Rendering a mute man speechless was a difficult thing to do, but
Emilie had managed it.
His hands still rested against her skin, thumbs resting upon her hips, fingers slowly grazing over her his chest rose and fell. A heady daze fell over his thoughts, mind that had been adrift with a thousand things now focused only upon one thing.
When she spoke
Mako slowly began to nod, understanding, knowing. Then suddenly he was stopped as bruised lips grazed over his, the quiet promise of more to come sending a thrill through him.
He could deal with the anger, enmity. As long as she wasn't gone. As long as she didn't entirely pull away from him. Mako would rather have Emilie hate him, take him, throw him against the wall than ignore him entirely. His head dipped in a nod, his hands tugging her close as he kissed her once more.
The following weeks were a whirlwind.
Mako did his best to not think about what had happened, to ignore the falling of the sail and instead focus on other things. At first he ingratiated himself with the crew. He trained with them, sparred and tested his skills with a sword. Then his thoughts would drift.
To the sail. To Emile.
Then he attempted to peek through Amara's study, learn the maps of where they were going, read books that Radic did not have. Yet there he found only things he did not want to learn. Things of magic, of what he might be.
Each time Mako found something to do, it would be tainted in some way. Even the work of the crew, climbing the mast and weighing anchor. It all brought him to thoughts of his past, things that had happened in his youth. Back home and on
The Crow.
As the days passed, Mako's frustrations grew.
Never aided by the fact of the itch upon his shoulders. The mark burning, pushing, driving both him and Emilie at a constant pace.
It was only in her that he found any sort of satisfaction. The two of them came together like sparks of separate flames growing into a single inferno. It didn't matter who began it, what the other was doing. Sleeping in their hammock, training, cooking in the galley, watching the stars in solitude. One would find the other, and within seconds that was that.
There was a comfort between the two of them. Something that let both of them feel, control. If only just for a moment.
Rumors swirled of course. Amara teased him, the crew jested, but Mako didn't care. A roll of his eyes to the Captain, a fist to the face of the man who said one thing too far. All of it was paltry when he was with her, and everything else seemed small. Even whatever
jinx lurked inside of him.
Near enough two weeks passed in that fashion. Two times they had stopped for water, supplies. Two times Mako and Emilie had attempted to leave the ship, and both occurrences had seen them brought to their knees by the mark.
So they had kept sailing, and the frustration had grown.
So it's Teth, then? Mako asked, his fingers flicking at Amara.
The Captain nodded her head, and Mako frowned. It had to be Teth. That had to be where they were going. Amara had told him she would be turning back from there. There was no other sense to the mark elsewise.
"You ever been?"
Amara asked, peering over Mako's shoulder and watching as Emilie approached.
No, Radic always said Teth was too soft for him.
