#ship: jacks off

[ssozo]

handsome jack with a dadbod. you agree.

[dykedvonte]

Curly had two days to act and Swansea had two months.

I think it’s just interesting that every defense of Swansea not immediately acting are the same ones that are argued against for Curly. “He didn’t want to alert Daisuke or makes things worse for Anya either Jimmy!” I mean people also assume that about Curly and the crew. “He has to think about his plan of action and a right moment!” Again so did Curly, power and authority aside, he still would have to think of what he had to do. “He makes sure he doesn’t have to be around Jimmy!” So did Curly and they only do this to an extent, both give Jimmy more than a few opening to keep harassing Anya.

This isn’t defense of Curly nor a damnation of Swansea. Their actions are very parallel to each others in tragic and sour ways when it comes to how they approached helping Anya. In the grand scheme of it all they both did the same thing: Nothing. No action either took stopped the inevitable outcome of her death nor Jimmy’s continued damage to themself.

The only real difference is Swansea didn’t like Jimmy which is pretty substantial, but also just as damning as Curly knowing how bad Jimmy could get to an extent. He had even less of a reason to wait, even more of a reason to act seeing as he was now worried for Anya AND Daisuke. He is not bound by the possible procedure as Captain and actively does not care about what happens next. So what does it matter if he acted in the moment? Why did he wait? I think he’s just as morally complex and grey as Curly and we hold him on a pedestal that still perpetuates things in rape culture the game critiques.

It’s not just enough to dislike and be abrasive to predators/abusers like Jimmy. It’s not enough to just put yourself between them and the other person. It’s not enough to hold tensions when you know someone is vulnerable. He and Curly do the exact same things but on different sides of the coin. I ask how is it better to not turn a blind eye but still not really do anything about what you are seeing? Not until it affects you atleast…

The game makes a big point to not put men doing the bare minimum or who wait to do more on pedestals and I’m actually surprised so many are missing that point.

[diaboundkernelz]

you cant tell me he wouldnt make him his own SRC evil theme song

[mc-tummy-blur]

I’ve been so busy with other stuff but I really want to get back to drawing WHF art so I went and cleaned up a wip. Not sure how I feel with some of the angles but I just needed to get this out of my system

Based off of this clip

Click for better quality

Check my pinned post to see links on how you can help the people in Palestine

[scribblepleb]

It’s officially been a year since I drew them… so I’m BACK FOR MORE BABY

[potatotrash0]

shittily edited twst memes part 2: electric boogaloo

[respectthepetty]

*whispering from my office*

The sparks are flying on my Tattoo x Aran ship.

Tattoo took the necklace. It was Aran's mom and now he'll get punished. Aran has got to get it back, so these two boys who love their moms more than anything will find each other.

SAIL SHIP SAIL!

[aro-laurance-zvahl]

You ever think about how Garroth and Laurance’s fears could’ve been so much more interesting than what we got during the Malachi Arc? Like. Just imagine.

Garroth being cornered by a woman in a wedding dress, face covered by a veil as she says how nice it is to meet him even though her voice is flat, words clearly only for the politics. A voice echoing through the halls, saying things about lordship and domination and how Garroth will carry on his legacy whether he wants to or not because it is his duty.

Flames circling Laurance, people he loves and cares about standing lifelessly on the other side telling him how much of a monster he is, that their blood is on his hands. Other shadow knights standing with him in the circle, familiar faces or obscured by armor doesn’t matter because they’re treating him like a friend and not an enemy as the Shadow Lord’s voice crackles through the fire, telling him how well he’s done.

Or yknow. I guess Aphmau and Dante kissing works ig

[darknoverse]

i promise i will draw my other ships and stuff i promise y'all i prom-

bonus cuz i think they're funny:

[amerricanartwork]

Okay, wait, let me explain this for a second—

So I think generally Jack and Sally are one of those classic and iconic fictional couples that people and ships are frequently compared to and/or strive to emulate, so this might seem a bit cliche at first glance. However, what if I told you I actually based my Milkshake/Trinkets dynamic primarily off of Jack and Sally personality-wise, especially when it came to developing my headcanon personality for Unparalleled Innocence such that it'd be a good compliment for Pebbles's canon personality?

