Octavia Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
okteiviakom) wrote2024-05-09 11:53 am
okteiviakom) wrote2024-05-09 11:53 am
Entry tags:
An Island Somewhere Off the Coast, Thursday
Wednesday had made it two weeks that Octavia, Duke and Lucifer had been out at sea on the OceaNyx. Things on Fandom had gone back to normal, according to Eric's texts on Tuesday, but they were still out here.
Octavia was pretty sure everyone agreed that their second week had been much worse than the first. What she wasn't sure about was whether the others were finding being on the boat to have gotten as suffocating now as she was. The only times she felt like she could really breathe was when they docked at one of the random islands.
Like at this one, right now.
She was sitting at what could charitably be referred to as a tiny stretch of beach, her shoes off, just her toes in the water. It was a grounding, sensory thing.
There had been such little room for screaming in the past week.
[ooc: NFB due to distance, open to the guys and for texts/calls.]
Octavia was pretty sure everyone agreed that their second week had been much worse than the first. What she wasn't sure about was whether the others were finding being on the boat to have gotten as suffocating now as she was. The only times she felt like she could really breathe was when they docked at one of the random islands.
Like at this one, right now.
She was sitting at what could charitably be referred to as a tiny stretch of beach, her shoes off, just her toes in the water. It was a grounding, sensory thing.
There had been such little room for screaming in the past week.
[ooc: NFB due to distance, open to the guys and for texts/calls.]
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"I'm working on it," he said.
The trouble he had now wasn't flashy. There'd be no way of knowing when it went away other than to try touching Octavia skin to skin, which he wasn't going to purposefully do any time soon.
But something was unknotting inside Duke. And he could hope.
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And then down at Duke's gloved hand, still just barely in hers.
She let the shoes fall on the ground next to her, just so she could hold his hand with both of hers. A quiet, almost reverent thing, just for her, feeling muscle and the outlines of bone through the fabric. Knuckles and joints.
Him.
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Not touching either of them hadn't been easy on him either.
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It was necessary.
(Oh, Lucifer had missed him, and the irritatingly lovely scent of salt in his hair.)
So he just stood there for a while. Soaking it up.