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Cress doesn't think she'll ever get used to kissing Thorne.
She doesn't know if it's always like this. Maybe this is just what kissing is like. After all, it's highly praised in the course of human history.
But she thinks it might be special with Thorne. Not because he's good at kissing (he is), but because she loves him.
His back is pressed against his bedroom door. They were just starting their regular bedtime routine - every day for the past month, they would walk to his bedroom together and kiss goodnight, and then Cress would walk the ten feet to her own bedroom down the hall.
Today, though, they got caught on the kiss part and just ran with it.
"I love you," Thorne says between kisses, breathy and warm on her neck. Cress's hands tighten in his hair.
She is definitely never going to get used to that.
"I bet you say that to all the girls," Cress breathes, trying to diffuse the rush of warmth that always comes at those words. Her fingers, without her permission, begin edging down to the collar of his shirt.
Thorne's hands start wandering and Cress's breath hitches in her throat.
And then they suddenly still.
Thorne kisses her once, twice more. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and for a moment, as their foreheads are pressed together, Cress sees something in Thorne's expression that sends a rush of warmth down her spine. With one hand, he deftly reaches back and opens his bedroom door.
Cress's heart pounds.
But when Thorne pulls away, he leans his arm against the doorframe, and it doesn't look like an invitation.
"I know I'm irresistible," he says, his voice light and joking, "but, please, Cress, try and control yourself. Someone will start a rumor that we're in love."
She blinks, still hazy with warmth.
Cress wants. She just - wants. But she doesn't know how to say it. Her eyes flick between Thorne and the bed she can see just through the door frame.
"Captain . . . "
Thorne doesn't even pause. He smiles brightly, kisses her quickly on the lips, and says, "'Night, Cress."
Then he closes the door.
-
Thorne releases a puff of air between his teeth. He pushes a hand through his hair, mussed through by Cress's fingers. After a moment, he hears Cress's footsteps receding to her room, and he slumps over to his bed, falling into the sheets face-forward.
It is too easy with her, like habit.
Thorne has a lot of bad habits.
He groans into the bedsheets.
-
Cress stares intently at Thorne sitting across the table from her. He's just finishing his breakfast - one of the meal packs they have stacked in the mess hall. Her own plate is already empty.
She tries to find the admission in his expression. The hint of some hidden secret.
Carswell Thorne may be good at hiding things, but Cress is just as good at finding them out. Does he regret telling her he loves her? Does he wish he hadn't brought her along?
Maybe he just doesn't want her.
Her eyes fall from Thorne, pinning to her plate. It makes sense. Cress is everything that Thorne has never gone for. She thinks of Iko, with her beautiful skin and long legs and perfect curves. Thorne had obviously been attracted to her. Cress is too . . . Cress. Thorne is all handsomeness and savvy, and he's used to girls that are most definitely not Cress.
"Cress?"
She jolts, her eyes flying back to Thorne. He's mid-bite, his brow folded in concern, his blue eyes wide on hers.
"Yes, Captain?"
At the melancholy she couldn't quite scrub from her voice, Thorne's brow lowers another half-inch. "What's wrong?"
And he says it in this voice. This voice that is a little nervous and worried and all exposed and it makes Cress melt like an ice cube in the desert. She shakes herself out of it. Now is definitely not the time to be hyperanalyzing their relationship.
"I'm just a little worried about the snow," she says, infusing her voice with truth. "I've never really seen it before. Won't it be cold?"
This is partially true. They're only a few hours away from the European continent, where it's been winter for months. Supposedly, they'd land somewhere in England to twelve inches of snow.
Thorne seems relieved. "Don't worry," he says, winking, "I'll keep you warm."
-
Snow is a miracle.
Cress gasps aloud the second they step out of the Rampian and into a flurry of white coming down from the sky. She grips Thorne's arm and pulls him along as she runs down the ramp.
"Woah, cool your jets, Cress!" But Thorne is laughing.
It is cold, but Cress finds that it s actually warmer than the rain they saw in the American Republic a few weeks ago. The snow - it's so hard to describe. All softness, like dandelion fluff but in cold little flurries that catch on her hair and eyelashes. The way it moves through the air - like it's alive.
"Stars, Captain!" Cress gasps, turning on the spot to take in the entire landscape.
She takes several steps forward, amazed at the way the snow crunches under her boots, and the way the air itself seems to muffle the sound. She's never seen anything like it.
She turns around to face Thorne, still reeling. Thorne's hands are tucked behind his back, and innocent smile on his face.
Then he throws something at her. Cress, not even kind of expecting it, doesn't move, and the snowball hits her in her left shoulder with surprising force.
Cress squeals and nearly falls backwards as she scrambles away.
"Captain!" she admonishes, still laughing, but before she can even get her bearings, another snow ball hits her in the stomach, bursting into powder on her jacket.