Specifically, I like the idea that Five Pebbles, like Jack Skellington, is confident, skilled in what he does, a very good speaker with an eloquent vocabulary and style, and a person who, although not passionate about many things, puts his all into whatever endeavor he sets his sights on, even if it means he sometimes gets a bit too enveloped by his ambitions to the point of obsession. Meanwhile Unparalleled Innocence, like Sally, lacks much confidence, yet is equally intellectual and very romantic, a lot more clever and resourceful than she may seem at first glance, good at noticing/appreciating the little things around her, and loves to watch her crush from afar despite being much too shy to interact with him directly. "Sally's Song" is as of now pretty much the best musical explanation/representation of how I interpret her thought process around the time of her spreading the knowledge of Pebbles's rot.

I hope to go more in-depth in my interpretation of these characters and their relationship later, but for now I figured I'd take a break from my chubby Moon exploits to give these two a little love (I may be all for Lilypad, but I won't stop sharing my love for this ship too!) and some cosplay action to harken to this inspiration. Plus, in case I don't have enough time to draw my other Halloween-themed idea for the Local Group before the end of the month, I can at least say I posted this on time!

[ssozo]

god i wish handsome jack would fuck me senseless

[jakes3resin]

Modern Reincarnation AU Part 4 ✨️

Part 3

"John?"

Bucky storms past Jack into the townhouse. It's rude, but he'll apologize later. He doesn't know why he came here instead of his apartment. Old habits dying a hard drawn out death, maybe? He hadn't been thinking clearly. Hadn't been thinking at all really until he found himself waved through by his father's security detail.

"Oh, is that John?" He hears his father call out, dress shoes clicking against hardwood as he walks closer, but Bucky stomps up the stairs towards his room before he sees the man. His breaths come out in rushes as tears keep burning his eyes.

Shit, he thought he'd gotten those under control on the train.

Slamming his door, he slides down until he rests against the floor. He tosses his bag to the side wincing at the sound it makes. Hopefully his laptop survives. At some point he does actually have to do the work he went to the library to finish.

The library.

Buck and Curt.

They wouldn't, Bucky tells himself. They wouldn't. Curt was one of his best friends, and Buck loved him. They...

Fuck they were roommates! Why the hell were they talking about that shit in public? In the place Bucky considered his? Why even pretend? Why drag Bucky into this? Why?!

Bucky buries his face into his hands. His chest hitches as he tries not to sob. He doesn't want his father or Jack to worry about him. He doesn't want to talk this through.

He wants...

He wants Buck. He wants the other to pull him into his arms. To kiss him again as if today had never happened. There was something else about being with Buck, something he'd never felt with anyone else be they friend or lover. He made Bucky feel safe and wanted. Wanted not because of his family and connections but because he was himself.

Buck would know how to make him feel better.

He laughs quietly through his tears. Distantly, he can hear Jack briefing his father downstairs, the words faint but he hears his name and tears used together. His laughter is more sob than anything else. Of course, the one good thing he'd found would end up belonging to someone else. Story of his life.

✨️

There's too much work to do. At least that's the excuse Bucky gave himself for not confronting Buck and Curt immediately. There wasn't time for a confrontation and subsequent blowup of his life.

At least that's the lie he tells himself.

Bucky chews on the straw of his iced coffee as he skims yet another chapter. There's a pumpkin muffin in front of him that he swore would be his reward for getting through this fourty page reading. Midterms have come and gone, but Bucky still has deadlines to meet and research to complete. He can't sit in his room forever, as much as his father and Jack would sometimes prefer that. Better protection from whatever sent Bucky crying to his room as his father would argue. Better protection for his father's political career Jack would quip.

Speaking of protection, Bucky glanced to the side of the cafe towards his security detail. At least these guys attempted to blend in. His father must have briefed them on his track record with previous details. Bucky smirked around his straw. They'd be easy to lose come rush hour. A bit of fun even.

Bucky turned back to his reading, squinting down at the words.

"American airmen during World War II had a dismal life expectancy. It was not a matter of if an airman was going to be shot down but when. Once downed, airmen faced an uncertain 'reception committee,' as Second Lieutenant Kenneth C. Reimer noted in a drawing he made as a POW in Stalag Luft I in Barth, Germany... 'for every [ground combat] soldier killed in action, three or four others would be wounded; air combat was completely the opposite. For every man wounded, three were killed.'"

"Bucky?" A hand settles on his shoulder jolting him out of his reading.

Bucky kept his shoulders loose as he turns around. Buck stares down at him, a bright smile on his face that Bucky can't help but match despite his grief. It wasn't even something he could control. Buck smiled at him, so he smiled back. Bucky felt pitiful.

Buck's sky blue eyes are clear and happy as they dart across Bucky's face. There's no sign that he realizes Bucky overheard him yesterday.

