pointofhonoria | come sail away inbox

Crabb lets her have that second to figure out words, despite every bit of her screaming that she should— apologise? Maybe? She's not even sure for what, saying it at all or just not realising what she was saying or— or even that she doesn't try to actually take it back? God she doesn't know, so she just sits there with her head spinning and ever warmer face waiting to see what Erin says and.

It's so fast she barely even deciphers it and God give her strength it's still nearly enough to hit the embarrassed flight reflex Johnny hit not long ago but she resists. Stays right there.

"I— um— uhm—" God, she's gonna die. Right here. Right now. Does she? Is she actually brave enough for that? She can say no, she knows she can say no, but does she want to say no? "Um— aw, Hell, I— yes? I— uhm. To try, at least, I um—"

God she sounds like a bumbling fool again, but that's what she gets out. Try, because she does not trust herself to not get extra shy and chicken out.

Erin grabs the pillow, because she has forgotten that it is now early afternoon, and presses it to her face so she can squeal at the top of her lungs.

It is.

A very long squeal. Minutes it goes. It trails off only because she's actually hit the limits of her lungs. Pillow down. Deep breath. No, deeper. Alright, let it out. Normal breath? Normal breath.

Erin flicks her fingers through her own hair; it ripples, momentarily, and then becomes visibly more human; still thick and black and lustrous, but no longer moving of its own accord.

"It uh. It shakes the water off if I don't do that and that might make your shower experience slightly aggravating," Erin explains, somehow both shy and teasing. "...Hey. Should I. Put some eyes in my sockets before I take this blindfold off?"

That one is just shy. Shy and self-aware.

It's a miracle Crabb has any blood left anywhere but her face by the time Erin's lowering the pillow again (or, for that matter, that said rush of blood to her head hasn't made her pass out or something...), though she can't help the almost goofy looking grin that the squeal earns at the same time. That's still adorable, no matter how many times it happens, and that was... so long...

"...nah, think I'd rather just see you mostly as you are, y'know?" The hair may be practical but if the eyes is purely a visual consideration...

"Yeah, purely visual. I can't put working ones in there." Erin pauses, and then: "Yet. Okay. Okay. Um. Alright."

Deeeeeeeeeep breath.

"I gotta. Take the blindfold off for this, it shouldn't get wet, so um. You. Go in first and set it up and I'll...stash this on the desk I think and then close the bathroom door behind me when I make it inside?"

(She's gonna SEE US -)

Yes thank you that is the fucking idea but also consider: she might wash our hair.

(...You drive a hard bargain Peters).

Part of her cannot believe she's really braving this, old sensibilities are still ingrained in her but they are failing constantly to win out over Erin goddamn Peters and the strange mix of embarrassment and boldness she instils in her at the same time. Despite the way her heart pounds, the way her face feels like a furnace, the way she is for the first time very aware of how little material is actually between either of them and being bare... she keeps it together and nods, riding what bravery she has to steal a quick kiss before sliding off the bed.

"A-Alright, yeah. I can do that."

With that, she heads through to the bathroom, trying to shake off the worst of the fluster so she can think clearly. (God this is actually happening, how on Earth is this happening...)

She debates for a solid few seconds the pros and cons of getting wet while dressed to get the shower going before getting undressed before deciding she's being goddamned stupid and just... bites the bullet. Breathes deep, strips off her top, pants and underwear and goes about getting set up. And, see, it's not as if she hasn't stripped down in her own cabin bathroom before but she feels barer than ever just by nature of knowing she's not alone.

...scrambled as she is, the most obvious thing the lack of blindfold means has yet to catch up with her.

That kiss! Erin can't even return it properly; she makes a tiny Noise and her hand flutters to her lips for a moment.

(God we really are still fucking fifteen aren't we.)

Deep breaths. Erin decides to start small; these are the good socks, they can't get wet either. She heads over to the desk, gets them off, lays them down all nice and neat. Her hands go to where her blindfold is tied, and hesitate. Then it, too, gets untied, and Erin's world is cast into darkness.

She lets out a low whistle and puts the room's layout in her mind. Set down the blindfold, right there - yeah, we can feel the socks, alright. Whistle again. Erin follows the sound of Crabb's breathing, hoping the sound of the shower going on will help on the way, steps careful. She knows how to navigate blind, but...

Oh how her heart is racing. How aware she is that the flimsy protection of her pajamas is about to not be there, that she's going to be seen...

But Crabb doesn't want a display piece. It's okay. It's fine. It's gonna be okay.

(We're allowed to be hot, you know.)

|Spring sayeth: to bloom anew, make peace with what you are.|

I'm trying! This is me trying! This is me trying very hard!

