[ yes. yes to what? yes, he's hurt? clearly. yes, he's all right? maybe he's fooled himself into thinking so. kaz babbles on about the job, about risks, about being a model businessman. things nikolai could not care less about. but then it hits him suddenly — ] You found the heart. [ and in that realization comes a frantic, crushing ache of disappointment rushing over him like a cold tide. the worst reaction he could possibly have after brekker clearly put his life on an extremely fine line to finish the job for him. but that's just it. he finished the job. there's nothing tying them together now, no more excuses to find ways to steal away moments for just the two of them. he can't put off going back to ravka now, not after the crimes he's just committed on foreign soil. never thought he'd be so devastated to return to a country he loves. he doesn't know if he'll even have the chance to sail brekker back to ketterdam or if it would be best for him to find safer passage than any ship that he's on. a flash of splintered wood comes to mind. the volkvolny will need repairs anyway, after he put a bloody hole through her.
he's so preoccupied with his thoughts that kaz's touch takes him by surprise — a good surprise, one that draws him back to the moment, grounds him here. kaz's glove is filthy. he wants to slip it off, but doesn't dare, leaning into the soft leather despite the blood, lifting his hand from his side and gently curling his own gloved fingers around the pale strip of bare skin at his wrist. i would have written. his mouth stretches to a smile for the first time in days at the thought of kaz halting the job to pen him a letter saying — what? his shoulders begin to shake, lips pressed shut in an attempt to stifle a guffaw, an attempt that wholeheartedly fails, because soon he's dissolving into peals of laughter, one hand splayed over his face. ]
What would you have written? Never throw my cane into the hallway again or I'll break your kneecaps? [ he snorts, dropping his forehead to kaz's shoulder to muffle his giggles. ] We tried to get a message to you, or at least they told me later that they did, but I knew you wouldn't read it in the slim chance that it even got to you because it wouldn't be important enough since you have my bloody seal.
[ he stops to catch his breath, his laughter dying down to something else, something that leaves his heartbeat rapid, thunderous, his throat constricting. his eyes feel suddenly wet as he turns his face into kaz's throat, his arms wrapping tight around his waist. i did think of you. words that make him feel weak, chest shuddering around a breath. what is he supposed to do with it? how is he supposed to tell kaz that this is the end, that nothing he wanted is going to happen, that he can't see that prized painting above his desk at the crow club, that he can't kiss him at sunrise in his window overlooking the harbor? kaz called him a liar in novyi zem. it was true then and it's true now, and still he doesn't want it to be. ]
I'm fine. [ he whispers it just beneath his ear, pressing his lips to the faded bruise he'd left a week ago. a lifetime ago. the only time they've ever shared a bed. he lifts his head and mimics kaz's touch, cradling his jaw, caressing his hair, and there in the middle of the hallway he presses their lips together, one arm wound firm around his waist, keeping him close despite the blood soaking his clothes. he doesn't want to let him go, doesn't ever want to let him go. for the first time doesn't ever want morning to come. never thought he'd ever want to stay lost in djerholm, in his opinion one of the worst places he's ever been to, but right now he'd do anything, give anything to live in this moment just a little longer, a few weeks more, a few days more. even a few extra hours more to be with kaz before an ocean separates them, before he has zoya make the sensible decision to confine him indefinitely until he can be sure he's no longer a danger to the people. maybe the heart will help. maybe it won't. he'll still have to find some way to live with what he's done.
slowly, gently, he breaks the kiss, drawing in a fragile breath. he already knows kaz won't see a healer. maybe not just out of sheer stubbornness this time, but because he can't right now, needing his barriers. saints, he kissed him without thinking. his grip loosens slightly, eyes widening as he searches his expression. ]
Let's go to your room. Let me tend to your wounds.
no subject
he's so preoccupied with his thoughts that kaz's touch takes him by surprise — a good surprise, one that draws him back to the moment, grounds him here. kaz's glove is filthy. he wants to slip it off, but doesn't dare, leaning into the soft leather despite the blood, lifting his hand from his side and gently curling his own gloved fingers around the pale strip of bare skin at his wrist. i would have written. his mouth stretches to a smile for the first time in days at the thought of kaz halting the job to pen him a letter saying — what? his shoulders begin to shake, lips pressed shut in an attempt to stifle a guffaw, an attempt that wholeheartedly fails, because soon he's dissolving into peals of laughter, one hand splayed over his face. ]
What would you have written? Never throw my cane into the hallway again or I'll break your kneecaps? [ he snorts, dropping his forehead to kaz's shoulder to muffle his giggles. ] We tried to get a message to you, or at least they told me later that they did, but I knew you wouldn't read it in the slim chance that it even got to you because it wouldn't be important enough since you have my bloody seal.
[ he stops to catch his breath, his laughter dying down to something else, something that leaves his heartbeat rapid, thunderous, his throat constricting. his eyes feel suddenly wet as he turns his face into kaz's throat, his arms wrapping tight around his waist. i did think of you. words that make him feel weak, chest shuddering around a breath. what is he supposed to do with it? how is he supposed to tell kaz that this is the end, that nothing he wanted is going to happen, that he can't see that prized painting above his desk at the crow club, that he can't kiss him at sunrise in his window overlooking the harbor? kaz called him a liar in novyi zem. it was true then and it's true now, and still he doesn't want it to be. ]
I'm fine. [ he whispers it just beneath his ear, pressing his lips to the faded bruise he'd left a week ago. a lifetime ago. the only time they've ever shared a bed. he lifts his head and mimics kaz's touch, cradling his jaw, caressing his hair, and there in the middle of the hallway he presses their lips together, one arm wound firm around his waist, keeping him close despite the blood soaking his clothes. he doesn't want to let him go, doesn't ever want to let him go. for the first time doesn't ever want morning to come. never thought he'd ever want to stay lost in djerholm, in his opinion one of the worst places he's ever been to, but right now he'd do anything, give anything to live in this moment just a little longer, a few weeks more, a few days more. even a few extra hours more to be with kaz before an ocean separates them, before he has zoya make the sensible decision to confine him indefinitely until he can be sure he's no longer a danger to the people. maybe the heart will help. maybe it won't. he'll still have to find some way to live with what he's done.
slowly, gently, he breaks the kiss, drawing in a fragile breath. he already knows kaz won't see a healer. maybe not just out of sheer stubbornness this time, but because he can't right now, needing his barriers. saints, he kissed him without thinking. his grip loosens slightly, eyes widening as he searches his expression. ]
Let's go to your room. Let me tend to your wounds.