Bucky lifts a hand to calm his detail, all alert now after Buck's friendly greeting. He sees the nearest agent settle back into their chair but knows none of them are relaxed. He darts a look up at Buck, peering at the other through his glasses to see if he'd noticed the disturbance.

Buck's gaze, as it always does, doesn't leave Bucky's face. Even when he rounds the table to sit down, his eyes are pinned on Bucky and nothing else.

"Sorry I couldn't meet up yesterday," Buck dumps his bag onto the chair next to him. Bucky's smile twitches. Buck sits down across from him. His legs tangle with Buck's own under the table, Buck's foot gently bumping his ankle.

"It's fine," Bucky chomps down on his straw. "How was your advisor meeting anyway?"

"It was good," Buck smiles at him, not even a hint of guilt on his face. "Real good."

Buck had told Bucky he was called to fill in a shift yesterday and that was why he supposedly hadn't been able to meet up. A lie Buck hadn't even bothered to remember. His advisor meetings were also always in the morning on Thursdays. Today was Tuesday.

Buck was still lying to him, and he wasn't even guilty about it.

✨️

"I went by your place yesterday. You weren't home." Buck swings their clasped hands through the air.

"Hmm?" Bucky glanced away from the traffic around them. His detail were staying a conspicuous ten feet back, but they were annoyingly keen when Buck offered to walk him back to his apartment.

Bucky would lose them another day.

Buck laughed, deep and airy. Bucky struggled not to lose himself in it. That was what made this so hard. Bucky still loved Buck, and Buck still acted like Bucky was his whole world and then some.

"Oh," Bucky finally processed what Buck had said. "No, I went to my dad's for the night."

"Really?" Buck squeezes his hand. Bucky hates how much comfort Buck's touch gives him.

Does Curt receive the same...? No Bucky doesn't let himself finish the thought.

"How was it?" Concern bleeds into Buck's voice. Bucky hates how genuine it sounds. He's starting to use that word more than any other. The longer he looks at Buck, the more he has to hate to save his heart.

"Fine," Bucky shrugged stepping further away as they came to a stoplight. "The usual."

"The Bucky I know wouldn't give such a short answer," Buck stepped closer eating up the space Bucky had put between them. "Not unless something happened yesterday. Come on, you okay?"

Bucky felt the words bubbling up his throat.

I saw you. I saw him. Why are you here staring at me like I'm the most important thing in the world when you have him? Why are you doing this to me? I love you. I love you so much it feels like my soul hurts. I hate you.

"Spent most of the night avoiding his staffers." Bucky lied. "Barely saw him, Jack either, yet he still asked me to move home at breakfast."

Buck nods, accepting his lies. Was that what they were now? Not a relationship, simply a lie? Bucky wasn't sure anymore. His heart thumped against his rib cage, anger and love in every other beat, but he wasn't sure which would win.

Buck had become his whole world in such a short amount of time. He thought the feeling was mutual, but yesterday showed just how stupid Bucky really was.

"How about this," Buck nudged his hip. "Why don't I stay over tonight? We'll binge a few movies, order something, and have night in. Then,"

Buck paused with a stupid grin that, despite himself, Bucky still found charming. Fuck, he was truly pathetic for this.

"I'll sweep you off your feet and take you to bed. How does that sound?"

"Won't Curt be expecting you?" The question pops out of him without meaning to. Gale furrows his brow, confusion growing in his eyes.

"Curt won't miss me tonight."

Sure, he won't, Bucky thinks bitterly.

✨️

"John," Jack's voice was a surprise. Especially considering it was his father's number calling him.

"You've gotten much better at your Jack impression," Bucky answers just to be annoying. "Does he know you impersonate him on official numbers?"

"You're not as funny as you believe."

"Ooh, you even have his disapproving tone down. I feel like he's in the room with us!" Bucky laughs. He peers around the corner. Buck's still where he left him, buried in his phone texting someone.

Bucky doesn't let himself think about who that person is.

"Your father wants to invite you to a dinner tomorrow. You can even bring that boy that walked you home. The one that hasn't left." Pages flip in the background as Jack talks. Probably governmental reports his father was supposed to read.

"You know you're not his chief of staff anymore?" Bucky leaned his hip against the counter. "You don't have to read reports or wrangle his kid to government dinners to help his image as a family man. You're his husband now, you're the family."

"You're my kid too by that logic, so wrangling you gets to stay on my resume." Bucky snorts out a laugh. "Besides, it's not a state dinner or anything. He just wants to see you."

