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Pulled From the Depths — The Pirate King & Neia
🕑 Added 2022-11-02 16:00:07 +0000 UTCHe has memorized the pattern of your breathing.
Your chest moves up and down, just barely, while soft air drifts in and out of your parted lips. The Pirate watches as moonlight comes to kiss the ends of your eyelashes and paints white stripes down the side of your body, laying over the red duvet of his bed.
Your ribs expand again...
And The Pirate knows instinctively when your next exhale will be.
In and out. His own eyelids feel heavy, but sleep doesn't claim him yet. Perhaps it lacks interest in him, or maybe he fights it without noticing, but as his ship sways from side to side, following the eternal pattern of the waves, the Pirate sways too in lands far away.
Lands made of memories.
Your head rests on his shoulder while his left hand cradles your hip. He likes to play with the bone there, maimed thumb sweeping around mindlessly. He dreams while awake, thinking of the past, wondering for the future, but just as absently as he touches you, so does he silently counts your breathing.
In.
Out.
He sees seas touched by an orange sun and islands with names lost to memory. In. Your breasts push against his side, and your hand draped over his chest twitches the slightest bit. Out. You move your leg, and feels your lips mouthing at the skin over his heart.
In.
The Pirate wonders if he's really awake, for the visions look so real. Maybe he sleeps and dreams that he's awake. Maybe his eyes closed long ago, but he thinks they’re open. Maybe he—
Out.
He expects to feel your breath washing over his heart again, but he doesn't. You don't exhale.
His brows knit. The Pirate waits, and finally, you do, but it’s wrong. It's not a soft exhale but a sharp rush of air. He feels you twitch again, your fingers curling on his shoulder socket and your leg kicking him on the chin.
In.
The wrong kind of inhale. It's shaky and breathy, and it's accompanied by a whine.
And The Pirate knows he's not dreaming after all because when he looks down at you, he sees your face twisted in a pained grimace, and no dream of his would have you suffering. "No," you say then, the word so quiet that he only hears it because you're so close. "Don't do this."
The Pirate slowly sits up in bed. He holds your nape, rearranging you on the pillow to lay you on your back. Your hand curls around his bicep, nails digging in as your nightmare takes a terrifying edge. Your head jerks to the right, then the left, and he holds it between his palms to keep you from hurting yourself.
Your hair falls over your eyes, and The Pirate calmly brushes it aside.
There was an old woman once, a crone that smelled like the sea, who told him never to wake someone from a bad dream. It brings fate's wrath upon them, she said.
The Pirate thinks it all bullshit.
"Don't plunge into those depths," he says, thumbs sweeping over your eyelids. He moves them to your temples, then, pressing down. He doesn't speak loudly, but he makes sure his tone is strong enough to pierce through the fog of your dreams. "Kick away. Kick as hard as you can."
You let out a pained gasp. It won't do.
"Kick," The Pirate hisses, fingers sprawled all over your face. He doesn't shake you, but he puts his weight on top of you. "Do it now. Get out of there."
And finally, finally, The Pirate watches as your eyes crack the slightest bit open.
"There you are," he says with a proud smile.
-
"You made it safe."
The voice drifts through your head like a sluggish wind. You blink, feeling the sting in your eyes, and slowly, the world comes into place.
There's a ceiling supported by wooden beams, a large window to your right, and hands holding your face between rough palms. There's also a pair of eyes, as dark as the darkest night, looming down from above.
"Nice of you to join me," The Pirate says, his smirk catching the glint of moonlight. His hair falls over his face, the tips grazing your cheeks and chin. He doesn't look away for a single moment, even as his smirk widens and his hands move down your neck to massage your shoulders. His eyes are like spears, boring into yours. "I was getting a bit lonely here, all by myself."
Your heart still races and your eyes sting until you're blinking away heavy tears. There's a pressure on your belly that seems to sink your body whole. Dark tendrils cling to you, tendrils of horrors in the night, but his hands are steady as they roam up and down your arms and his weight is like an anchor, securing you to one place.
