[ Out of every mask he has worn — and she has witnessed many, from Sturmhond's smugness to Nikolai's unwavering determination — the devious glint to his eyes feels, by far, the most familiar. More and more often, she catches herself wondering which face is the truest — or if they are all pieces of himself given in piecemeal parts, sections that form a greater portrait of him when locked together.
Whatever the case, she knows that territory comes with trouble. While the brush of his hand smoothing over stray wisps that had fallen into her line of vision has coaxed her (like a spooked horse, she thinks to herself with a muted scoff) into relaxing into his ridiculously fluffy pillows, her eyes still squint with feigned skepticism.
And, beneath that act, a questioning sort of curiosity that flares inside of her. Carefully, she locks her fingers around his wrist, a clasping bracelet that holds his hand steady. It is tempting to tear her gaze from his watching eyes, but she doesn't dare waver as she takes the tip of his finger in her mouth, licking the almost too-sweet taste of golden apple away with a slow swipe of her tongue and a deliberate graze of teeth. As if to prove she can match him in any game he offers.
She releases him with a wet pop, lifting both eyebrows as she drawls, ] If that was your way of testing to see if I've poisoned you, we're both doomed.
[ there's something about the way alina looks at him that makes him feel as though she's constantly trying to understand some contradictory thing about him — why he's one way here and another way there, perhaps, but he's been this way for as long as he can remember. a mischievous child always getting into trouble, until he met dominik and realized for the first time that his rash choices could have dire consequences. from then on he's always tried to do better, to adjust and to adapt to every situation, to say and do the things he knows he has to in order to reach his desired outcome, whether it's protecting someone or gaining the upper hand or trying to fill ravka's depleted coffers.
it isn't fabricating a part of himself. it's simply the way his mind works, the way he sees the world, the way he navigates it. some may call it lying or deception. nikolai doesn't call it anything at all.
the pounding in his skull is mostly forgotten, relegated to the back of his mind to make room for more pressing thoughts, like the warmth of alina's tongue and the unmistakable bite of her teeth. the cloying taste of sweet apple sticks in his mouth, although he doesn't mind it, because he knows alina's mouth, should he taste it in this moment, would hold the same flavored notes. he wants to kiss her apple-sweet lips, but doesn't want her to think that that is the sole reason he invited her into his bed, because for all the relationship skills he lacks, he does at least know that reducing anyone to a mere object is never a good look.
he touches his finger back to his own mouth when she releases him, sucking away the barest hint of sweetness from the tip. ]
I'm far too likable to be poisoned. You should know this.
[ he turns, busying himself with the tray once more as he spreads jam across two pieces of bread and hands one to alina. it's a curious scene, sharing breakfast in bed, and he wonders if it will ever be repeated or if this is the only moment like this that he'll get with her. ]
The rumors have officially started, you know. I hope you're prepared for all of the curious and possibly resentful stares you're going to get. [ he offers a bright smile. ] I've learned the easiest way to deal with them is to tell yourself that it's all for your own entertainment. Then it hardly seems so bad.
[ It's the far too likable to be poisoned people that get poisoned, part of her wants to say, delivered with a fervent nudge of her foot against his shin. Asking Nikolai not to be so daring, even in playful speech alone, over his life is a little like asking the sun not to shine down on them — an impossible feat that demands he go against his very nature. All the same, the spike of dread in her gut — that she has no reason to feel while sprawled across an overly grand bed in an overly grand palace — strikes like a sudden knife to the stomach, uncomfortable and painful.
Another reminder that they are both too in over their heads to ever part ways cleanly, for this not to matter. Even this moment, quiet and peaceful, stolen away in the early pieces of morning. Or as stolen as it can be, she supposes, when tongues are already wagging. Rumors are poison in their own right, experience tells her, seeping into the blood of anyone who deigns to give them any scrap of their attention. ]
It's not the first time I've had to get used to rumors in this place. I can promise you that those were probably worse.
[ Her mouth twists a little too sharply to be comforting, a little too bitterly to be fond of those memories. Zoya's tear-stricken face flickers to life in her mind, a loyal Grisha dismissed so easily, berated for perpetuating them. No matter how precarious their relationship is now, it's another chilling observation she had missed: how carelessly the Darkling had tossed a prized pupil aside when she outstayed her welcome, outlived her use. ]
Do I want to ask what they've been saying?
[ Perhaps it's the same rumors, dressed up differently, floating through these halls. She frowns, even as she nibbles at the end of her toast, a little self-conscious about getting crumbs in Ravkan royalty's bedsheets. ]
[ rumors are something he's dealt with his entire life, a maddening thorn in his side that he has no control over. sometimes, he can shift them this way and that. but the truth of the matter is that once a rumor starts, it's damn near impossible to scour it from the people's minds. he's made a grudging sort of peace with it, if it can be called that, but tongues wagging about his birthright are still the quickest way to sour his mood.
alina had none of the preparation. a life spent in a keramzin orphanage certainly didn't ready her for a speedy push into the spotlight, and he sees it on her face now, the too-sharp smile and the lack of warmth in her eyes. carelessly, he brushes crumbs from his fingers after swallowing his bread in one mouthful. ]
It won't be the last, either. [ he did promise he would never lie to her or even cut the truth into more digestible pieces. he doesn't see the grace in allowing her to walk blindly into any part of this, even if it might earn her smile for a moment longer. ] I think I prefer your rumors to be about me than The Darkling.
[ he nearly hesitates to say his name, as if it might invoke his very presence or at the very least dampen the mood, but he doesn't like the feeling that he holds that much power over them. he sinks down against the pillows, his headache plucking at him once more as he pinches the bridge of his nose. ]
If you let them get to you, you will never know peace again. Not here. A word of sympathetic advice from someone who has let them get to him. [ he twists his head to glance at her, lips curving into a worn smile. ] If we're being quite honest, some of the rumors I wish were true. Aren't you cold above the covers like that?
[ It feels like inviting a ghost to share the bed with them, a haunting presence that can't be banished now that he's summoned it. She is finished — with fleeing from the Darkling, even in death; with granting him any slip of power over them in both their waking and dreaming hours — but the Darkling has never been finished with her. Alina ignores the chill that washes over her and turns her skin to gooseflesh, but that hint that Nikolai has heard any of the stories surrounding her stay with the darkling —
It unsettles her, creeps beneath her skin, as she imagines Aleksander would crave. Would mock her for, if he were still residing within the darker corners of her mind. A human weakness, he might call it, if he didn't first prey on the fear that Nikolai might look upon her differently. When she raises her eyes from the messy slide of jam over her fingers, though, his gaze isn't the least bit condemning. ]
That makes two of us.
[ The snort she gives is entirely humorless, a bitter little thing over being so stupidly gullible in the first place, drawn in by the first pretty face to tell her she was special. ]
No one is going to give us any peace unless we take it for ourselves. I know that.
[ And even then, she wonders if they won't be dooming themselves into becoming birds with clipped wings, given the illusion that they are happy and free when the crown could cage them. But if ignoring rumors brings them even a modicum of peace — well, it's advice worth following, even if she sourly thinks to herself: that's easier said than done.
With put-upon sight, her nose wrinkles as she looks from her crumb-covered hands to his sheets, pulling absently at the covers. ]
You're going to get crumbs in your bed, if I climb in. [ It's clear, though, from the twist of her mouth that she's considering it. It is cold, and if the rumors will begin with or without her part in them, then maybe — She pauses, and then arches an eyebrow at him. ] I'll consider it once you've told me what they've been saying. I would rather be prepared to hear it than entirely unprepared.
They'll change the sheets after we get up. [ he suddenly wishes they didn't have to get up at all, that they could spend the entire day lounging in the sunlight slowly filtering through the window. no meetings, no budgeting, no thinking. just the two of them, whispering about whatever they want. it sounds heavenly. it sounds like a far-off dream.
it sounds as difficult as taking peace for themselves. there's a haunted look in her eyes, one nikolai wants to wash away. he reaches out for her hand, drawing it toward him in a gentle clasp. ]
Just this. You, in my bed.