Guilt gnaws at his heart. Buck pokes his head into the kitchen, phone no longer holding all of his attention.

"Fine," Bucky groans. "But if he brings up the apartment again, I'm walking out with my food on my plate even if it's the good plates."

"See you tomorrow at 7 then. Bring your boy." Jack hangs up without a goodbye.

✨️

It'll be me, and it'll be you, Buck.

Don't count on it.

Bucky jerks awake. His dream flashes through his head too fast for him to remember anything. Scenes superimpose over each other, words jumble together. At least this one wasn't a nightmare. Those always left him shakey and off balance all day.

His dreams have always been vivid, ever since he was a kid. The child psychologists he'd gone to had said it was normal and simply a sign of a well developed imagination.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair groaning when he glances towards his bedside clock. It's nearly an hour until he has to get up, but he knows that he won't be getting back to sleep before then.

Buck lays curled up next to him on the bed. Bucky reaches out to brush a hand through the other's hair. Buck twitches leaning into the feeling for half a second but doesn't stir beyond that.

Bucky sighs. Extricating himself from Buck's long limbs takes time. Somehow in the night, Buck had nearly fused them together as if even asleep the man refused to let him go. Arms layered over arms. Legs tangled together. It's an excellent distraction from his dreams but not from the problems of the waking world. If only he could forget those once he woke up like he did his dreams.

It's only when he's pouring water for his coffee that he realizes he recognizes the voice from his dream. A first for him.

It'd been Buck's.

✨️

(Not a confrontation I know, but it builds my AU lol)

[mushroom-through-the-stargate]

daniel in window of opportunity : since you know everything will reset to exactly how it was, you can do anything without worrying about consequences

jack : huh really?

jack : *uses a timeloop (or several) to kiss carter*

daniel in new order pt2 : when you're in charge, you can do whatever you want

jack : whatever i want?

jack : *makes his first order of business promoting carter*

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Showing Vans some of the music I grew up listening to in the 2000s!

(he/they for Vanilla, he/xe for my s/i!)

[ot3showdown]

[alannah-corvaine]

19) angry sex in the middle of a fight

"Jacke, we've been over this—"

"An' we'll go over it again!"

Brina heaves a sigh of annoyance, her expression pinched with frustration. This is the same argument they've been having their whole lives and it's so tired. She'd really been hoping that her years away from home would have somehow mellowed Jacke's overprotectiveness, but it seems not.

"You think I can't take care of myself."

Jacke rolls his eyes and huffs. "That's not what I said n'you know it."

"But that's what you implied."

She inspects her nails coolly, watching out of the corner of her eye as the rogue's face turns ruddy and he attempts to walk back what he thinks he didn't say. Brina loves Jacke, she really does, and has since she was eight years old. But sometimes he can be thicker than a brick and doesn't think when he speaks.

And today it's pissing her off.

"I never—"

"Come here."

Green eyes blink at her, confused.

There is no warning or attempt to explain herself as she rapidly steps into his personal space, upending his entire body with a quick sweep of her leg. In the blink of an eye, Jacke is flat on his back on the floor, still too caught up in surprise to mount a defense. In the next breath, she pins him down with her body and presses the edge of a dagger to his throat.

A single raised eyebrow tells her that her point has been made, but Jacke's never been the sort to let things go easily.

So it's not unexpected when he deftly rolls them over, reversing their positions. Hands pinned, Brina twists beneath him and kicks his shin hard, enough for him to hiss in pain and momentarily loosen his grip on her. She follows it up with a knee to his abdomen, close enough to his kidney to hurt, but not do any real damage.

"Swivin' hells, Brina—"

She doesn't relent.

They continue to grapple for the next several minutes, neither able to hold a definitive advantage for long. Jacke might be stronger, but Brina is more flexible, especially after years spent training as a dancer, and she manages to evade his attempts to pin her to the floor again.

Their mingled heavy breathing is loud in the empty afternoon silence as they finally still. The sun filters in through the open window, dust motes dancing in the light that bathes them in its warmth.

Brina sits straddling Jacke's lap, dagger pointed lazily at his chin. "Had enough?"

He attempts to sit up and grimaces. "Ye gonna keep paintin' me with bruises if I say no?"

"Maybe," she says lightly.

Brina has no real intention of hurting him, she just wants him to acknowledge that she's capable of it. She knows that he knows she is. That's why this whole stupid fight is ridiculous and a waste of breath. But Jacke is obstinate in the same way that a brick wall is immovable. And sometimes you have to wail on it a bit before it sees reason and crumbles down.

