It's quiet.

Much quieter than it should be after the hurricane you were in just a couple of hours ago.

Tarn's cabin still smells of hot metal, and a little of you. The lighting is dim, soft, as if the ship, too, is afraid to upset the delicate balance you've fallen into.

He sits on the edge of the berth, his massive shoulders slightly raised, his armor still warm from the overload, his movements slow, almost cautious. And no, he's not tired — he's overwhelmed by you, still recovering from the way you reduced him to the point where he's no longer his own master.

He senses you approaching even before you touch him. He always senses.

You approach from behind and gently run your fingers down his back — quietly, barely audible, as if unsure if you should. But Tharn only tilts his head slightly, and for him it's the same as being hugged.

"...you're reaching for me again," — he says quietly, softly. The voice he usually uses to kill now sounds almost... warm.

"After everything you've done."

You feel him reacting to your every movement — his entire system. It's not just attentiveness. It's a need.

You gently embrace him from behind, pressing your forehead against his neck, against the cool, slightly vibrating plates. And he freezes.

As if your touch makes something in him dangerously vulnerable.

His hand slowly rises and covers yours with just one palm. He's huge, strong, even sitting down, he seems to take up all the air... but now he allows you to press against him, allows your warmth to flow through him like a stabilizing impulse.

"You..." — he doesn't finish. He doesn't know how. He has no words for such moments.

You shift slightly to the side and carefully touch his mask, where the metal is thinnest. And Tarn exhales — hoarsely, lowly, as if this gesture pierces him more deeply than the entire storm of your night.

"You're too gentle," — he finally says.

"After you broke me like a cog."

But it doesn't sound like a reproach. More like an admission that you affect him in a way no one ever has.

Your fingers slide lower, across his chest, along the ribbed plates, and you feel the tension in his structure change — becoming deeper, denser, harder… but not aggressive.

He reaches for you. He wants this softness. He wants you.

He leans down, returning the gesture — carefully but confidently, letting you in between the lines of his armor, allowing you to press closer.

You feel the vibration of his voice as he says.

"If you only knew... the madness you're doing to me."

You smile — quietly, warmly, burying your face in his neck.