[ he slips two of her fingers into his mouth, sucking away the last bit of jam. the imagines the way light pools at her fingertips, well aware that she could take him out right now if she wanted to. what a story that would be. ]
Although — [ the tip of his tongue edges carefully around her pinkie before he brushes the lightest of kisses along her knuckles. ] It started with me in your bed, which is somehow even more scandalizing. Kings are expected to keep mistresses, but there's no handbook on sun summoners yet. Shall we write one? What is the proper way for you to behave?
[ Distantly, it occurs to her that rumors have a farther reach than any weapon she has known. Soon, those whispers won't be contained simply within these walls; soon, they will spread beyond the ears of servants and guards, and eventually — inevitably — tumble into the hands of their friends, their allies, perhaps even their enemies.
She isn't prepared for it — what they might say, what they might do, the looks of curiosity or betrayal or disapproval — but she has learned, quite quickly, that the world hardly cares whether she is ready for what it has in store for her. It remains a nagging thought at the back of her mind, trying to worm its way to the front, even as the wet warmth of Nikolai's mouth startles her into a twitch.
Even as the smile crosses her mouth, pursing and twisting it until she has no choice but to concede to that dimpled turn. ]
If they're trying to imply I'm some sort of seductress, they're giving me more credit than I deserve.
[ But then it's more amusing for them, she supposes, to imagine those insane scenarios. To paint them as people they aren't, than to truly look into them and see them for what they are: human, flawed, just like them. Not the strange, fantastical creatures they have made them out to be. ]
The proper way for me to behave is — [ For a moment, she leaves him in suspense, just long enough to slip beneath the covers and shiver at the sudden burst of warmth it provides. Her fingers free themselves from his mouth, just to roam over his cheekbones, an affectionate touch as much as it's a devious one — spreading the slickness of his saliva over his own skin as she wrinkles her nose at him. ] — however I want. Put that in the manual.
[ whether it's because her fingers are clean now or for some other reason he can't quite tap into, she finally settles beneath the covers. it's worth the trailing spit that ends up across his cheekbones. with a grin, he uses a corner of the soft bedsheets to delicately dab at his face, then turns, propping himself up on one elbow with his cheek pressed to his knuckles. ]
And what would you do? If you could do whatever you wanted?
[ his free hand plays with a bit of her hair, curling the ends along his finger. it's a bit of a loaded question, sure to bring up regrets regarding their current predicament even if it's comfortable here in bed, temporarily tucked away from everyone else. this is still a bubble, and bubbles are fragile. at any moment now he half expects to hear a knock followed by a pressing concern that requires his immediate attention.
a beat passes, then he looks up with a rueful smile. ]
I think I'd steal you away and go back out to sea. With your permission, of course. [ back to his hazy dream, imagined in the dark hours of the morning. ] Or, perhaps equally unattainable — I'd just stay here all day with you. Remember, it's healthy to let people miss you once in a while. Reminds them you're important.
[ She nearly hesitates, parting her mouth to speak — only to find no words on the tip of her tongue. Nothing she suspects he'll want to hear, nothing that feels attainable to her. At best, these fantasies he invites her to indulge in are an escape from the prison of their reality; at worst, it is merely a reminder of two lives she must decide between.
She mirrors him, tilting on her not only to face him — but to invite the soft drag of his fingers through the messy strands of her hair, fanning out across his pillows. ]
I'd go somewhere far away and find peace for myself.
[ Far from civilization. Far from the light they shine down upon her. Far from the pedestal Ravka has propped her upon. Far from a world that would invite themselves to become an audience to her life, a permanent spectacle for the world to see and worship and criticize. Thus far, this — this moment, encased in glass away from the remainder of the world — is the closest she has come. ]
There's no one to bother us in the sea. No duties or responsibilities or creative rumors. [ Across the space between them, she reaches, fanning her fingers over his cheekbone before it drops to his pillow. ] And it's not really stealing if I give you my permission.
[ It's a nice dream, at any rate — but perhaps that's all it can be: a dream, hazy and slipping through their fingers. ]
What attainable thing would you do? I don't know much about the handbook of future kings, either.
[ it's an answer he more or less expected, a reminder of what he already knows — she doesn't want this, not really. no sane person would willingly offer themselves to become this kind of symbol, and no promise of riches or royalty could make it worth it. in moments like these he hardly feels any better than the darkling, because in the end he's using her all the same, just wrapped up in a far kinder box.
maybe it would be better to marry a royal stranger bred for this sort of life, to let go of his fanciful notions of love or happiness or even just the possibility of either one, no matter how improbable. he could arrange it, somehow, for alina and mal to go into hiding, to disappear and never be heard of again, to try and find a way to defeat the darkling without her, but those chances are so tragically small, and he can't put the well-being of a single individual over the needs of his entire country.
would that change if they were to wed, if alina became his queen? would her needs somehow hold more weight then or is he damning her to a life where no one will ever put her first? she'll become just like him, personal desires brushed to the side over and over again until they're as good as forgotten. ravka will own her just as it owns him.
the airy touch of her fingers brings him back to the moment, his dim smile falling short of reaching his eyes. ]
The fish would still talk. I am the center of attention everywhere I go.
[ his fingers slow, soft strands escaping his grip. he shouldn't say it. he shouldn't, and yet — ]
I would let you go. [ he rarely thinks himself a fool, but in this moment it's never been more clear. ] If I could do anything attainable, anything without having to watch everyone else suffer the ramifications of my actions... I would let you go far away and find peace for yourself. I wouldn't damn you to the same life I was bred to live.
[ It's that which sets him apart from the conquerors and warmongers and idle kings that have come before him: a heart as golden as the rest of him, as impenetrable as it is generous. The edges of his grin have dulled, like a flame flickering until it dies and darkens the world, but Alina's dims only to complete its transformation into something softer. Something she, herself, doesn't wholly understand. ]
I know.
[ Perhaps it's that, that unwavering uncertainty that, in this moment, there is no need to doubt his sincerity. Or perhaps it's merely the strange faith he has inspired in her, in them all, that coaxes her into those two words: I know. Simple, but carrying so much meaning, as if to say: I know who you are, no matter how untrue it often feels. I know, and I believe you. I know, and I believe in you.
She shifts forward as though she is expecting him to run, a creature that might startle with quick movements, when he has been anything but. Still, there's that window of opportunity to escape from her, as he has given her, before the light brush of her mouth — soft as a feather, and floating away just as quickly. ]
Do you think I would even be considering this if I thought you would be forcing me into it?
[ it's a reassurance he didn't know he needed to hear but is glad to have. her uncanny ability to manage to say the right things when they're most necessary is just another reason to admire her and a trait certainly befitting of a queen. his eyes flutter closed when alina's lips brush against his for barely a moment before the gentle warmth is gone, and nikolai finds himself wanting to chase after her, nudging forward as if hanging onto her every word. ]
Certainly not. I think I'd have found myself in grave danger if you thought I was forcing you to marry me. [ his smile returns, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ] I'd also have gotten a strongly-worded rejection by now, I would wager.
[ his fingers touch her hair again, this time starting at her right temple and tracing around her ear, his thumb gently swiping her cheek. sometimes he can scarcely believe that she's real, usually because of how powerful he knows she is, how vital to this war, but right now it's just because he's never had anyone this pretty and funny and kind in his bed before. besides himself. ]
Can I kiss you? Properly? [ because he aches to. it makes him nervous how much he aches to, because it makes him all too aware that despite his attempts at self-preservation, he think he might have already handed her the knife. ] It's not why I asked you here, I promise you that much, but — the longer I look at you, the more I want to. It's a bit concerning. I might have to push you off the bed soon, but I'll toss you a pillow because I'm always a gentleman.
