[ Lovely. It sounds like an impossible thing, but no less impossible than the one word that comes to mind when she peers at him above her, framed by the soft spill of the morning light: tired. As if the glow of the sunrise has illuminated the blue blooms of circles beneath his eyes, the weary lines that want to etch themselves into his skin, the unkempt spill of his hair. Everything that is human about Nikolai Lantsov. Everything that doesn't belong in a pretty portrait hanging above a throne.
Maybe that's what he is. A delicate portrait — beautiful from afar, his colors bleeding apart as she comes closer. One wrong brushstroke and the entire piece unravels. Her thumb sweeps beneath his eye, as though it might erase the existence of his exhaustion. Perhaps it's only fair that she should know the shape of it beneath her fingers, the feel of it in her hands, when he holds the secret of her heartbeat beating against his palm — wild and erratic, despite the softness of his sheets at her back.
Her fingers splay over the sharp angle of his cheek before winding into his hair, twisting it around her fingers like shining, golden thread. There is something so vulnerable about him like this that she can't help but to want to hold onto it, torn between mussing him further and welcoming him to find his peace with her, if only for a little while.
(That's all that people like them can have before the world demands more: a little while.) ]
I have many secrets.
[ A joke too close to the truth. Her heartbeat spikes in response, but it can easily be blamed by the fingers tickling down her sides, the soft petaling of his mouth against her chin, her jaw, as she tips her throat with a pleased little hum in response. ]
Trying to interrogate me like this is an abuse of power, Nikolai.
[ It's his only warning before she coils her legs around the bend of his hips and shoves at his shoulders, with every intent to try to reverse their positions. Mostly, she can fnally admit to herself, because she's overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him again, and again, and perhaps again until they have to be forced apart by duties she has, in this very moment, forgotten to care about. ]
i'm gonna throttle dreamwidth for not giving me this notif >:( betrayal
Maybe that's what he is. A delicate portrait — beautiful from afar, his colors bleeding apart as she comes closer. One wrong brushstroke and the entire piece unravels. Her thumb sweeps beneath his eye, as though it might erase the existence of his exhaustion. Perhaps it's only fair that she should know the shape of it beneath her fingers, the feel of it in her hands, when he holds the secret of her heartbeat beating against his palm — wild and erratic, despite the softness of his sheets at her back.
Her fingers splay over the sharp angle of his cheek before winding into his hair, twisting it around her fingers like shining, golden thread. There is something so vulnerable about him like this that she can't help but to want to hold onto it, torn between mussing him further and welcoming him to find his peace with her, if only for a little while.
(That's all that people like them can have before the world demands more: a little while.) ]
I have many secrets.
[ A joke too close to the truth. Her heartbeat spikes in response, but it can easily be blamed by the fingers tickling down her sides, the soft petaling of his mouth against her chin, her jaw, as she tips her throat with a pleased little hum in response. ]
Trying to interrogate me like this is an abuse of power, Nikolai.
[ It's his only warning before she coils her legs around the bend of his hips and shoves at his shoulders, with every intent to try to reverse their positions. Mostly, she can fnally admit to herself, because she's overcome by the sudden urge to kiss him again, and again, and perhaps again until they have to be forced apart by duties she has, in this very moment, forgotten to care about. ]