+257
The first thing the Queen does, when she wakes for a moment without feeling immediately exhausted, is look at her sleeping companion. Not the dog; he sleeps on the floor of the captain's cabin, and is still sleeping now. No, she looks at the man cocooning her in the narrow bunk. Their legs are intertwined, and one of his hands strokes her hair even in his sleep. He wears only a pair of breeches and a linen shirt, open at the neck and baring much of his chest to her. The flush of lust takes her a little by surprise – the warm shiver down her spine, the prickle across her skin, the pool of liquid heat between her legs, the stiffening of her nipples; all are unmistakable. Her second sensation is one of overwhelming relief. She's not damaged beyond repair. She doesn't need this now to survive. But she wants it. She wants it very much.
She slides her fingers inside Logan's shirt, stroking the smooth flesh of his chest. Sparse hair meets her fingers as they brush further down, a dark trail that she follows unerringly. When her hand dips lower, to his abdomen, the muscles there shiver as she passes over them. He is already half-hard, waiting for her in slumber, and she ghosts her palm around him, feeling his cock swell at just that simple touch. She smiles and feels a throb of yearning at her core. Before he wakes, she slides her own nightshirt off. When Logan opens his eyes blearily, the first thing he sees are his sister's breasts, once more restored to pert roundness, rising and falling gently. Elsbeth's desire is slow and languid this morning. She burns, but she wants the fire to last. Logan's eyes widen in shock, but he doesn't need to speak. Her grey eyes are steady, sure, half-lidded with arousal. He leans forwards, mouth hungrily on hers, tongue tasting her and hands on her hips, pulling them to his own where she feels him, hard and insistent, against her.
Recognising the creaking of wood as his cue to leave, the dog slinks up to the deck.
Logan's long fingers slide through her hair, gathering it in his hands at the nape of her neck; hers move under his shirt, and they clutch at each other, desperate to get closer than skin will allow them to. They continue to devour each other for what could be hours: the ship is anchored, what difference would it make? By the time they are done with learning the taste of the other (and even in the middle of the ocean without a toothbrush in a hundred miles, he still tastes like peppermint), the Queen is so wet and turned on she's leaving a damp patch on the thigh of his breeches. It's where she has been rhythmically rocking her hips, both unconsciously and desperately seeking release. She tugs at his waistband, her mind too fogged for anything more articulate than, "Off." He obliges her, shedding both garments. Elsbeth shifts so that she is aligned above him, lowering her mouth to his body. She moves down his neck, collarbone, chest, flicking her tongue around his nipples – which, though not as sensitive as hers, still makes him draw in a sharp breath – then down his stomach. They have undergone identically different physical transformations in the time they have been apart; her brother has gained muscle mass, and she indulges in every ridge and every ab she can kiss, suck and nip. All the while, her hands cup his balls, gently fondling while adamantly avoiding touching the burning cock above them. She still doesn't touch it as she slightly parts his thighs, instead lavishing attention on his balls instead, sucking one and then the other into her hot mouth. Logan is tensing, quivering and groaning in parallel with her movements, and she has never felt as though she has more power over him. When he is tense and coiled as a spring, she kisses the head of his cock.
He draws his breath in over his teeth, and hisses, "Beth, I don't know if I can last if you-"
"I have faith in you," she grins devilishly.
And then she takes him as deep as she can. Logan's fingers fist tightly in her hair, but he doesn't attempt to dictate the pace, though it's clear it's taking every bit of his restraint. His eyes roll back as she moves her head back and forth, using lips and tongue in a way even she didn't know she could. Instinct tells her when to stop, and Logan lets out a loud moan when she does. It's impossible to tell whether it's of relief or disappointment. The next one is of pure ecstasy when she lowers herself onto him, pulsing around him and sending grateful pleasure rocketing through both of them. Somehow, and neither of them know how, Logan holds on long enough to fuck her into oblivion, and they crash into it together.
It takes three days longer than it really should to get to Aurora. Two of those days, the sloop is entirely stationary.