[ You always find yourself in great danger, she thinks to herself. It's a trait true of all of them, as expected as the sun rising to shine another day. Peace is a fleeting, fleeing thing — just like the security of surviving to another day, or the foolish hope that they may win this war yet. It only makes her want to seize it, only makes her want to live, free from the regret of walking away from this and leaving herself to wonder what if?
If any of them are going to become martyrs, they may as well throw caution to the wind. Alina's soft eyes spark, shining with an amused tease. ]
Wasn't that the deal we made last night?
[ Though it's a harmless joke, she doesn't want to dwell on bargains and deals, on considerations and proposals. Not now, not enclosed in this private bubble, not yet pierced by politics or war. She tilts her head like an animal leaning into touch, welcoming the graze of his fingers as they tickle across her skin, and letting her eyes flutter closed. Despite the hammering beat of her heart, pounding against her chest like a caged bird, the careful stroke of his hands is a soothing balm against her nerves. ]
You can, if you're feeling brave. [ The corner of her mouth twitches upward. ] Just don't knock me onto the floor at all, or you'll absolutely be in grave danger.
I don't know if brave is the word. [ mused mostly to himself, because he's certainly not feeling all that brave right now. when he leaves his quarters it's with the smile firmly in place, ready to dole out endless optimism and model the fearlessness he wishes they all could have. but here in his bed, it's often just him. it's here that he can turn over all his doubts without worrying if it's going to affect morale or plant the seed of uncertainty that ravka can't afford. there is far less bravery that goes on in this room than he would like everyone to believe, and far more sleepless nights than he cares to recount.
alina will discover these truths on her own, nikolai thinks, if he's lucky. if she's unlucky. for now it's nothing she needs to know. he's content to draw closer, his hand still grazing her cheek. ]
I won't knock you to the floor. [ he smiles before their lips press together, slow and sweet, a hint of jam still on her tongue. kissing alina is a bit like tasting the sun — near-painful brightness bathed in warmth, and nikolai can't help but wish once more that he could spend the entire day in this perfect patch of her sunlight.
this time they're not on a hard floor and he's not pleasantly buzzed on brandy. it makes it easier to gently guide her back onto the pillows, his hand curling in her hair. with his other he finds her hand, lacing their fingers together as they sink into the soft mattress. he traces her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, a feather-like pressure like he's asking permission to come inside from a long rain.
her mouth makes him forget his restless night and even his thoughts from just moments ago, instead feeling some of the ever-present tension drain away as if chased off by the simple action of kissing her. his hand travels from her hair to the slope of her jaw, trailing down the delicate line of her throat before his fingers settle above her heartbeat. ]
How is it that you look this lovely so early in the morning? [ he kisses her mouth again, then her chin, his lips grazing down her jaw. letting go of her hand, he instead draws his palm down the side of her gown, stopping to rest at her hip. ] Are you and Mal holding onto some Keramzin secrets?
i'm gonna throttle dreamwidth for not giving me this notif >:( betrayal
[ 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. ]
[ something so simple as alina's gaze makes him absurdly nervous. he's used to crowds of eyes on him, enjoys the attention, even, but this is nothing like what he's used to. this level of scrutiny, this close, this intimate — it sets him on edge in a way he's never felt before. perhaps because he's never felt this before, the way he feels about alina. even with dominik it was different. he was a familiar presence at his side for so much of his life that when they finally named what it was between them, it felt natural.
he was used to dominik seeing the rough-hewn parts of him. but with alina, it's new. she's seen sturmhond and she's seen the prince. she hasn't seen nikolai running on too little sleep, or nikolai when he's backed into a corner, or nikolai when he feels like nothing but a bastard and a fraud. nikolai the charming prince always knows what to say, but perhaps she doesn't know that the cost of that is running through dozens of scenarios at once, thinking of every possible outcome, analyzing all the ways any given situation can go wrong. his brain never turns off, and it's overwhelming at times, though he's taught himself to simply smile through it.
he fixates on what alina might be seeing, what she might be thinking, and — as if he needs even more thoughts in his head — he wishes he was a mind-reader. he grins at her words, immediately recognizing the truth in them and wondering if it's even possible for people like them to come together and reach a point where no secrets remain between them.
he doesn't know. it's hardly happened before, and even when it did, the price dominik paid was far too high.
still. there is a certain thrill in being pushed onto his back with a handful of alina on top of him. he reaches up and brushes back the veil of her hair, tucking it behind one ear so he can see her face, and it once again strikes him just how pretty she is. he tilts his mouth up to kiss her gently, his hand settling at the curve of her back. ]
Is it? I suppose you'll have to punish me then. [ he smiles, his own duties not forgotten but very much ignored as he intentionally pushes them out of mind. ] I admit that you'll probably have to do quite a lot of that as we get closer. I find rules difficult to follow.
Or have you made so many rules that it's difficult to remember to follow them?
[ An eyebrow raises, challenging. Weakness is a guise. The less you say the more words your weight carries. Meet insults with laughter. All of his spouted wisdom has created a series of complex rules that she has discovered are nearly impossible to navigate, a structure that leaves no room for fumbling without its whole foundation crumbling apart around her. Some time ago, she might have assumed princes — with all of their influence and power and prestige — would have the freedom to establish their own rules, but she hadn't known Nikolai then. Had barely come into her own power, and what the title thrust upon her might mean for the future of Ravka.
He is as trapped as any of them, she thinks. It only happens that his cage is more gilded, its extravagance giving the illusion of freedom. Perhaps that's worse, but she doesn't want to think of the traps they've set for themselves. Even if the lingering hint of alcohol on his breath is a reminder, traces of fine liquor from his attempts to charm nobles into coughing up coin the night prior, offsetting the sharp sweetness of jam. She chases after the taste with a low hum in her throat, swiping over his bottom lip, sweeping her tongue into his mouth with a greed that, in quieter and isolated hours, often frightens her.
A warm flush paints itself across her cheek when she pulls back, lips shining as she presses them to the corner of his own — as if she isn't in need of catching her breath, as if her heart isn't threatening to plunge through her chest, as if each kiss doesn't radiate through her until she is molten, as if she has more restraint than to kiss him until her lungs die out.
She hardly does. It's an overestimation of her self-control, and the unnatural golden glow to her eyes, when she leans back to look at him, proves it. It sparks and fizzles out, much like the dying light of a setting sun, but she is too preoccupied with outlining his mouth with idle strokes of her fingertips to realize any of it. Her lips curve, the only warning of her deliberately annoying cheekiness before it spills out of her. ]
The more you offer it, the more I start to think Nikolai Lantsov has a secret taste for punishment.
We'll add one more to the list. [ because, yes, he has in fact created an absurdly convoluted set of contradictory nikolai-isms that only manage to work due to an excess of confidence and utter lack of shame. ] Rules are meant to be broken by kings, queens, scoundrels, and the sun.
[ he has more to add, but his thoughts ebb away when the sweetness of alina's mouth takes over, her kiss far more demanding than expected, though he hardly minds. her tongue is welcomed wholeheartedly, his lips parting to allow her to deepen the kiss while his hand travels up her spine to grip the base of her skull, fingers tangling in her hair. it's a moment that he can lose himself in, a moment that temporarily quiets the discord in his mind, and for that, he's grateful — grateful that she somehow holds the power to make that happen at all.
he hums into her mouth, sighing audibly when she pulls away and catching a glimpse of the spark in her eyes. they glow with a nearly otherworldly aura, as captivating as it is brief. considering he has one of the most powerful grisha that has ever lived currently in his bed, perhaps her comment on his taste for punishment isn't entirely off the mark. ]
I can tell when people say yes to me just because of who I am and not because they see the reason behind my actions. [ he runs his thumb along the color blooming in her cheeks, her skin warm, and smiles gently at the feel of her fingertips at his mouth, stealing a quick kiss to the pad of her ring finger. ] I love hearing the word yes. But I despise it when it comes like that. I'd rather have a long, difficult argument than for someone to feel they were coerced by me.