"Fine," he grumbles, going limp and letting his head fall back to the floor.

His chest rises and falls with his rhythmic breathing, and Brina finds herself mesmerized. A sudden awareness of where she is strikes her as she sits astride him, and warmth suffuses her whole body.

It's not like she's never seen that v-shaped sliver of his skin before, given his persistant lack of interest in buttoning his shirt, but now it's fascinating to her in a way that she's never allowed herself to think about.

Keeping her face neutral, she flicks the tip of her knife under one of the few buttons holding his shirt together, severing the thread tying it to the fabric.

Jacke frowns up at her. "What'n was that for? Haven't ye ruined my duds enough?"

Brina merely hums in response, only half listening. She has an impish desire to do it again, so she does. A second button goes flying and Jacke squawks in indignation.

He grips her thighs as a reflex and tries to pull himself up into a sitting position, but something in her expression stops him dead.

The world seems to slow down, the air between them becoming heavy. She doesn't know what he sees in her face, doesn't even know how she's feeling, really. Only that something has shifted, each movement between them now somehow significant.

Suddenly her mouth feels as dry as the Sagolii desert, and the act of her tongue darting out to wet her lips feels charged with unintended implication. And for once, Jacke doesn't seem to miss it.

"Bri-?"

He says her name slow and unsure, like he can feel the thick and nameless energy between them, like he doesn't know what to make of it. His fingers flex against her thighs, exerting the tiniest pressure, and blood roars in her ears.

She doesn't hear her own gasp, has no memory of jerking her hips in response to his featherlight touch; every cell in her body is immediately fixated on that sensation, raucously calling for more.

Desire like wildfire races through her veins, striking her like lightning, stealing her breath and leaving her trembling. Jacke is rigid beneath her, his grip like iron, bright eyes flickering from her face to her hips. There is something like fear in his gaze, and Brina struggles to make sense of it.

Through an unfamiliar haze of lust, she realizes that she's seated directly on top of his manhood, twitching and hardening between her thighs. A flood of thoughts she's previously forbidden herself to have come crashing into her consciousness, though she cannot for the life of her at this moment recall why she should have pushed them away.

It's so hard to think when she is made of want.

And then Jacke is gently pushing her off of him, his face a mask of guilt and regret. "Sorry, Bri, I shouldn' have—"

The loss of him beneath her hits Brina like a punch to the gut. She fixes Jacke with a piercing stare as he moves away, a thousand thoughts and feelings warring inside her head.

"Sorry for what?"

Her tone is short and clipped, she can't help it. She'd just discovered something wonderful and now he's taking it away and for what? For some emotion she can't read in his eyes? For a fight that doesn't even matter? She pulls herself to her feet, legs wobbly and unsteady, a fire burning fierce in her gaze.

Jacke scratches the back of his head and looks anywhere but at her, which only serves to heighten her aggravation. "Should'na underestimated ya, should'na started this banter again..."

"That's a load of horseshite, Jacke."

Her voice is louder than it's been in years. She hasn't yelled at him since they were kids, and Brina almost feels bad about it, but he's being evasive and it rankles more than it usually does. She doesn't even know why, except that this feels like a moment that they've been dancing around for a long time, and she's tired of running from it.

So she gets up in his face, refuses to let him avoid her. Her mother would be absolutely appalled at her unladylike confrontational behavior, but then she'd also have a fainting fit over her sitting on the lap of her best friend like a strumpet, so she lets the opinions of a dead woman lie.

"Shouldn't have what, Jacke? What exactly is it that you think you should be sorry for."

Her eyes narrow as his lips press into a thin line, holding their silence. He still won't look at her, so Brina takes his face between her hands and compels him. "Jacke, talk to me."

They stay like that, silent for what feels like a long time. Jacke shifts uncomfortably, but doesn't look away. He seems to be considering any number of things as he looks at her, his expression somber and almost sad. When he finally does speak, his voice is small and quiet.

"...m'sorry for takin' advantage of ye."

Brina blinks, not expecting that answer at all. She takes a minute to compose her thoughts.

"I thought," she says slowly, "that after we talked about everything that happened, that you understood. I love you. More than anything, more than everything. I promise you, you could never take advantage of me, because it's given freely."

His brow furrows as his eyes search hers. "I don't want to lose ye 'cause I were an addle pate."