A storm rages around you but you hold onto his gaze, and you're not tossed by the wind.
"I was..." you try to speak, but your tongue feels heavy. You swallow, feeling his hand travel up to your face again. "I could hear you. In my dream."
He hums. "Did you know it was me?"
"I did," you say, relaxing your shoulders. "I knew it was you."
The Pirate finally lets go of you to lay back down on the pillow. He lifts his arm in a silent invitation, and you don't hesitate to tuck close to him again. His hand wraps around your middle as you grab hold of his bicep. "Then that's all it takes, peach. Whenever you're stuck, just run back to me," he murmurs, voice like gravel.
You close your eyes at the sound. "Will you be here?" you whisper, your cheeks burning at the silly question. You feel like a naïve child, but in the dead of night, with his warmth around you, and his heartbeat beneath your ear, you're not afraid to look silly. You're not afraid to be vulnerable. Not with him.
The Pirate takes a moment to answer. "I'll be here," he says.
You smile. You believe him.
- - -
She watches the night.
It's a dull sight. The hills beyond are bare, and moonlight falls on a lonely road that swivels out to the horizon. There isn't any wildlife nearby. At least, none she can see, and the embers burning by her feet aren't warm enough to bring feeling back to her frozen toes.
But Neia, the former Dawnseeker, doesn't care enough to stoke them.
She's watched worse sights before, even duller and staler, and she's withstood worse weather than these feeble winds. Neia has slept in snowstorms, she'll be damned if a cold night is what breaks her.
She watches the dark and falls easily into one of her trances. It's curious, how all her senses are on high alert, her fingers clenched on the pommel of her broken sword, but yet, her mind falls into a lethargic buzz. She's not thinking, barely feeling, and so the hours rush by like a river of molten rock.
Neia hears every sound, she sees every time the wind makes the leaves shuffle. But she sleeps with her eyes open, forever vigilant, both awake and in slumber.
The moon travels in the sky, a white dot that seems to be getting further and further away. If she had feeling, Neia would be sore all over. Her knees would be begging to stretch, her fingers seeking a respite. But she's not awake, not really, so the specter keeps watching the night, face a wall made of stone, muscles ready to—
"Hm."
A faint groan to her right.
Yellow eyes shift to the side, and Neia watches something else. You're laying on your back, tucked inside your sleeping bag and covered in heavy furs. But from between the mess of cloth and fur, Neia can see your face peeking out. You're frowning, lips pressed together, cheeks flushed not by the cold but whatever is making sweat gather on your forehead.
A scarred lip twists in a snarl.
Neia rolls her shoulders, irritation sparking under her skin. She's wide awake now. It'll take some time before she can slip back into a trance. She looks up and notes that the night is still deep, so daybreak is far away. Her snarl grows until she can feel her scar pulling on the skin of her cheek.
"No."
Neia closes her eyes and takes a deep inhale. Shut up.
"To hell with you," you mumble.
Very slowly, Neia turns her head towards you, but the fire growing in her veins vanishes when she sees that you're not talking to her. You still sleep, your brows pushed together now, and sweat dripping down your cheeks. "Go to hell."
Your voice is rough and brave, but it shakes, and Neia knows that sound too well. It's fear. Absolute, bone-deep fear.
She cocks her chin, forgetting the road for a moment to study you. You twist your head left and right, and one of your hands leaves the warmth of your cocoon to clench at the blankets. "No, stop. Stop!" You don't yell, not really, but Neia knows you must be screaming in your dream.
Or your nightmare. For she does not doubt that this is what you face. A night terror.
Neia looks away, inhaling once again. She doesn't care, she just wants you to be quiet so she can finish the watch. She doesn't fucking care.
But her hands grip her sword so hard that the pain has her looking down with a frown. A frown that deepens when she hears you whining again. "Lord's sake," she roughs out. Neia glances at you and sees you grimacing, an absolute despaired look on your face.
