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His arms are home, his golden skin is a kiss of heat against your own, his scent a brush of ocean breeze, salty and welcoming, grounding you to the earth, like hot stone. His palms are rough against the silky smooth of your ivory skin, smelling of metal and earth, still. Tall and muscular to your tiny, lithe, form, masculine to your feminine, and at first you think he didn’t like it, you think what captured his heart is the blossoming green of your eyes, the giggle that bubbles from your mouth, and the knowledge that sometimes slips out with it.
Your fingers lace together with his own, his golden and scarred still, yours so very pale and perfect, the little flaws, the scar that you had from a bad cut when you were little, the way you would let your nails grow out, wild and untamed just like your hair, and the brown stains from the earth, all gone, your immortality taking it from you. Now you are flawless, your hands clean and fresh like a child, a newborn, your nails long and curved, your messy hair now waves of black. You almost miss it.
You hope that he will rise to your ranks, though. You hope that he will be able to stay with you, even if this does not last, though you certainly hope that it does, too. You look up at him, lips curling and cheeks growing warm on their own accord. You rock forwards, onto your tiptoes, back onto your heels, and he chuckles softly, hands squeezing. You eat up his expression, the little tilt to his lips, the way his face seems so relaxed and open despite the glasses continuing to obscure it all from you.
“Dirk,” your voice is singsong and light but still shocking in the quiet. You almost regret saying anything, breaking the peaceful silence that had fallen over you. But you feel it is the only reasonable warning for what you are about to do; you know how your boys are. You reach up and are pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t put up a fight, instead dipping his head so you may slip the glasses from his face with ease.
You feel absolutely giddy, eager to see the brilliant color that is sure to greet you. He smiles for you too, golden eyes so very warm and inviting. A hand cups your cheek, warm and rough, in his flaws you can easily find perfection, both physical and mental.
A thumb brushing over your cheek serves as your warning. His lips are as warm as the rest of him, like home, his movements purposeful and careful although still inexperienced. You realize that he’s probably put a lot of thought into this, worked it all out just as he does with his math. It’s a wonder this didn’t come for another year. You aren’t as precise as him, not even close. You throw your arms around his neck and return his careful kiss with twice as much fire. He pulls back though, forehead knocking into your own, and he laughs; it rumbles, a deep noise, not cold but warm and safe like everything else about him. Despite the embarrassed flush to your cheeks you find yourself giggling too.
The giggles die down leaving the two of you in that comfortable silence, his golden eyes locked with your own. His forehead is still pressed to yours, his hands somehow having made it to your waist. “Kiss me again,” you murmur and he smiles, eyes finally flickering down.
“Can’t say I would mind…”
You grin at him, meeting him halfway this time. He’s never kissed anyone being the last man on earth with Roxy a million miles away and you’ve never really kissed anyone either, you were stranded in the middle of the ocean too, but at one point you did kiss Davesprite though that was tiny and fleeting, barely lasting a moment. You’re messy and you keep being forced to pull away to chuckle or giggle. He grows braver, pressing a kiss to your jaw, finding the place where it meets your ear and then the spot below that, the touch making you giggle.
“That tickles!” You tell him and he hums against your skin, finally pulling away to smile at you. Another kiss is pressed to your lips, sweet and chaste and innocent, you miss feeling innocent, you miss the land where you were just a little girl and you were free to daydream of more exciting days, now you must dream of those boring days instead. Hands cup your cheeks, red by now, you’re sure, and then he lets your eyes shut before each of them are brushed, your brow, and then back to your neck.
His touch is reverent, doting, and careful, very, very, careful. But his skin still sears against your own, making your heart race and your pulse flutter beneath his lips.
Warm, warm, warm. You have grown used to the emptiness of space, the way your hands always feel too cold, your land a place of ice. You had even, at one point, grown accustomed to lukewarm gold and the mechanical hum of static. Everything is new, everything is warm and safe and so painfully like home. He is alive and bright, pulse not a hum but a rhythmic, human, beat that you never had the chance to learn, not like you should have. What you got instead was a steady rise and fall, a snuffle, and a coat of thick fur; a growl instead of a scolding, a nip instead of a spanking, a snout to guide you instead of a hand, a lick in place of a kiss.
Sometimes you think you are more animal than girl. Sometimes you think he’s more machine than human. But that isn’t times like now, with his hands so gentle with you, his warmth so unlike anything else you’ve ever known.
He pulls away and you immediately feel cold but those hands twine with your own once more, keeping you pacified. You’re honestly surprised he went that far, always so careful, everything having to be immaculate, but you aren’t complaining.
He’s like you; you both realized this long ago; both alone in the world, relying on no one but yourself and a few odd luxuries. You did have Bec, though, that is something he was not lucky enough to have, but whenever you tell him he would have loved to have a dog his response is always the same, “Had Sawtooth, that’s good enough” or even, when he’s feeling like messing with you, “I’m not a dog sort of guy, you just happen to be an exception.” You’ll giggle along with him, loving the way he smiles, even if it is only the ghost of one.
“Want to go build something?” He hums, voice that delightful rumble you love so.
“A puppy!” You chirp, grinning at him.
He snorts in response, rolling his eyes. He’s slipped his shades from your hands without you noticing and now he places them on your head, brushing against your ears. “I think one is enough.” You pout at him and he smirks, just a little twist of his lips. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Puppy-eyes and a serious crave for attention, it’s okay as long as it’s you, don’t think I could handle some little robot yapping all of the time, though.”
“Oh, so now I yap at you?”
“Women, you take everything the wrong way.” He huffs, gathering you up in a bear hug. “I will be more than happy to have you nag at me constantly. The good thing is I know you wont.”
“Maybe I will.”
“You aren’t spiteful, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your ear, the human one, and you bat him away with a giggle.
“That tickles!”
He only chuckles, leaning in again, breath warm against your skin and lips even warmer. Dirk’s arms are like home and you never want to leave again.