There's an unspoken pain in his voice, a piece of debris from the years she was gone, and oh how it breaks her heart to hear it. Gently, she pulls his head down to rest his forehead against her own.

"You already did," she whispers, "but I came back, and I always will, because you're my home."

She kisses him then and thinks of Eulmore, of the loneliest months of her life spent staring out at an empty sea. She recalls the long years of silence, her words buried beneath the earth with her family. Her life is a mosaic of regrets.

Never never never again will she waste the time given to her.

Jacke doesn't push her away this time when she tugs at his shirt, the remaining buttons giving way to her grasping fingers with nary a fight. Brina doesn't stop to look at the skin she's unveiled; she could map out his scars in the dark.

He seems to sense her inspired urgency, mouth slanting hot against hers as he pulls her close. His fingers are a brand against her hip, sliding beneath the linen fabric of her shirt. A hum of approval escapes her.

She should be nervous, she supposes, as the clothes disappear from her body. Jacke's lips are at her neck and moving south as one hand tugs her blonde hair loose from its long ponytail, the other pressed against the small of her back.

But there's no room in her head for doubt, only wonder.

It's always been Jacke, she knows. Ever since the day they met at her father's warehouse, sharing secrets before names, and every day since. And there will only ever be Jacke until she draws her last breath.

She doesn't have to wonder if he loves her back or finds her beautiful; she feels it in his every touch.

And when her hands find the drawstring of his pants and slip inside to grasp him, she hears it in the groan that escapes his lips and the curses that he murmers low in her ear as she squeezes and strokes him slowly.

He softly pants her name like a prayer as she sinks to her knees, pressing kisses to his shuddering thighs. Her mouth on him is an apology, a love letter to all the time that they've lost.

He doesn't let her finish him, however, not when he still has his own amends to make.

His fingers find her hot wet heat, followed shortly by his tongue, and she sees stars as he performs his penance. His name is a litany from her lips, falling like rain over a parched desert.

She cums so hard she cries, unaware of her tears until he's wiping them away and whispering sweet nothings that are everything. The adoration in his voice is enough to heal every wound she's ever had.

Pulling him close, til they are skin to skin with nothing between them, Brina kisses him softly. In her thoughts she offers thanks to every divine that had a hand in bringing her back to him. A content sigh leaves her as she twines her legs around his hips.

Jacke's breath hitches. For just a moment, he hesitates. "...yer sure?"

"You're the only thing I've ever been sure of," she tells him, a smile hiding at the corners of her mouth.

It's all the reassurance he needs, pushing into her with a reverence that feels religious. The momentary discomfort is nothing to her; the movement of his hips sends her spiraling, lost in sensations she's never dreamed existed.

She had thought, all her life, that they were close. That the ties of their friendship had anchored to the deepest parts of her soul and it was enough. She didn't know—how could she?—that it could be like this. He is everywhere—above her, inside her, sharing her heartbeats.

Her given name escapes his lips in an exhale as he sinks into her once more, and she threads her fingers through his hair and considers that this is the first time in her life that she hasn't minded how it sounds.

"Call me that again," she sighs, back arching and hips rising to meet the angle of his thrusts.

"Rebecca," he groans, too far gone to tease her.

The sound of her name sets her off like a powderkeg; she shudders and whines beneath him, gasping for air, trying to hold on to the powerful ripples of pleasure that reverberate through her body in shockwaves. All too soon, they slip through her fingers, leaving her feeling boneless and sated.

Above her, Jacke rides out his own release, and the primal noises he makes as he buries his face in her neck have her ready to ravish him once more before they've even recovered.

For a long while they lay in a gasping, sweaty heap, too lost in the moment to ruin it with words.

Eventually, Jacke rolls off of her, and Brina discreetly stretches parts of her that had started going numb.

"That was—" she starts.

"Why in hells did we wait so long t'do that for??"

Jacke looks so affronted that she can't help but laugh, which only makes him frown harder. "Think that's funny, do ye?"

"Mhmm," she hums, eyes twinkling with mirth. With a grunt, she pulls herself into a sitting position, intent on fixing her messy hair, when Jacke reaches over and pulls her back on top of him.

"Hey!" she splutters, limbs akimbo as she attempts to right herself.

"I think," he declares as he kisses her shoulder, "that we've got lots o'time to make up fer. And right now's as good a time as any t'start."

Brina closes her eyes and smiles, leaning into his touch. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm," he echoes, pulling her down to him.

"If you," she murmurs between heated kisses, "say so."

After that, there is no more talk, only the silent language that lovers speak, long into the night.