[ he can't know that with any certainty. he can't, but his belief is so unflinchingly solid that she grasps for it to keep herself afloat. it's merely another way in which he embodies the sea for her, a calm and peaceful presence that lulls her. maybe that, too, is a hazard to her heart — his easy ability to find the words she needs to hear, how gracefully he inspires faith in him — but it's a steadiness she aches for.
the curl to her smile is shy, a glimpse of light being coaxed out of the shadow of her mood. ]
You're only saying that because you love terrible ideas.
[ she might be the worst of them yet, but nikolai hasn't so much as flinched in the face of every tarnish and mark she's hastily exposed — like ripping off a bandage and praying for only a quick sting — no matter the grotesqueness of it, or the size of it. she doesn't know what to do with that — the safety in knowing he won't shy from the ugly, broken pieces that are sometimes too sharp to hold. the intimacy of his eyes on her, now, like he's taking in all of her. truly paying attention.
this close, it's impossible to miss the harsh bobbing of her throat as she swallows. the flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks as she watches the glide of his mouth against her own, gentle and inviting. she can only offer a nod that's a moot point, anyway, when the caress of her mouth is answer enough — a teasing whisper at one corner of his own, and then the other, before she captures it. it's soft, yielding, more like a ripple of wings — there and gone each time they meet.
and nothing like the fingers that have twisted themselves tightly in the collar of his shirt, that slide upward to cup the sharp line of his jaw only to cradle his face, skate down his chest before she fits her own body flush against him, curl around the nape of his neck to hold him steady as she gently parts his lips with a swipe of her tongue — uncertain of where to linger, now that she's been allowed to touch him outside of a distant, unreachable daydream. ]
no subject
the curl to her smile is shy, a glimpse of light being coaxed out of the shadow of her mood. ]
You're only saying that because you love terrible ideas.
[ she might be the worst of them yet, but nikolai hasn't so much as flinched in the face of every tarnish and mark she's hastily exposed — like ripping off a bandage and praying for only a quick sting — no matter the grotesqueness of it, or the size of it. she doesn't know what to do with that — the safety in knowing he won't shy from the ugly, broken pieces that are sometimes too sharp to hold. the intimacy of his eyes on her, now, like he's taking in all of her. truly paying attention.
this close, it's impossible to miss the harsh bobbing of her throat as she swallows. the flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks as she watches the glide of his mouth against her own, gentle and inviting. she can only offer a nod that's a moot point, anyway, when the caress of her mouth is answer enough — a teasing whisper at one corner of his own, and then the other, before she captures it. it's soft, yielding, more like a ripple of wings — there and gone each time they meet.
and nothing like the fingers that have twisted themselves tightly in the collar of his shirt, that slide upward to cup the sharp line of his jaw only to cradle his face, skate down his chest before she fits her own body flush against him, curl around the nape of his neck to hold him steady as she gently parts his lips with a swipe of her tongue — uncertain of where to linger, now that she's been allowed to touch him outside of a distant, unreachable daydream. ]