Hurriedly, Cress tries to form a snowball of her own. She's seen and read a lot about them, so she has the theory down, but the snow is harder to compact than she thought it would be. When she finally gets something cohesive, she stands straight, aiming for Thorne -
But he's not there.
She swivels, already on the alert, the half-snowball in her palm.
"Captain?" Cress says tentatively after a moment of tense silence.
Then Thorne, popping up from seemingly no where, tackles her into the bank of snow.
It knocks the breath out of Cress's lungs, but the snow is so deep that is doesn't hurt. Like a cold, soft mattress.
Thorne props himself up on his hands over Cress, his cheeks red with the cold.
"Gotcha," he grins.
Thorne leans in close. Cress feels the remnants of the snowball fall apart in her hand.
"Why, Captain, are you seducing me?" she asked, semi-hopeful. If he is, it's working.
Thorne snorts. He offers a hand and helps her stand.
"In your dreams, space-girl," he replies, pulling her closer to him as they walk, and brushing the snow from her back, "If I were seducing you, you would definitely know by now."
After they unload the batch of Letumosis antidotes with the help of the doctors at the clinic, Cress's favorite part of their adventures begins: free time, or, as Thorne puts it, "A world tour with the best travel guide ever."
Today, Thorne is taking her ice-skating.
She has seen ice skating on net dramas, of course. Several of her fantasies had revolved around a romantic ice skating date with some tall, unnamed stranger.
When faced with actual ice skating, however, Cress finds herself woefully lacking.
"You are so awful at this," Thorne says with a wheeze as she latches in to his jacket.
"It's so slippery!" Cress hisses, nearly falling on her butt. Again.
Thorne laughs and Cress levels a glare at him, but there's no real venom in it. "Here," he offers between snickers, presenting his left arm. Cress grips on to it tightly.
Even with Thorne by her side, Cress barely survives the ordeal. One time, she nearly collides with two much more able kids, but Thorne helps her brake fast enough. In a way, it is what she imagined - they stay close together the entire time, always touching.
And, stars, Thorne looks good in the snow.
They walk back to the Rampian in a comfortable quiet, taking in the new snow that had fallen since they landed. Cress thinks about what happened last night, and her over analyzing this morning - after today, how could she think anything is wrong?
Once they're in view of the ship, Cress pauses and turns to look at Thorne. Attempt #2.
"I'm cold," she says. She tugs at his jacket collar. "I thought you promised to warm me up."
She smiles at him in what she hopes is a mimic of his knowing smirk.
Thorne chuckles. He takes her gloved hands in his, and some heat actually does seep into her fingertips.
"I did say that, didn't I?" he answers, his tone thoughtful. "Pretty stupid of me to take you ice skating, then."
"Very stupid," Cress agrees, and their kiss does warm her down to her toes. Thorne is the first to pull away.
Cress sees the same strange look in Thorne's expression that she saw last night. Something strikingly intense and exposed. Cress examines him intently.
Something - guilty.
Half a second later, the look is replaced with a suggestive, easy grin.
"Warm enough?"
Cress tries to laugh, pulling her hat down over her ears.
Their next kiss is short. Cress goes to bed with worry in her chest.
-
You know, thinking of your girlfriend's dead father's last wish really helps keep goodnight kisses in check.
-
That night, Cress spends twenty minutes working up her resolve until she’s able to open her door. She spends three more minutes just staring at Thorne’s bedroom door, talking herself out and back in to it.
Finally, she raises her hand and knocks on his door.
He doesn’t respond, the first time. He’s probably sleeping, she tells herself, taking it as a sign from the universe that this is definitely not a good idea. She shakes her head at herself, resigned to going back to her room.
Then, Thorne opens the door.
He must have been asleep, but it couldn’t’ve been for long. Still, his hair is delightfully messy, his vision unfocused, and his shirt very much missing.
This is almost enough to talk Cress back into her plan, just on its own. She steels her resolve, standing up taller.
"Cress?" he asks blearily, "what's up?"
A beat of silence.
Then, Cress launches herself at him.
Startled, it takes a moment for Thorne to respond. He makes a surprised sort of muffled exclamation. She kisses him fiercely, and, aces, he is taller than she thought. She didn't realize how much he leans down to kiss her.
After a few agonizing seconds, Thorne stumbles back, buckling a little at the knee, and starts kissing her back.
"Hey, Cress," he breathes shakily.
"Hmm?" Cress murmurs into his skin.
"What are you doing?" he asks, gruff and warm and lovely.
"I don't know what you mean," she answers, moving her lips back to his.
Thorne mumbles something that is lost in the warmth.
Cress isn't exactly sure how, but two minutes later, they're on Thorne's bed, half-lying down. She wants to infuse everything into him - all of the confusion and ache and worry -
Why doesn't he want her?
Why did Cress have to push him to this? If she were anyone else, Thorne would have been the one to take it this far. What's the matter with her?
