "I will be the most famed bard of our age."

You purse your lips, one hand traveling down his front. "I think you should keep relying on your fantastic good looks."

Lance lets out a huff. "Ah, how funny you are," he mumbles, but before you can tell him you mean it, the bard changes the subject. "I was trying something new. For you." You hear him swallow and see the flash of grey as he glances at you. "Would you like to hear it?"

Lance's fingers are back on the cords, ready, and you do want to hear it. But you put both of your hands over his, interlacing your fingers. "Later," you say, kissing his shoulder at his dejection. "Right now, I want to stay like this, for just a little while. And eat something." You smile. "I'd love to eat something."

It doesn't take long for Lance to smile back. He sets the lyre aside before grabbing both of your hands and holding them on his lap. "As you wish," he whispers, closing his eyes and finally letting himself relax against you.

- - -

He turned his back to you.

You can see his clenched fists, his hunched shoulders, and the way Rafael is rigid from head to toes. His legs are straight, his spine taut, and the rain washes over his hair, water tendrils sinking into his drenched shirt. Your ears drown by the rage of the storm, so you can't hear his breathing, but you can imagine how erratic it is by the way his chest moves almost violently up and down.

Up and down, like a wounded animal. Or a cornered predator.

Either way, it makes your own chest tighten. It makes your brows pull closer, and pity swells in the depths of your heart. Rafael... Always so jaded, always so wary, always an arm's length away from you.

You didn't mind before, were even amused by it. Then, you learned to ignore it, and now... you can ignore it no longer. Inhaling deeply, you step into the rain. The cold immediately clings to your skin, and the rain batters against your eyelids, but you don't close your eyes, and you don't falter as you take large steps toward him.

"Rafael." The name slips past your lips. You don't know if in a warning or a command or simply because you wanted to taste it on your tongue. Rafael snaps his head upright, and you see his shoulders starting to turn, but as much as you came to appreciate the brown in his eyes, you don't want to see them right now. You don't want to see the rain falling down his hollowed cheeks.

He turns, but you're quicker, and in a flash, like the lightning that crackles on the distant horizon, you throw your arms around him and crash against his back.

"Agh." He grunts, sharp hands flying to your forearms, his fingers sinking deep lines on your skin, and you can feel his muscles ready to burst. "What the fuck—"

"Shut up," you say, loud enough to be heard over the rain, but your voice is soft anyway. Your hands hold both sides of his hips, and your voice comes muffled as you press your face to the middle of his shoulder blades. His wet shirt chafes your skin, but you can feel his heat right underneath. "Just shut up, you bastard."

Rafael seems frozen in time. As soon as you spoke, his harsh grip changed. His hands still hold your forearms, but his nails don't sink, and he doesn't seem prepared to fight any longer. He breaths radically, up and down, down and up, and you feel his head lowering, can almost feel the heat of his gaze, watching your hands.

You tighten your fingers into fists, squeezing him even tighter. "Rafael," you say again.

And the bastard finally answers. "Whatcha doing?"

"Hugging you."

Rain drenches your hair too, it drenches your whole body. You'd shiver if you weren't pressed so close to him. Rafael slides his hands from your forearms to your wrists, and then you feel the pads of his fingers pressing for a moment. A request. "Why?" he asks, moving your wrists.

Part of you wants to deny it, but you allow him to disentangle himself from your hug. Allow him to turn, allow him to grab your chin and lift it until his eyes peer into yours. But Rafael doesn't step back. He stays close, so close your chests almost touch. "Why?" he asks again.

"Because I wanted to," you tell him.

Rafael's brows lower. He opens his mouth— but quickly closes it. His dark eyes watch you, your whole face, as if you're an enigma or as if they search for something. Deception, maybe? Mockery? "Well..." Rafael moves closer, and you hold your breath when the hand on your jaw moves to cup the back of your neck. "Do it again."

He doesn't wait for you, however. Rafael tugs you to him, and your breath is stolen away in the tightest, most desperate hug you were ever given.