[ beneath the sheets, his knee rises slowly to push between her legs, feeling the silk of her gown hike up with the movement. he brushes her hair back again, this time over her shoulder so he can tilt up and press a kiss to her collarbone, his lips moving higher along the column of her throat and finally settling just beneath her earlobe. he tongues at the soft skin before sucking sharply, delicately placing what will eventually blossom into a bruise, easily hidden by her hair. ]
Sometimes I think I do rather enjoy my own misery. [ he kisses her jaw before settling back, a hazy desire in his eyes but feeling content to simply stew in it. ] It's far better than fighting it.
[ She doesn't need to ask if she's played a hand in that misery. On some days, his proposal looms like an axe above their heads, waiting to drop and sever that tenuous, precarious connection she feels they've formed. On others, she can sense the strain her silence has created, incapable of easily granting him the answer he must want to hear.
Still, she understands it. That clawing, desperate need to prove one's self beyond titles and recognition and power. That pounding ache of a heart, wishing it was wanted for every scar and wound and virtue. Misery loves company, she had jested, but maybe there's an ugly scrap of truth in it she hadn't realized. In the end, she is just as miserable, just as keen to fight for her right to be wanted as she is: Sun Summoner and Alina Starkov and everything in-between. ]
We're at war because I'm very difficult to coerce.
[ But she doesn't want to consider their common enemy, doesn't want to invite her mind to remind her he had once brushed his lips against the same hidden, delicate skin of her throat. That his hands have once roamed where Nikolai's have. His fingers brush that unwelcome ghost away, driving away the poisonous reminder of what he had planned for her. Alina sighs into it, the bright red mark already beginning to flower along pale skin.
An entirely different brand, without the same possessiveness of Morozova's collar shining at her throat, reflecting the morning sunlight haloing around them. Her head tilts, spilling her hair over her shoulder like a stream, as she considers him through a half-lidded gaze that gives far too much of her wanting away.
She leans forward, her breath a whisper against the shell of his ear. ]
Be a little less miserable with me.
[ If only for awhile. If only for now. She nuzzles into the column of his throat, tracing her lips down its column, letting her exhales heat the wet trail she leaves behind as if it's her own argument to convince him. It's there she buries the sudden sting of her self-consciousness when she grinds down against the bend of his knee, breath hitching against the crook of his neck, the silk of her nightgown hitching higher to tangle around her thighs. The friction is hardly enough, could never be enough, but it's her own proposal left in his hands.
Even as she waits, a little agonized, and blindly reaches across the sheets to grapple for his hand. As if convinced that without that anchor, no matter how often he has thrown himself into the fire, he might very well flee from her. ]
Edited (tmw you realize your embarrassing mistake of not editing the subject line.......... phone tagging betrayed me) 2020-11-10 07:32 (UTC)
[ he wouldn't attribute his misery to her, per se, but to the idea that she and everyone else seems to buy into — that he is never anyone's first choice. not for the throne, not to wed, not for the things that matter to him. and he can't fault her or his family or anyone else, and perhaps that's why the truth remains painfully wedged between his ribs, because it has nowhere else to go. it simply is, and despite the countless nights it's kept him awake, it doesn't deter him from striving to be the best at everything he does anyway.
her request earns her a smile even while he can see the pain schooled away behind her expression. he's only heard about the hell that she and mal have been through at the darkling's hands, but all the impressions of it are plain to see for anyone who cares enough to look. his mouth presses to the tumble of her hair when she leans in, exhaling sharply when he feels her grind down against his leg. ]
I, for one, love a difficult woman. [ she finds his hand, and he squeezes back tightly in a warm, reassuring grip. ] Your conviction. Your strong will. Your inability to be led where you don't want to go. All of those things are what makes you so appealing.
[ he wants her to hear it, even if it goes unspoken. all the things the darkling didn't want about you are exactly why i asked you to be my queen.
even now, right in this moment, she's practically thrown the gauntlet at his feet. he pulls their twined hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles before letting go and reversing their positions yet again, grinning down at her when she ends up back against the pillows. he kisses down her throat while his hand disappears beneath the sheets, running down the line of her body, down her waist and past her hips, down to the bunched end of her gown to grasp the fabric and pull it higher. ]
I would be a little less of anything for you. [ his mouth finds hers again, humming softly as he kisses her, his hand moving at the same moment to draw his fingers between her legs, only a thin bit of fabric separating them. he presses down to feel her warmth. ] Just don't ask me to be less handsome. It's a difficult and uncomfortable request.
[ within the span of one heaving breath and the next, she finds herself believing him. it should be a balm to an old ache, wounds that have marked her with festering scars, but it's as precarious as splitting the skin back open again. because he has seen her, cracked her open and looked inside, and as much as she has come to him craving that —
it's as terrifying as plunging into the sea. it's as exhilarating as the wind whipping in her hair. it's as dangerous as hope, with a faith that is twice as deadly, when she thinks of every pretty, sweet word that nikolai has carefully constructed to get his way. it's just another skill in a long list of talents — that silver tongue, capable of telling anyone what they wish to hear. for a moment, she wonders if the truth of her heart has been that open, that obvious.
but even in knowing that — saints, she believes him, even when he tells her i would be a little less of anything for you. he has offered her so much, and perhaps for the first time, she can allow herself to be selfish and take this from him. she blinks back up at him, a little dazedly doe-eyed from how struck she is by everything that he is, just before his fingers descend.
the groan that tears out of her throat, hoarse and rasping, is not entirely from pleasure. leave it to nikolai to be an incorrigible bastard, even in this. what is worse is how utterly right he is; the soft glow of morning light spilling along his skin makes him look ethereal, a mythical creature hovering above her — what should be untouchable, to someone like her. annoyingly handsome, and just as annoyingly capable of speech, when just the light pressure of his fingers has her arcing into that touch.
alina's retribution is the sharp nip of her teeth, sinking into the plushness of his lower lip. she isn't doing this right, if he is still in possession of a vocabulary, if he can still think a thought when she's overcome with her own urge to loosen the threads that hold him together. just for awhile. just until there is nothing but the rawness of his honest reaction. just until he stitches himself back together again and remembers what he is.
just until they're even, to lessen the embarrassment of that thin scrap between them, soaked through and clinging to her skin. her fingers clench around his shoulders, gripping and clasping and digging in, before she drags her nails weakly down his spine. ]
You could stand to be a little less of a smug idiot.
[ the usual, snarky bite to it is suspiciously absent, courtesy of her breathlessness. still: alina starkov, queen of sweet nothings. ]
Edited (did i seriously forget to pick an icon smh) 2020-11-13 04:08 (UTC)
[ her bite comes with a spark of pain that only makes him grin, a contented growl rumbling deep in his throat. for all of his posturing, there's still a small part of him that can't quite believe this is happening. that alina is in his bed at all. there have been so many times he wished to approach her to talk about absolutely nothing, so many moments held in the privacy of his own head but always thwarted by this or that or the other. so many times he's looked at her from across a room and caught her gaze gravitating toward mal instead.
but now she's here, and she seems to want to be here, and she doesn't pull away from his touch. he doesn't mind the scratch marks at his shoulders and back. he doesn't even mind being a smug idiot right now. he just wants to savor this moment, to commit it to memory, to admire the sunlight against her skin. it's the loveliest sight he's seen in days. ]
I believe charming is the correct word.
[ he hooks a finger around the fabric of her underwear, slowly easing it down while his lips find hers again, kissing her softly, his eyes fluttering open to watch her face. there's a question in his gaze, an is this okay that floats to meet her eyes. despite the brandy he was buzzed on, he remembers it when she told him that she hadn't done this before.
his fingers slide gently along the now bare wetness between her legs, caressing her carefully. their noses brush, his unkempt hair falling to brush his forehead. ] Honestly, I have a bit of experience with this and that, but not as much as I tend to lead people to believe. It's difficult, at times. Lantsov men tend to take what they want, but maybe it's because my blood's been spoiled already that I crave a little more than a meaningless encounter.