Into the bathroom. Door closed carefully behind herself, because otherwise all the heat is going to run out. Erin's now-tame hair has fallen in front of her face, thick and messy and slick with sweat.

"...This might be...a bit...touch and go." Her hands go to the bottom of her tank top. Hesitate.

With a frustrated growl Erin rips the top off so fast that she actually rips it, the well-worn top tearing in a long jag from the bottom up through several of the small pre-existing holes in it in and finally leaving this vale of tears as it has longed to for so many long years.

"...Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

Crabb has to take a deep breath of her own when she hears the door click shut, announcing Erin's actually here. It was already just the two of them, of course, but something about the extra door between them and the rest of the ship, the smaller space, makes this feel... different, even disregarding clothes and lack thereof.

She has to resist the urge to cover herself. No one has ever seen her like this and... well.

A few things hit Crabb at once, as she watches Erin standing there, literally ripping her shirt off. One: the realisation that without the blindfold on, Erin can't see a single goddamned thing, let alone her. Two: the urge to laugh at the unfortunate fate of the tank top and Erin's reaction to it. Three: the fact that she can very much still see Erin and Erin is now standing there topless and oh God she is—

She does a goddamned 360 turn, dragging her hands down her burning face before forcing herself to stand still and stop hiding. From peeking between fingers to forcing her lingering hand down entirely.

"...Erin," is all that makes it out of her mouth, tinted with laughter and strained lightly by sheepishness and so, so fond. "What'd that poor shirt ever do to you, eh?"

"Well just now it abandoned me in my hour of need! I'm not going back to my room with the girls running loose!"

There's a shape to Erin; lean but firm, thin layers of fat over muscle. The tattoos that begin on her arms run rampant across her skin, musical notes parading across stanzas that can't seem to pick one place to just be. When Erin sheds her sweatpants far more carefully it becomes clear that they go from wrist to ankle and might be Anywhere between.

Deep breath. Erin laces her own fingers together and tries a big stretch to center herself.

"If it's uh, any help this would be pretty intimate at home too. Not like, just by my standards but in general."

She's nervous too.

"Y-Yeah uh, yeah that— that helps." Crabb exhales long and slow through her nose. There is relief in not being able to feel like she's the only one of them nervous about this. She rubs at her neck, other arm crossing over her chest, hand hooked into the other elbow.

She both feels intensely shy, like she shouldn't be looking, and yet there's no stopping the way her eyes follow the winding paths of the tattoos. Somehow that feels a little less... impolite, a little less like leering, but it comes with the entirely new problem that she finds herself imagining tracing her fingers along the lines of music. God.

"K-Kinda uh. Kinda funny, really; was stood here feeling all conscious of the fact no one's ever really... I ain't..." Inhale, exhale. She laughs, a little. "Just— it took me until you stepped in here to realise you can't even see me right now, see, so."

In some ways maybe that's a relief for now, one part of this she doesn't have to worry about, but... anyway, Crabb takes another breath.

"Anyway. After, you can borrow something of mine, yeah? Might be shorter but I'm broader, something'll fit."

"Borrow, you say, like the stolen girlfriend shirt isn't a sacred tradition. C'mon, get the water going before I lose my nerve and start trying to cover up. I wanna wash you -"

The redness comes back full force. "Ifthatsoundsgood."

A mostly-formed joking argument that she wouldn't know about any such sacred tradition, would she, dies in the back of her throat and her voice goes up a solid octave or two when she gets out, "Y-Yeah, yeah that sounds uh— good. Lemme— lemme uh. Yeah."

God, at least they're both fumbling right now... with that, she turns around and actually gets the water running.

Erin is. Much quieter without those boots on. She gently lays a hand on Crabb's back, just between her shoulders, and speaks softly.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Erin murmurs. "About this or...anything, actually. And before you start in on me what I'm meaning is like...if anything's ever too much there's no sunk cost, yeah? I can and will stop at your slightest word. Whether it's shower or cuddles or drinking or even, y'know, biting time. You won't hear a word of judgement out of me."

Crabb shivers a little at the touch—there's been so much touch lately, but it's all been hands and faces or through clothes, not like this. She adjusts the water a little to buy herself a second, then turns around. Reaches up to stroke Erin's cheek because that's familiar and it keeps her from getting caught up on how close they're stood now.

"...I know." Low, soft, steady. "Don't worry, Erin, I know. M'nervous but I'm alright, right now. Gets too much and I'll say. Promise."

"Glorious," Erin murmurs warmly. "For now we must face the mortifying ordeal of figuring out if we have even remotely similar water temperature preferences."

She sticks her tongue out, playfully. Takes Crabb's wrist and strokes the back of her girlfriend's hand for a moment. "...I know why I don't like being seen, but I have to admit I'm a bit lost on why you wouldn't want to be, aside from...you know, the general deal with where you're from. Men's loungewear was a hell of a look on you."

