nsfw adsfjfhg
they stand in the navigational room together, the island table cluttered and chaotic, filled with charts and routes and maps, the two of them with their elbows pinning papers down, voices low, pens in hands. the hour is late and most of the crew has gone to bed, but jaewon can’t sleep and mina has decided to stay, to go over some ideas for new routes that might cut their time-scope down half a day ( which might not seem like much, but it’d actually be more akin to a miracle ) while jaewon argues with her about why that’s impractical. they discuss trader streams, alliance cut-offs, skyplexes that may or may not have grudges against jaewon for one battle reason or another, not that he particularly pays attention to things like that. that’s why he’s got mina.
the conversation meanders well into the night, passed when either of them had intended to go to sleep, but the chemistry working inside their dynamic, half friendship, half something else, keeps their easy back-and-forth discourse continual and entertaining. he doesn’t speak like this to anyone else aboard his ship, not even kafka, smiling more relaxed, less strict with himself, less harsh on his inabilities, something about mina having known him since before all the strains of life had weighed on his shoulders, before the title of captain, of sergeant, gives him a peace of mind he can find nowhere else. her presence unknots the coils in his brain, absorbing his havoc in stride, as she always has.
at some point though, she leans back, breaking through the small, intimate bubble they’d created between themselves, yawning and stretching and wiping her eyes, and his gaze rakes down her body for a moment before it drops entirely and he has to remind himself to breathe. sometimes she gives him contentment, sometimes she does the opposite. “it’s late, i have to crash,” she tells him, and he’s not entirely sure that’s true— he’s seen her sleepy before. right now, she simply looks like she’s not sure what else to say.
he stands straight up beside her, the joints in his limbs aching slightly, his lungs inhaling, his hands lifting up to wipe at his face, to run through his hair, and he nods. a beat passes between them where they simply stare at each other, and he doesn’t know what she’s thinking, he’s confused, the five-second interval held around them like a captive. she looks at him with something in her eyes, a half-expectation, a half-uncertainty, and he just blinks down at her, his mind remeshing itself, spiraling back into a disaster.
she leans up and presses her lips against his cheek, quick and soft and unbearable, and his shoulders tighten, his hands spasm, breath caught in a vice grip inside his lungs— he has no idea what to do. she retreats though, just as swiftly as she’d come, a light dusting of pink on her cheekbones, but she can’t look at him now and he can’t look away from her now. he feels like everything has just stopped, his insides have grinded to a halt, the whole verse around him stunned into untimely silence. it’s not their first kiss, but somehow this newly-found closeness between them still chokes the hell out of him.
an urge stronger than god tidal waves through his chest and he has to step around her to walk over to the door, knowing he’s only about to cause a mess, knowing he’s not going to be able to restrain himself for long, and closes off her escape. she hears the door shut and turns back around to him, obviously surprised, probably thought he was going to reject her or something, but he only lets her get a word out, his name, before colliding into her like a comet, his arms winding around her body tightly, his lips on hers, skin burning, the ache building in his bloodstream.
this isn’t their first kiss, but every time he tastes her, he feels like it is, he feels like he’s getting to know her all over again, fingers gliding over the curves of her body he’d thought he’d already memorized, tongue blazing between her lips as though there are notes in her mouth that he wants to hear her sing, that he wants to draw out of her. she clings to him like water, envelopes herself inside the cover of his arms, his black coat wide enough to swallow them both whole, as though they could disappear inside each other, as though they could collapse together like crumbling stars.
he holds her pressed against his body, turns and pins her to the counter, the edge of it positioned across her lower back, leaning slightly forward so she can feel every inch of him alongside every inch of her. his hands burn into her hair, down her back, fingers clawing carefully as he feels her yanking at the coat, dragging it down over his shoulders and he lets her go long enough for it to drop around his ankles. it’s an interesting moment, given that the movement shifts him in such a way as to accentuate the hardening bulge in his groin, his form crushed against hers, their bodies making friction and heat and throbbing, and it’s embarrassingly obvious. he’s not sure if he wants to die or not.
“i, i’m—…”
“don’t apologize.” she grabs him by the collar of his shirt, both hands strong against his chest, and smashes their mouths together again, a leg curling up onto his hip, her heel finding a home around the back of his leg. he sees lightning behind his eyelids, the electricity sparking through his veins as she reaches around him and digs her nails into the skin on his back, scratching up over scars and tattoos, her teeth sucking on his bottom lip. he tumbles over the edge of propriety, hissing against her lips, a strength surging through him as he reaches down over her ass, both hands groping her roughly, before picking her up and setting her on top of the counter.
poised between both legs, he rips at her clothes, jerking the fabric of her shirt up over her head, his lips coming down to nip and bite and suck hickeys on her throat, her collarbones, her chest, and he feels her gripping his hair between her fingers, her nails grazing against his scalp, and he fucking loves it, he wants it, he needs it. he shoves roughly at the bra to just get it out of the way, his lips closing over her left nipple, tongue toying with the nub hungrily, pressure and wetness and the sharpness of his teeth, while his hands undo her belts. she manages to pull his shirt off before he pushes her backwards, laying her down flat across the table surface, across the star charts and penciled drawing, flat enough for him to get a grip on the handles of her pants and draw them off her as well, as fast as possible.
she really has the most beautiful legs, long and strong and devastating to his equilibrium, and he’s lost so much control by now already, there’s very little separating desire from action, so when he wonders if she’s as delicious as she looks, his mouth immediately hounds for the answer, lips attaching to the inner side of her knee, licking and sucking upwards. her thighs are warm and soft— so impossibly unscarred as though the war never touched her at all, tasting like honey on his tongue, like sunlight, like perfection, but the higher he goes the more scorching it gets, and he’s always been drawn to wherever is hottest.
both legs over his shoulders, her fingers in his hair, her low-toned curses in his ears, he bites a mark into the softest part of her thigh, just below her underwear, feels her tense up, feels her breathing race, and it’s like a drug. she’s every sort of addictive spice to him and they’ve never done this before, but he knows he can’t stop now or he really will die.