[ he rises, not putting into words that this could very well be meaningless because he still feels uncertain about where exactly he stands in all this. he lifts one of her legs, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of her thigh. ]
May I? [ he pulls her panties off the rest of the way, dropping it over the side of the bed and planting another line of kisses down the inside of her thigh. ] If you absolutely hate it, feel free to kick me. I'll get the message.
[ spoiled. that single word knots around her heart like scar tissue, seeps into the wounds that already exist — old injuries from an orphaned childhood, from the acute pain of never quite belonging in any one place. it's the outsider in her soul that recognizes the same in his, even if he treats it so cavalierly as he does now. even if he wears it as his armor, so that the next remark of his bastard status might simply slide off of the metal without causing any damage.
it's enviable, in a way, to capture that confidence. it's miserable, in another, to know its creation came from every dirty look and ill word. she doesn't want to think of how long it has taken him to guard himself against those barbs, or how long it may take her to do the same. she doesn't want to think of the way she often feels as though she is slipping and slipping, in over her head, and wondering if the world around her has truly witnessed how unworthy she is — some orphaned girl turned grisha, made into the living legend of a saint. she doesn't want to think of legacy, or the loneliness their lives demand.
her eyes settle on the gold of his hair burnished by the sunlight, instead, and the soft stroke of her fingers as she brushes it from his eyes. as tempting as it is to seal her eyes shut as though it might spare her the nervous ratcheting of her heart, she watches him through the spellbound fog of dark, half-hooded eyes. just in case. just in case he needs to know she is imagining no one else dipping low between her thighs, dragging a kiss-swollen mouth over the twitching muscles in her thighs. just in case she needs to convince herself this isn't a figment of a dream. it should be one, having a prince asking for a taste of her, but —
he feels more real, like this. more tangible, like something she could dare to have, if only she reached for it. her fingers cascade down his cheek, fluttering back upward to card through his hair and down the nape of his neck, a touch as soft as a butterfly's wings. there is too much of him for her hands to decide where to linger, where to touch. ]
I happen to like your spoiled blood.
[ more than i should. her tongue comes out to wet her lips, teeth toying with her bottom lip, as she swallows her insecurities. the splay of her legs is slow, opening to him in the invitation. even if she can feel herself dripping onto her thigh, onto his pristine sheets. there will be no question that the rumors have some truth, now, after this.
for now, she hooks a leg over his shoulder, her voice as tremulous as her gentle smile when she murmurs, ] How could I hate anything that shuts you up, Nikolai?
[ it's the old barb that always seems to be stuck in his side, the barb that he pushes deeper into himself so that no one else can catch him off guard and do it for him. he wouldn't dare make light of his tenuous birthright with anyone he didn't trust, but alina falls into that small circle now, and while he expects for his comment to be glossed over, she surprises him yet again by knowing exactly the words to say that he didn't know he needed to hear. there's no protest or objection, nothing so condescending as denying what he knows in his heart to be true. what she offers him is even more valuable. acceptance. and coming from her, it carries even more weight, because he knows she's intimately acquainted with what it's like to not quite fit in.
alina makes him feel seen for the first time in what feels like ages. not as the prince or the privateer or the soldier or the bastard son. just as nikolai. just as the parts of himself that he's hidden for so long that he almost began to forget them.
he might never find another who accepts his shortcomings like this. certainly no queen bred to be on a throne would see the humor in it. most days, nikolai can barely find it himself.
for the millionth time, he's reminded of how much is at stake here. of how much he wishes for this. of how he'll accept a rejection with a smile but how badly it will hurt to hear it. ]
Just one of my many good qualities. [ he nuzzles her soft skin with a faint smile, sucking another bruise to her inner thigh. ] Don't worry. I'll make up for the silence later.
[ then he dips down between her legs, settling comfortably as he kisses the warm wetness there. the sheets will be dirty and there will be rumors. right now he can't find it in him to care so much about that. he presses his tongue against the rosebud of her clit, sucking gently as he teases her, savoring her heat and taste. saints, mal is a fool if he never did this, but nikolai is grateful to him all the same for the late start. it means that maybe this is something that she'll remember him for. maybe only him, if he's lucky.
his tongue moves faster while he gently sinks one finger inside of her, allowing her several moments to get used to the feeling before he moves again, in and out slowly, all the while working her with his mouth. he glances up to catch a glimpse of her face, hoping for a favorable outcome while he hums softly, releasing a warm breath over. ]
It's exquisite down here. [ he grins cheekily before kissing her clit again, his tongue moving swiftly. in all honesty he means it, as ridiculous as it might sound. it is exquisite, and so satisfying to finally have a taste. ]
[ oh. she nearly breathes it, just that singular surprised breath. oh, like she can't fully fathom the first shock of electricity that urges her spine to lift from the plush sheets beneath her. oh, like she can't understand how wrong she had been in assuming she would be taking anything from him when he has prostrated between her thighs, reveled in the taste of her like a dying man's first taste of water.
oh, because he has embedded himself into her like this, made his mark with the first warm swipe of his tongue and the blooming bruises painted into her skin.
only a fool would think that nikolai lantsov does anything without deliberation. it can hardly be a mistake, alina thinks — but there is solace to be had in knowing she is not alone in that. he's practically wearing her, lips glistening with the slickness of her arousal when his mouth lifts and curves into something decidedly more familiar — that teasing, devastating grin she has come to know, on a mouth more ruinous than she had anticipated.
maybe she is a fool, after all. fool or not, she burns from the sight of it, molten heat swimming through her veins, her skin bright with the vividity of her flush. for a moment, she has to squeeze her eyes closed against the vision he creates, more so when she digs her fingers into his hair until it's a ragged, disheveled mess beneath hands desperate to find anything to anchor her to this moment.
for another moment, she considers strangling him for speaking. or perhaps it's simply the fact that he moves from her long enough for the ghost of his heated breath to wash over her, to make her body jolt and a whine tear its way up her throat. ]
Don't — [ but the sweep of his tongue is there again, warm and wet and perfect, as it flicks across her clit in quick swirls of his tongue, and alina's breath wrenches into a building moan. the slide of her legs over his shoulders is immediate, digging into his spine to bring him closer, and closer still, as she rocks up to meet the stretch of his finger. she clenches around it, impossibly greedy, muscles fluttering to drag him deeper — and tries to ignore the self-consciousness that pricks at the edge of her mind as she tries to fall into his rhythm, rising and falling to collide with every plunge of his finger. ] — be embarrassing.
[ there's hardly room for embarrassment when she's riding his hand with stuttering movements, when the force of her grip is nearly pressing him into her too eagerly, but that compliment — it still stains her face a splotchy red. ]
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no subject
Whatever the case, she knows that territory comes with trouble. While the brush of his hand smoothing over stray wisps that had fallen into her line of vision has coaxed her (like a spooked horse, she thinks to herself with a muted scoff) into relaxing into his ridiculously fluffy pillows, her eyes still squint with feigned skepticism.
And, beneath that act, a questioning sort of curiosity that flares inside of her. Carefully, she locks her fingers around his wrist, a clasping bracelet that holds his hand steady. It is tempting to tear her gaze from his watching eyes, but she doesn't dare waver as she takes the tip of his finger in her mouth, licking the almost too-sweet taste of golden apple away with a slow swipe of her tongue and a deliberate graze of teeth. As if to prove she can match him in any game he offers.
She releases him with a wet pop, lifting both eyebrows as she drawls, ] If that was your way of testing to see if I've poisoned you, we're both doomed.