Will she always be such a disappointment to him?
Thorne stops when his thumbs meet warm tears on her cheeks.
Abruptly, he pulls away.
"What's wrong?" he asks furtively, "Did I do something?"
Cress huffs, upset that she ruined it when they were finally getting somewhere. She sits up, not bothering to pull the skirt of her dress back over her thighs. She can't look him in the eyes. She's grateful that it's so dark that Thorne probably can't see the redness in her face.
"Cress?" Thorne pleads, "I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."
"No," Cress sighs, tugging at her hair like it will be able to protect her, "you're not, Captain. You didn't do anything - wr-wrong."
She cinches her jaw tightly, upset that her voice is so shaky with emotion. She can feel the confusion coming off Thorne in waves.
"What's wrong?" he repeats. "Cress, please, talk to me."
Oh, no, she's going to have to say it aloud. She scrunches up her face, feeling like crying again.
"It's just," Cress says weakly, dying of confusion and anger and embarrassment, "I know I'm not. What you're used to. You. You have so much - experience."
Cross covers her burning face with her hands.
"What are you talking about?" Thorne asks, trying to pull her hands away.
Finally, she lets her hands fall. And there is Thorne, worried, handsome, suave Thorne, looking so beautiful it makes her chest ache, and it drives the point home. They're nowhere near on the same level.
"I've never - I don't - you're just - " Cress sniffs, trying to find the words.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Thorne soothes. He still seems on-edge.
She takes in a deep breath.
"Okay, so, I've never - done this, before. I've never been -" her cheeks are burning - "in a relationship, before. But I thought you would want - I thought you - you've probably been with so many people, and you're you, so I thought you would have tried to, uhm."
This is much worse than she thought it would be. Vaguely, she gestures to everything - the rumpled bed, her askew dress. What can she say that won't sound terrible?
Two seconds of silence. Then, Thorne says, "Oh."
And Cress knows he knows what she's talking about. Cress folds her arms tightly, tears stinging her eyes.
"But you haven't. It's okay if you d-don't want me like that. I understand, Thorne."
Cress expects Thorne to laugh. She hopes that he will laugh because the idea of not wanting her is so ridiculous to him, but she figures he’ll probably laugh because what she’s saying is so obvious. Either way, she expects him to laugh.
He doesn’t.
Slowly, hesitantly, Thorne presses his palm to her cheek.
"Look, Cress,” he breathes, “I want to do this right. Take our time. I've tried the other way, and, if you haven't noticed, it's never worked out. It's too much of a risk to rush into everything."
Thorne looks guilty. "I didn't think you'd noticed, though." He sighs. "I don't know what the normal timeline for a relationship is. I don’t know how not to rush into everything. I never wanted to make you feel like I had - expectations, or whatever. Like I thought you owed me something.”
He shifts further away from her, the mattress shaking slightly.
“I’m trying to be different, Cress,” he says, soft and strained as a confessional. “I want to be better.”
Cress’s heart melts.
“What if I don’t want you to be better?” she asks defiantly, “What if I want you to rush things?”
She crosses the space Thorne had put between them, satisfied when his eyes linger on her legs, exposed by the movement. She - she loves him, and this is what happens when you love someone. Recklessly, she takes his hand and brings it up to her shoulder, helping him push down the remaining fabric.
But Thorne simply raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her.
"Is that really what you want?"
Cress startles at this question. She releases Thorne’s hand, and he deftly pushes her hair out of her face.
She - hadn't really thought about it.
Cress wants things. But she isn't sure if she wants them right now, right here. She suddenly realizes with a pang of self-loathing that what she wanted was to be wanted by Thorne. Now that she knows Thorne does want her, the idea of sleeping with him, while appealing, is a little bit - scary. Scarier than it should be.
"I don't think so," Cress finally confesses, "Not right now. I'm sorry."
Thorne kisses her forehead. "I'm not."
Her body slumps in relief. She didn’t realize how tense she was. But it feels like a burden has just been taken off her back, and she can finally sit up straight.
Thorne wants her. But there’s no rush.
They have time.
She takes a hold of his shoulders and pulls him in for a real kiss, falling into that same dizzy sensation. She takes a deep breath, her hands still on the back of his neck.
"I love you, Thorne."
Thorne smiles, that half-smile that drives Cress crazy. "I bet you say that to all the boys."
-
Thorne isn’t used to sleeping with girls. He’s used to having sex with them. But not, so much, this.
Cress talks in her sleep. Won’t shut up, really. She also steals the blankets (what is such a small girl planning to do with all of them?) and is surprisingly handsy.
But half of the time, she’s talking about him, and Thorne doesn’t really notice the blanket hogging because the handsiness means they’re never far apart. So Thorne wraps himself in Cress, allowing their legs to tangle together and they just are, with deep breaths and sleep and soft.
And Thorne finds that this is easy, too.