[ he can't help his despairing smile or the way his arms readily encircle her when she lowers herself into his lap. he feels powerless against so many things as of late, and this is simply another one — her warmth, her soft touch, the lilt of her voice, all of it makes the rapid pace of his heart feel like entirely too much, his breath quickening in response. would it be easier if she was someone he could never love? he always thought that sounded like the worst fate, marrying a stranger and putting on a show for the rest of his life, but perhaps he's even more ignorant to matters of the heart than he gave himself credit for. ]
And after all the time I spent fixing your dress, now you don't want to go back?
[ soft lips brush his cheek, and he turns into them, catching her mouth in a gentle kiss as his hand trails down her collar, past the stag's antlers and down to the center of her chest. nothing about any of this has been wise, and sometimes he wonders what would have been if he'd never come back at all, if he'd lost himself completely to the monster and nikolai lantsov ceased to exist. would ravka be better off without his endless ambition and relentless drive for change? would someone else have stepped up to fill his absence better than he ever could?
he tires of the questions and the constant wondering. his mind has always worked like a ceaselessly hyperactive machine, and for the most part he's comfortable with it, but then there are moments like these that he wishes he could just stop. stop thinking. stop wondering. stop obsessively picking apart his failures. when he kisses alina it feels like a reprieve, however unwise and fleeting, but he chases after the feeling regardless, his hand roaming to pull at the sash he just placed on her minutes ago. now it's just in the way. ]
Are you saying we should go missing like a pair of misbehaving rogues? With the way you keep trying to get out of things, I'd say you were born to be my queen.
[ he pulls her close, his back coming to rest against a shelf as he ends up on the floor again. saints, he shouldn't, but there isn't a moment that goes by that he doesn't want her, no matter what he says. his hand cradles her cheek, kissing her languidly, his head resting against a collection of leather spines. the silken fabric pools between them when he finally gets the sash off, and he pauses mid-kiss, his eyes opening to suddenly gaze into hers. ]
Don't go tomorrow. Don't go to him. Alina, I — [ he swallows, his hand sliding softly into her hair. ] I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. If you want to be partners in this, then let's start here. Don't go off alone. When we face him, it'll be together.
no subject
And after all the time I spent fixing your dress, now you don't want to go back?
[ soft lips brush his cheek, and he turns into them, catching her mouth in a gentle kiss as his hand trails down her collar, past the stag's antlers and down to the center of her chest. nothing about any of this has been wise, and sometimes he wonders what would have been if he'd never come back at all, if he'd lost himself completely to the monster and nikolai lantsov ceased to exist. would ravka be better off without his endless ambition and relentless drive for change? would someone else have stepped up to fill his absence better than he ever could?
he tires of the questions and the constant wondering. his mind has always worked like a ceaselessly hyperactive machine, and for the most part he's comfortable with it, but then there are moments like these that he wishes he could just stop. stop thinking. stop wondering. stop obsessively picking apart his failures. when he kisses alina it feels like a reprieve, however unwise and fleeting, but he chases after the feeling regardless, his hand roaming to pull at the sash he just placed on her minutes ago. now it's just in the way. ]
Are you saying we should go missing like a pair of misbehaving rogues? With the way you keep trying to get out of things, I'd say you were born to be my queen.
[ he pulls her close, his back coming to rest against a shelf as he ends up on the floor again. saints, he shouldn't, but there isn't a moment that goes by that he doesn't want her, no matter what he says. his hand cradles her cheek, kissing her languidly, his head resting against a collection of leather spines. the silken fabric pools between them when he finally gets the sash off, and he pauses mid-kiss, his eyes opening to suddenly gaze into hers. ]
Don't go tomorrow. Don't go to him. Alina, I — [ he swallows, his hand sliding softly into her hair. ] I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. If you want to be partners in this, then let's start here. Don't go off alone. When we face him, it'll be together.