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it isn't fabricating a part of himself. it's simply the way his mind works, the way he sees the world, the way he navigates it. some may call it lying or deception. nikolai doesn't call it anything at all.
the pounding in his skull is mostly forgotten, relegated to the back of his mind to make room for more pressing thoughts, like the warmth of alina's tongue and the unmistakable bite of her teeth. the cloying taste of sweet apple sticks in his mouth, although he doesn't mind it, because he knows alina's mouth, should he taste it in this moment, would hold the same flavored notes. he wants to kiss her apple-sweet lips, but doesn't want her to think that that is the sole reason he invited her into his bed, because for all the relationship skills he lacks, he does at least know that reducing anyone to a mere object is never a good look.
he touches his finger back to his own mouth when she releases him, sucking away the barest hint of sweetness from the tip. ]
I'm far too likable to be poisoned. You should know this.
[ he turns, busying himself with the tray once more as he spreads jam across two pieces of bread and hands one to alina. it's a curious scene, sharing breakfast in bed, and he wonders if it will ever be repeated or if this is the only moment like this that he'll get with her. ]
The rumors have officially started, you know. I hope you're prepared for all of the curious and possibly resentful stares you're going to get. [ he offers a bright smile. ] I've learned the easiest way to deal with them is to tell yourself that it's all for your own entertainment. Then it hardly seems so bad.
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Another reminder that they are both too in over their heads to ever part ways cleanly, for this not to matter. Even this moment, quiet and peaceful, stolen away in the early pieces of morning. Or as stolen as it can be, she supposes, when tongues are already wagging. Rumors are poison in their own right, experience tells her, seeping into the blood of anyone who deigns to give them any scrap of their attention. ]
It's not the first time I've had to get used to rumors in this place. I can promise you that those were probably worse.
[ Her mouth twists a little too sharply to be comforting, a little too bitterly to be fond of those memories. Zoya's tear-stricken face flickers to life in her mind, a loyal Grisha dismissed so easily, berated for perpetuating them. No matter how precarious their relationship is now, it's another chilling observation she had missed: how carelessly the Darkling had tossed a prized pupil aside when she outstayed her welcome, outlived her use. ]
Do I want to ask what they've been saying?
[ Perhaps it's the same rumors, dressed up differently, floating through these halls. She frowns, even as she nibbles at the end of her toast, a little self-conscious about getting crumbs in Ravkan royalty's bedsheets. ]
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alina had none of the preparation. a life spent in a keramzin orphanage certainly didn't ready her for a speedy push into the spotlight, and he sees it on her face now, the too-sharp smile and the lack of warmth in her eyes. carelessly, he brushes crumbs from his fingers after swallowing his bread in one mouthful. ]
It won't be the last, either. [ he did promise he would never lie to her or even cut the truth into more digestible pieces. he doesn't see the grace in allowing her to walk blindly into any part of this, even if it might earn her smile for a moment longer. ] I think I prefer your rumors to be about me than The Darkling.
[ he nearly hesitates to say his name, as if it might invoke his very presence or at the very least dampen the mood, but he doesn't like the feeling that he holds that much power over them. he sinks down against the pillows, his headache plucking at him once more as he pinches the bridge of his nose. ]
If you let them get to you, you will never know peace again. Not here. A word of sympathetic advice from someone who has let them get to him. [ he twists his head to glance at her, lips curving into a worn smile. ] If we're being quite honest, some of the rumors I wish were true. Aren't you cold above the covers like that?
no subject
It unsettles her, creeps beneath her skin, as she imagines Aleksander would crave. Would mock her for, if he were still residing within the darker corners of her mind. A human weakness, he might call it, if he didn't first prey on the fear that Nikolai might look upon her differently. When she raises her eyes from the messy slide of jam over her fingers, though, his gaze isn't the least bit condemning. ]
That makes two of us.
[ The snort she gives is entirely humorless, a bitter little thing over being so stupidly gullible in the first place, drawn in by the first pretty face to tell her she was special. ]
No one is going to give us any peace unless we take it for ourselves. I know that.
[ And even then, she wonders if they won't be dooming themselves into becoming birds with clipped wings, given the illusion that they are happy and free when the crown could cage them. But if ignoring rumors brings them even a modicum of peace — well, it's advice worth following, even if she sourly thinks to herself: that's easier said than done.
With put-upon sight, her nose wrinkles as she looks from her crumb-covered hands to his sheets, pulling absently at the covers. ]
You're going to get crumbs in your bed, if I climb in. [ It's clear, though, from the twist of her mouth that she's considering it. It is cold, and if the rumors will begin with or without her part in them, then maybe — She pauses, and then arches an eyebrow at him. ] I'll consider it once you've told me what they've been saying. I would rather be prepared to hear it than entirely unprepared.
[ And subsequently humiliated because of it. ]
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it sounds as difficult as taking peace for themselves. there's a haunted look in her eyes, one nikolai wants to wash away. he reaches out for her hand, drawing it toward him in a gentle clasp. ]
Just this. You, in my bed.
[ he slips two of her fingers into his mouth, sucking away the last bit of jam. the imagines the way light pools at her fingertips, well aware that she could take him out right now if she wanted to. what a story that would be. ]
Although — [ the tip of his tongue edges carefully around her pinkie before he brushes the lightest of kisses along her knuckles. ] It started with me in your bed, which is somehow even more scandalizing. Kings are expected to keep mistresses, but there's no handbook on sun summoners yet. Shall we write one? What is the proper way for you to behave?
no subject
She isn't prepared for it — what they might say, what they might do, the looks of curiosity or betrayal or disapproval — but she has learned, quite quickly, that the world hardly cares whether she is ready for what it has in store for her. It remains a nagging thought at the back of her mind, trying to worm its way to the front, even as the wet warmth of Nikolai's mouth startles her into a twitch.
Even as the smile crosses her mouth, pursing and twisting it until she has no choice but to concede to that dimpled turn. ]
If they're trying to imply I'm some sort of seductress, they're giving me more credit than I deserve.
[ But then it's more amusing for them, she supposes, to imagine those insane scenarios. To paint them as people they aren't, than to truly look into them and see them for what they are: human, flawed, just like them. Not the strange, fantastical creatures they have made them out to be. ]
The proper way for me to behave is — [ For a moment, she leaves him in suspense, just long enough to slip beneath the covers and shiver at the sudden burst of warmth it provides. Her fingers free themselves from his mouth, just to roam over his cheekbones, an affectionate touch as much as it's a devious one — spreading the slickness of his saliva over his own skin as she wrinkles her nose at him. ] — however I want. Put that in the manual.
no subject
And what would you do? If you could do whatever you wanted?
[ his free hand plays with a bit of her hair, curling the ends along his finger. it's a bit of a loaded question, sure to bring up regrets regarding their current predicament even if it's comfortable here in bed, temporarily tucked away from everyone else. this is still a bubble, and bubbles are fragile. at any moment now he half expects to hear a knock followed by a pressing concern that requires his immediate attention.
a beat passes, then he looks up with a rueful smile. ]
I think I'd steal you away and go back out to sea. With your permission, of course. [ back to his hazy dream, imagined in the dark hours of the morning. ] Or, perhaps equally unattainable — I'd just stay here all day with you. Remember, it's healthy to let people miss you once in a while. Reminds them you're important.
no subject
She mirrors him, tilting on her not only to face him — but to invite the soft drag of his fingers through the messy strands of her hair, fanning out across his pillows. ]
I'd go somewhere far away and find peace for myself.
[ Far from civilization. Far from the light they shine down upon her. Far from the pedestal Ravka has propped her upon. Far from a world that would invite themselves to become an audience to her life, a permanent spectacle for the world to see and worship and criticize. Thus far, this — this moment, encased in glass away from the remainder of the world — is the closest she has come. ]
There's no one to bother us in the sea. No duties or responsibilities or creative rumors. [ Across the space between them, she reaches, fanning her fingers over his cheekbone before it drops to his pillow. ] And it's not really stealing if I give you my permission.