She looks away.
Her snarl is so deep, it hurts too.
"Please."
Neia closes her eyes.
"Please, I-"
"To hell with it," Neia spits as she gets up. She takes a couple of heavy steps, stopping right beside you to loom over your sleeping bag. She clenches her hands and, for a moment, Neia doesn't know what to do.
"Stop," you whisper, so defeated. Pathetic even.
Neia nudges you with her boot. "Wake up," she commands, shaking you again. You wiggle but, if anything, your eyes close even tighter. "Hey, princess, wake the fuck up."
She sees your eyelids fluttering and Neia thinks you’re about to open your eyes… but then, you jerk to the side, your free hand clutching at your throat. "N-no."
Neia sighs. She lets her sword fall to the ground to seek something else. Slowly, Neia plunges her hand inside her pocket, and her fingers find it.
-
"Now, I lay me down to sleep."
The voice comes like a faraway breeze, muffled as if you hear it from underwater.
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep."
Slowly, you feel yourself being pulled towards it, the soft voice that keeps tickling your ears. You know it. You know who it belongs to, but as you drift upwards, escaping from the darkness below, you can't recall the name.
You can only recall a flash of yellow and white hair and a snarl that likes to morph into smiles.
"Watch and guard me through the night."
You open your eyes.
It's dark, and there's something cold pressed on your forehead. It's small but hard, and the fingers that hold it there are all rough. A pair of sharp yellow eyes shine above you.
Neia kneels by your side, one hand supporting your head, her long fingers tangling with your hair, while the other holds something to your forehead. She returns your gaze, her expression hard, the moonlight making her hair as white as the purest snow. "... and wake me with the morning light."
Neia whispers in a tone you never heard from her. It's not soft, you don't think Neia could ever be soft, but it's... gentle. Almost as gentle as the way she presses her thumb to the middle of your forehead.
You part your lips, but your tongue can't move. The words die on your throat as Neia, very methodically, lifts her hand, and you see her golden cross dangling from her fingers.
That's what she had pressed against your forehead.
The realization makes your cheeks heat. It makes the dread in your heart shrink away.
"You..." you try to speak. Your voice is feeble, but it garners her attention. Neia looks down at you, her scar catching the glow of the embers. "You were paying for me?"
Neia leans back on her knees, letting go of your nape. You immediately miss her touch, but you bite your tongue against the protest that wants to come out. "You awake?" she asks abruptly.
You blink. "I— yes."
Neia nods. "Good. You can finish the watch then," she says, her voice uncharacteristically flat. There's no mockery in her eyes, no aggression, no slight irritation. She's not smirking or snarling or... nothing. She just... stares at you, her face like a wall. "It's my turn to sleep."
She makes to turn away, then, but you shoot your hand out to grab at her elbow. Neia halts, her whole body tensing, and when she turns back to you, her eyes shine like a predator. She looks at your hand then back to you, lips lifting to expose her sharp canines.
You swallow your nerves. "Thank you," you whisper. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, but it's no longer because of your nightmare. It's because of something else. It's because of how beautiful she looks, right here, kneeling close to you.
Neia's brows slowly fall. She stares you down for a moment longer, before slowly, she grabs your hand and pulls it from her arm. But the gesture isn't aggressive, and when she puts your hand down, her fingers linger on your skin. "Don't thank me yet, sweetling. You owe me one now."
Neia pulls her face closer, lips widening into a dangerous smile. "And I will collect my favor," she hisses, breath washing over your cheeks. You stare wide-eyed, and Neia chuckles before she gets to her feet and walks to her sleeping bag. "Watch the road, don't let anything come near us."
Shivers shoot down your back as heat spreads on your chest and belly. The nightmare has vanished from your mind, for all you can think of is the way her eyes had glanced at your lips, hunger clear in every line of her face.
Comments
Anathema
(´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ )
AtlusHeart
hnnngngg the tenderness ༼ ಢ_ಢ༽
