( this isn't the first time they've kissed, nor even the second — and yet it still feels new, electric, a storm brewing at sea just at the edge of the horizon. dangerous to pursue, perhaps, but worth the risk of trying. he might be an emperor now, laden with the weight of a legacy not meant for him, burdened with responsibility he never asked for, but he hasn't quite lost his sense of adventure, his taste for recklessness and chaos. he hums softly against the warmth of set's mouth, content even with the tug of teeth at his lip — though he can't help but huff a laugh at set's assessment that he seems fine enough, when in fact he hasn't felt this kind of coiling need spur him on alone in a long, long time. )
Most drive themselves mad with desire for the touch of a woman. ( he's seen it in his own crew, the way too long at sea affects them like a sickness, the way they all list toward the railing as if they want to throw themselves overboard and swim to the nearest brothel at the sight of land. shanks has never had any interest in that sort of thing — least of all because he has no interest in women, most of all because he'd only ever allowed two people to touch him like that before he arrived here, before the halls of saltburnt gave him reasons enough to want.
he throws his head back into the pillows, rocking into set's grip encouragingly, the soft groan rising from his throat seeming to say yes, like that and you're insufferable in equal measure. it's a fond exasperation, of course; he wouldn't have it any other way. the crooked slant of his mouth is proof enough of that, the gentle weight of his hand dragging set back to his mouth leaving little room to interpret shanks' desire as anything other than genuine. )
I do rather prefer not swallowing sand when we kiss. ( and yet, despite his flippancy, there is something distinctly arousing about the sheer vastness of set's domain, the thought that coarse grains slipping through his fingers is no different from the smooth strands brushing against his chest. ) And this — ( lifting a lock of hair to his lips, only briefly ) — and this — ( before his fingers sweep across set's ribs to trail feather-light over bare skin and up the curve of set's spine. ) How else am I meant to make the desert shiver?
( of course he'd thought about it, after their rendezvous on the rooftop, after he'd left with the lingering taste of set on his tongue. of course he'd thought about what the rest of set might taste like, what he might sound like coming apart under shanks' touch. but there hasn't been time to consider it as anything more than a fleeting fancy, no room to seriously entertain such an encounter — until now, it seems. )
no subject
Most drive themselves mad with desire for the touch of a woman. ( he's seen it in his own crew, the way too long at sea affects them like a sickness, the way they all list toward the railing as if they want to throw themselves overboard and swim to the nearest brothel at the sight of land. shanks has never had any interest in that sort of thing — least of all because he has no interest in women, most of all because he'd only ever allowed two people to touch him like that before he arrived here, before the halls of saltburnt gave him reasons enough to want.
he throws his head back into the pillows, rocking into set's grip encouragingly, the soft groan rising from his throat seeming to say yes, like that and you're insufferable in equal measure. it's a fond exasperation, of course; he wouldn't have it any other way. the crooked slant of his mouth is proof enough of that, the gentle weight of his hand dragging set back to his mouth leaving little room to interpret shanks' desire as anything other than genuine. )
I do rather prefer not swallowing sand when we kiss. ( and yet, despite his flippancy, there is something distinctly arousing about the sheer vastness of set's domain, the thought that coarse grains slipping through his fingers is no different from the smooth strands brushing against his chest. ) And this — ( lifting a lock of hair to his lips, only briefly ) — and this — ( before his fingers sweep across set's ribs to trail feather-light over bare skin and up the curve of set's spine. ) How else am I meant to make the desert shiver?
( of course he'd thought about it, after their rendezvous on the rooftop, after he'd left with the lingering taste of set on his tongue. of course he'd thought about what the rest of set might taste like, what he might sound like coming apart under shanks' touch. but there hasn't been time to consider it as anything more than a fleeting fancy, no room to seriously entertain such an encounter — until now, it seems. )