[ It's a nice dream, at any rate — but perhaps that's all it can be: a dream, hazy and slipping through their fingers. ]
What attainable thing would you do? I don't know much about the handbook of future kings, either.
no subject
maybe it would be better to marry a royal stranger bred for this sort of life, to let go of his fanciful notions of love or happiness or even just the possibility of either one, no matter how improbable. he could arrange it, somehow, for alina and mal to go into hiding, to disappear and never be heard of again, to try and find a way to defeat the darkling without her, but those chances are so tragically small, and he can't put the well-being of a single individual over the needs of his entire country.
would that change if they were to wed, if alina became his queen? would her needs somehow hold more weight then or is he damning her to a life where no one will ever put her first? she'll become just like him, personal desires brushed to the side over and over again until they're as good as forgotten. ravka will own her just as it owns him.
the airy touch of her fingers brings him back to the moment, his dim smile falling short of reaching his eyes. ]
The fish would still talk. I am the center of attention everywhere I go.
[ his fingers slow, soft strands escaping his grip. he shouldn't say it. he shouldn't, and yet — ]
I would let you go. [ he rarely thinks himself a fool, but in this moment it's never been more clear. ] If I could do anything attainable, anything without having to watch everyone else suffer the ramifications of my actions... I would let you go far away and find peace for yourself. I wouldn't damn you to the same life I was bred to live.
no subject
I know.
[ Perhaps it's that, that unwavering uncertainty that, in this moment, there is no need to doubt his sincerity. Or perhaps it's merely the strange faith he has inspired in her, in them all, that coaxes her into those two words: I know. Simple, but carrying so much meaning, as if to say: I know who you are, no matter how untrue it often feels. I know, and I believe you. I know, and I believe in you.
She shifts forward as though she is expecting him to run, a creature that might startle with quick movements, when he has been anything but. Still, there's that window of opportunity to escape from her, as he has given her, before the light brush of her mouth — soft as a feather, and floating away just as quickly. ]
Do you think I would even be considering this if I thought you would be forcing me into it?
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Certainly not. I think I'd have found myself in grave danger if you thought I was forcing you to marry me. [ his smile returns, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ] I'd also have gotten a strongly-worded rejection by now, I would wager.
[ his fingers touch her hair again, this time starting at her right temple and tracing around her ear, his thumb gently swiping her cheek. sometimes he can scarcely believe that she's real, usually because of how powerful he knows she is, how vital to this war, but right now it's just because he's never had anyone this pretty and funny and kind in his bed before. besides himself. ]
Can I kiss you? Properly? [ because he aches to. it makes him nervous how much he aches to, because it makes him all too aware that despite his attempts at self-preservation, he think he might have already handed her the knife. ] It's not why I asked you here, I promise you that much, but — the longer I look at you, the more I want to. It's a bit concerning. I might have to push you off the bed soon, but I'll toss you a pillow because I'm always a gentleman.
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If any of them are going to become martyrs, they may as well throw caution to the wind. Alina's soft eyes spark, shining with an amused tease. ]
Wasn't that the deal we made last night?
[ Though it's a harmless joke, she doesn't want to dwell on bargains and deals, on considerations and proposals. Not now, not enclosed in this private bubble, not yet pierced by politics or war. She tilts her head like an animal leaning into touch, welcoming the graze of his fingers as they tickle across her skin, and letting her eyes flutter closed. Despite the hammering beat of her heart, pounding against her chest like a caged bird, the careful stroke of his hands is a soothing balm against her nerves. ]
You can, if you're feeling brave. [ The corner of her mouth twitches upward. ] Just don't knock me onto the floor at all, or you'll absolutely be in grave danger.
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alina will discover these truths on her own, nikolai thinks, if he's lucky. if she's unlucky. for now it's nothing she needs to know. he's content to draw closer, his hand still grazing her cheek. ]
I won't knock you to the floor. [ he smiles before their lips press together, slow and sweet, a hint of jam still on her tongue. kissing alina is a bit like tasting the sun — near-painful brightness bathed in warmth, and nikolai can't help but wish once more that he could spend the entire day in this perfect patch of her sunlight.
this time they're not on a hard floor and he's not pleasantly buzzed on brandy. it makes it easier to gently guide her back onto the pillows, his hand curling in her hair. with his other he finds her hand, lacing their fingers together as they sink into the soft mattress. he traces her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, a feather-like pressure like he's asking permission to come inside from a long rain.
her mouth makes him forget his restless night and even his thoughts from just moments ago, instead feeling some of the ever-present tension drain away as if chased off by the simple action of kissing her. his hand travels from her hair to the slope of her jaw, trailing down the delicate line of her throat before his fingers settle above her heartbeat. ]
How is it that you look this lovely so early in the morning? [ he kisses her mouth again, then her chin, his lips grazing down her jaw. letting go of her hand, he instead draws his palm down the side of her gown, stopping to rest at her hip. ] Are you and Mal holding onto some Keramzin secrets?
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. ]
dw against our shipping agenda, how rude
he was used to dominik seeing the rough-hewn parts of him. but with alina, it's new. she's seen sturmhond and she's seen the prince. she hasn't seen nikolai running on too little sleep, or nikolai when he's backed into a corner, or nikolai when he feels like nothing but a bastard and a fraud. nikolai the charming prince always knows what to say, but perhaps she doesn't know that the cost of that is running through dozens of scenarios at once, thinking of every possible outcome, analyzing all the ways any given situation can go wrong. his brain never turns off, and it's overwhelming at times, though he's taught himself to simply smile through it.
he fixates on what alina might be seeing, what she might be thinking, and — as if he needs even more thoughts in his head — he wishes he was a mind-reader. he grins at her words, immediately recognizing the truth in them and wondering if it's even possible for people like them to come together and reach a point where no secrets remain between them.
he doesn't know. it's hardly happened before, and even when it did, the price dominik paid was far too high.
still. there is a certain thrill in being pushed onto his back with a handful of alina on top of him. he reaches up and brushes back the veil of her hair, tucking it behind one ear so he can see her face, and it once again strikes him just how pretty she is. he tilts his mouth up to kiss her gently, his hand settling at the curve of her back. ]
Is it? I suppose you'll have to punish me then. [ he smiles, his own duties not forgotten but very much ignored as he intentionally pushes them out of mind. ] I admit that you'll probably have to do quite a lot of that as we get closer. I find rules difficult to follow.
dw is a salty thot, much like me
[ An eyebrow raises, challenging. Weakness is a guise. The less you say the more words your weight carries. Meet insults with laughter. All of his spouted wisdom has created a series of complex rules that she has discovered are nearly impossible to navigate, a structure that leaves no room for fumbling without its whole foundation crumbling apart around her. Some time ago, she might have assumed princes — with all of their influence and power and prestige — would have the freedom to establish their own rules, but she hadn't known Nikolai then. Had barely come into her own power, and what the title thrust upon her might mean for the future of Ravka.
He is as trapped as any of them, she thinks. It only happens that his cage is more gilded, its extravagance giving the illusion of freedom. Perhaps that's worse, but she doesn't want to think of the traps they've set for themselves. Even if the lingering hint of alcohol on his breath is a reminder, traces of fine liquor from his attempts to charm nobles into coughing up coin the night prior, offsetting the sharp sweetness of jam. She chases after the taste with a low hum in her throat, swiping over his bottom lip, sweeping her tongue into his mouth with a greed that, in quieter and isolated hours, often frightens her.
A warm flush paints itself across her cheek when she pulls back, lips shining as she presses them to the corner of his own — as if she isn't in need of catching her breath, as if her heart isn't threatening to plunge through her chest, as if each kiss doesn't radiate through her until she is molten, as if she has more restraint than to kiss him until her lungs die out.
