Ships Adrift in a Strong Tide

Romantic Kiss

Snow whirled through frozen air, soft flakes and powder from what had freshly fallen to the ground swept up in curling wind.

Damian watched the scenic display through the glass walls of the greenhouse on the grounds of Wayne Manor, two mugs of tea warming his numb fingers painfully. To be nestled in the warmth of the heated greenhouse while so closely watching the snow dissolve into the wind felt a bit odd, and he wondered if it was how Mar’i felt on cold days such as these. Her body heated itself, thanks to her Tamaranean solar abilities, which must have given her the detached, awed feeling he was experiencing now.

He stowed the thought in his mind for later reflection when a burst of dark hair and golden fingers pushing it back appeared between two rows of vibrant green.

Adjusting the mugs of tea in his grip, Damian padded over to where she was, the foreign, dark earth that covered this part of the greenhouse soft beneath his boots and quieting his approach.

“Mar’i,” he muttered as he closed the distance between them. The space was quiet and warm, sounds dampened by the rich Tamaranean soil and punctuated by the low, out of place whistle of wind against the glass walls. It made the quiet murmur of her name on his lips seem impossibly intimate, the caress of the syllables on his tongue reminiscent of the caress of her body against his hands.

She turned quickly, pleasantly startled, solid green eyes widened and soft, purple lips curved into a smile. “Damian,” she greeted, the softness of his name on her lips, along with the quiet tinkle of laughter in the back of her throat, making his face heat up.

“It’s warm in here,” he said without thinking. “That is, I brought a warm beverage, but it hardly seems necessary now.”

She floated slightly until she was high enough off the ground to stretch her legs out and stand. Stretching her back and her arms languidly, similar to a cat, Damian thought, she shook her head. “Maybe it’s not not necessary, but it certainly is appreciated.” She held out an arm, fingers curled slightly and prepared to cradle a mug.

He passed her one—they both liked their tea black, so it didn’t matter which—and she cupped it with both hands and lifted it to her lips.

“It’s very hot—” he warned, but his words went unnoticed by the half-Tamaranean who sipped heartily at the steaming liquid.

“Mmm,” she hummed, pleased, and she pulled the mug against her chest. “Thanks!”

“Of course.” He tipped his own mug against his lips, taking a careful sip, but the water was still much too hot for comfortable consumption and he burned the tip of his tongue. Grunting, he kneeled to place the mug on one of the stones set against the soil meant to act as a path.

The plant in front of him, a flower whose petals curled delicately at the pointed tips and whose leaves hung in spiraling ringlets, caught his attention.

“What sort of plant is this?” Damian asked, tilting his head at the plant.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised at his interest. “That’s a virubla flower. It’s a shame it’s so cloudy—they hum when moonlight touches them. The petals glow when it gets dark, too.”

“Hm. I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“Lots of Tamaranean plants are luminescent, but the virubla is my favorite.” Excited, Mar’i pushed herself into the air, landing nimbly next to Damian and narrowly avoiding spilling her tea which she still held in one hand.

The virubla flowers sprouted among a dense netting of their own spiraling leaves, the vibrant petals poking through a blanket of dark green. Gingerly, she plucked a small, bright blue flower and held it between herself and Damian.

“Sniff,” she instructed, her eyelashes brushing against her brow bone as she looked up at him.

He eyed her carefully before bowing his head and inhaling.

“Describe the scent,” she encouraged, adjusting the flower in her fingers so the tips of the petals curled between them.

“Odd. It smells of jasmine and sword polish and… sand.” Meeting her gaze, he wrapped his fingers around the wrist of the hand holding the flower and tugged her closer under the guise of looking at the blossom more closely.

“The virubla flower mimics scents that are pleasing to whoever inhales it.”

“Interesting. What sorts of things do you smell?”

He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her top and bottom eyelashes curling against each other and her chest rising as she inhaled, chin tipping upward as she contemplated the scent.

“I smell zorkaberries, and vanilla, and the ocean.” Her eyes fluttered open, a smile on her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Slightly embarrassed, Damian dropped his gaze to the flower curling over Mar’i’s fingers and he lifted it gently out of her palm. Wordlessly, he placed the short end of the stem she’d snapped off among her own curls, tucking it in place.

With the hand not holding her mug of tea, she tugged him closer by the fabric of his sweatshirt.

Her lips tasted like tea, and as her hair brushed against his cheek, he caught the scent of the virubla flower. It was a sensory overload, and all thoughts outside of kissing went hazy. He crushed her against him eagerly.

They were both startled out of their daze at the sound of liquid slapping against stone. Distracted by the kiss, Mar’i had let her hand go limp and tea spilled out of the mug.

“Sorry,” she said, laughing nervously. “Anyway, do you want to see some more flowers? There’s a kind that Tamaraneans use for tea. It’s sweet, so I don’t know how much you’d like it.”

Rolling his eyes, he plucked the mug out of her hands. “Show me,” he said, taking a shallow sip of what was left.

A wide grin lit up Mar’i’s features. “Okay!” Winding her fingers through his, she began pulling him to the next row of plants.