Crabb chuckles a little, and Erin can probably feel some of the nervous tension loosen by the way her arm relaxes. "Sure we'll figure out a compromise, one way or another."

Then she sighs, quietly, shrugging one shoulder—though she can't not smile at the compliment, even if Erin can't see it right now. "General deal is kinda most of it, I guess. Back home we just don't show a lot of skin, y'know? And I'm comfortable like that. Don't even like short sleeves on anything, really. Add in the rest of the baggage around when it's appropriate to go to bed with someone and... yeah, I dunno. Mix of things, just adds up."

"...Crabb, love, flame of my heart, my fierce flower, are you telling me that my habit of layered short-sleeve shirts has been a scandalous temptation to you this entire time?" Erin laughs, light and pretty. "...It's been odd for me. I went through a lot to have these tattoos to show off but there're days I really could just wrap up in robes and live my best wizard life. But, eh. I bled for these, and I do like 'em."

Erin reaches out and tests the water with her wrist. A little smile breaks on her lips. Not too far off; a promising sign for the future, maybe? She'll need to ask Johnny how the living arrangements have been on his end.

"Mmmaybe a little bit of a temptation. Now, if it were bare shoulders..." is she teasing? Yes. Is she joking? Debatable. Either way her own smile only grows with Erin's laughter. "...I like 'em too, more so even for bein' something you actually wanted."

She still kind of wants to reach out and touch, follow the music, but the question doesn't quite make it past the back of her throat. Still shy, about all this at least.

Erin takes a deep breath and steps into the shower. It's a little bit to avoid answering when she's not sure what to say...

...But also they really should use this before the water gets cold. The water just passed through her gunpowder without touching it, and Erin makes this Sound of pleasure when it hits her. That's the good shit.

She offers a hand out to Crabb with a shit-eating grin. "The power to close the curtain awaits."

Oh well that sound is just unfair, frankly. Crabb swallows, hard, far too aware once again of how close the quarters are going to be, but then she just rolls her eyes fondly and after a quiet, deep breath, takes the hand and actually steps into the shower and under the water with her.

There's another breath released as she does, more a sound of relaxing, this time, than of steadying herself. Then, finally, she closes the curtain between them and the rest of the room. If it felt like they were cut off from the rest of the ship already, well, it only feels more so now.

"There."

"Well, I'm not taking a guess at where the body wash and shampoo is, love." Erin follows the tease by kissing Crabb's forehead fondly; it's all she can do to resist the urge to just hug and see if the extreme contact lets her get over her bullshit. Instead she takes just the smallest step back to give her love room to work with, space to set the pace.

The chewing on her own lip this time does not seem like the unsure hesitation it traditionally has been to date.

"What, you don't wanna go knockin' it all over the place by accident?" Tease, tease. The forehead kiss does seem to help her relax a little more, though so does the tiny little step to give her chance to figure this out.

Wherever the line ends up, here, it's going to be more skin contact than she's dealt in... ever, really. She doesn't know if it's better to just bite the bullet or ease into it all or... what. God help her, one day she'll be used to all of this...

Deep breath. All the soap and otherwise is on the little metal racks on the wall beside the shower itself, so when she finally just goes for something it's sidling up close enough to reach past her to grab them. Close enough that contact's inevitable.

"Making it hard for a girl to keep her hands to herself," Erin teases, right in Crabb's ear. She gives Crabb a little kiss there, on the shell of her ear, heart racing a mile a minute. Face red and excited, hair plastered against her neck and cheeks.

(We're not ready we're not READY -)

I'm not sure we're ever gonna be ready, me. We can feel this out.

Crabb's breath catches (the voice in her ear, the tickle of breath, the little kiss) before releasing with what sounds suspiciously like a breathless Jesus Christ. Between that and the way reaching past her like this forces faint brushes of skin-to-skin... God help her.

So you can imagine how surprised she is at herself when she somehow manages to hit back with, "Am I supposed to want you to?" as she settles back in front of her, one hand now holding the bottles she was reaching for but the other reaching to brush some of that hair back.

A delicate hand, right on Crabb's chest. Erin squeezes gently, almost purring in her girl's ear. Those sharp teeth nip Crabb, tugging gently.

"You're supposed to hand me the soap and the washcloth so I can clean you, my fierce flower."

Oh she did not think through the consequences of her own flirtation, did she, not that they are consequences she's complaining about but oh, wow, the noise that comes from Crabb's throat at that is close to a whine.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip for a moment. Her face is so very flushed.

"R-Right. Yeah. Um. H-Here." And she passes the stuff over far more clumsily than she means to, but at least without dropping it.

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