She hardly does. It's an overestimation of her self-control, and the unnatural golden glow to her eyes, when she leans back to look at him, proves it. It sparks and fizzles out, much like the dying light of a setting sun, but she is too preoccupied with outlining his mouth with idle strokes of her fingertips to realize any of it. Her lips curve, the only warning of her deliberately annoying cheekiness before it spills out of her. ]
The more you offer it, the more I start to think Nikolai Lantsov has a secret taste for punishment.
same feel
[ he has more to add, but his thoughts ebb away when the sweetness of alina's mouth takes over, her kiss far more demanding than expected, though he hardly minds. her tongue is welcomed wholeheartedly, his lips parting to allow her to deepen the kiss while his hand travels up her spine to grip the base of her skull, fingers tangling in her hair. it's a moment that he can lose himself in, a moment that temporarily quiets the discord in his mind, and for that, he's grateful — grateful that she somehow holds the power to make that happen at all.
he hums into her mouth, sighing audibly when she pulls away and catching a glimpse of the spark in her eyes. they glow with a nearly otherworldly aura, as captivating as it is brief. considering he has one of the most powerful grisha that has ever lived currently in his bed, perhaps her comment on his taste for punishment isn't entirely off the mark. ]
I can tell when people say yes to me just because of who I am and not because they see the reason behind my actions. [ he runs his thumb along the color blooming in her cheeks, her skin warm, and smiles gently at the feel of her fingertips at his mouth, stealing a quick kiss to the pad of her ring finger. ] I love hearing the word yes. But I despise it when it comes like that. I'd rather have a long, difficult argument than for someone to feel they were coerced by me.
[ beneath the sheets, his knee rises slowly to push between her legs, feeling the silk of her gown hike up with the movement. he brushes her hair back again, this time over her shoulder so he can tilt up and press a kiss to her collarbone, his lips moving higher along the column of her throat and finally settling just beneath her earlobe. he tongues at the soft skin before sucking sharply, delicately placing what will eventually blossom into a bruise, easily hidden by her hair. ]
Sometimes I think I do rather enjoy my own misery. [ he kisses her jaw before settling back, a hazy desire in his eyes but feeling content to simply stew in it. ] It's far better than fighting it.
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Still, she understands it. That clawing, desperate need to prove one's self beyond titles and recognition and power. That pounding ache of a heart, wishing it was wanted for every scar and wound and virtue. Misery loves company, she had jested, but maybe there's an ugly scrap of truth in it she hadn't realized. In the end, she is just as miserable, just as keen to fight for her right to be wanted as she is: Sun Summoner and Alina Starkov and everything in-between. ]
We're at war because I'm very difficult to coerce.
[ But she doesn't want to consider their common enemy, doesn't want to invite her mind to remind her he had once brushed his lips against the same hidden, delicate skin of her throat. That his hands have once roamed where Nikolai's have. His fingers brush that unwelcome ghost away, driving away the poisonous reminder of what he had planned for her. Alina sighs into it, the bright red mark already beginning to flower along pale skin.
An entirely different brand, without the same possessiveness of Morozova's collar shining at her throat, reflecting the morning sunlight haloing around them. Her head tilts, spilling her hair over her shoulder like a stream, as she considers him through a half-lidded gaze that gives far too much of her wanting away.
She leans forward, her breath a whisper against the shell of his ear. ]
Be a little less miserable with me.
[ If only for awhile. If only for now. She nuzzles into the column of his throat, tracing her lips down its column, letting her exhales heat the wet trail she leaves behind as if it's her own argument to convince him. It's there she buries the sudden sting of her self-consciousness when she grinds down against the bend of his knee, breath hitching against the crook of his neck, the silk of her nightgown hitching higher to tangle around her thighs. The friction is hardly enough, could never be enough, but it's her own proposal left in his hands.
Even as she waits, a little agonized, and blindly reaches across the sheets to grapple for his hand. As if convinced that without that anchor, no matter how often he has thrown himself into the fire, he might very well flee from her. ]
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her request earns her a smile even while he can see the pain schooled away behind her expression. he's only heard about the hell that she and mal have been through at the darkling's hands, but all the impressions of it are plain to see for anyone who cares enough to look. his mouth presses to the tumble of her hair when she leans in, exhaling sharply when he feels her grind down against his leg. ]
I, for one, love a difficult woman. [ she finds his hand, and he squeezes back tightly in a warm, reassuring grip. ] Your conviction. Your strong will. Your inability to be led where you don't want to go. All of those things are what makes you so appealing.
[ he wants her to hear it, even if it goes unspoken. all the things the darkling didn't want about you are exactly why i asked you to be my queen.
even now, right in this moment, she's practically thrown the gauntlet at his feet. he pulls their twined hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles before letting go and reversing their positions yet again, grinning down at her when she ends up back against the pillows. he kisses down her throat while his hand disappears beneath the sheets, running down the line of her body, down her waist and past her hips, down to the bunched end of her gown to grasp the fabric and pull it higher. ]
I would be a little less of anything for you. [ his mouth finds hers again, humming softly as he kisses her, his hand moving at the same moment to draw his fingers between her legs, only a thin bit of fabric separating them. he presses down to feel her warmth. ] Just don't ask me to be less handsome. It's a difficult and uncomfortable request.
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it's as terrifying as plunging into the sea. it's as exhilarating as the wind whipping in her hair. it's as dangerous as hope, with a faith that is twice as deadly, when she thinks of every pretty, sweet word that nikolai has carefully constructed to get his way. it's just another skill in a long list of talents — that silver tongue, capable of telling anyone what they wish to hear. for a moment, she wonders if the truth of her heart has been that open, that obvious.
but even in knowing that — saints, she believes him, even when he tells her i would be a little less of anything for you. he has offered her so much, and perhaps for the first time, she can allow herself to be selfish and take this from him. she blinks back up at him, a little dazedly doe-eyed from how struck she is by everything that he is, just before his fingers descend.
the groan that tears out of her throat, hoarse and rasping, is not entirely from pleasure. leave it to nikolai to be an incorrigible bastard, even in this. what is worse is how utterly right he is; the soft glow of morning light spilling along his skin makes him look ethereal, a mythical creature hovering above her — what should be untouchable, to someone like her. annoyingly handsome, and just as annoyingly capable of speech, when just the light pressure of his fingers has her arcing into that touch.
alina's retribution is the sharp nip of her teeth, sinking into the plushness of his lower lip. she isn't doing this right, if he is still in possession of a vocabulary, if he can still think a thought when she's overcome with her own urge to loosen the threads that hold him together. just for awhile. just until there is nothing but the rawness of his honest reaction. just until he stitches himself back together again and remembers what he is.
just until they're even, to lessen the embarrassment of that thin scrap between them, soaked through and clinging to her skin. her fingers clench around his shoulders, gripping and clasping and digging in, before she drags her nails weakly down his spine. ]
You could stand to be a little less of a smug idiot.
[ the usual, snarky bite to it is suspiciously absent, courtesy of her breathlessness. still: alina starkov, queen of sweet nothings. ]
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but now she's here, and she seems to want to be here, and she doesn't pull away from his touch. he doesn't mind the scratch marks at his shoulders and back. he doesn't even mind being a smug idiot right now. he just wants to savor this moment, to commit it to memory, to admire the sunlight against her skin. it's the loveliest sight he's seen in days. ]
I believe charming is the correct word.
[ he hooks a finger around the fabric of her underwear, slowly easing it down while his lips find hers again, kissing her softly, his eyes fluttering open to watch her face. there's a question in his gaze, an is this okay that floats to meet her eyes. despite the brandy he was buzzed on, he remembers it when she told him that she hadn't done this before.
his fingers slide gently along the now bare wetness between her legs, caressing her carefully. their noses brush, his unkempt hair falling to brush his forehead. ] Honestly, I have a bit of experience with this and that, but not as much as I tend to lead people to believe. It's difficult, at times. Lantsov men tend to take what they want, but maybe it's because my blood's been spoiled already that I crave a little more than a meaningless encounter.
[ he rises, not putting into words that this could very well be meaningless because he still feels uncertain about where exactly he stands in all this. he lifts one of her legs, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of her thigh. ]
May I? [ he pulls her panties off the rest of the way, dropping it over the side of the bed and planting another line of kisses down the inside of her thigh. ] If you absolutely hate it, feel free to kick me. I'll get the message.
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it's enviable, in a way, to capture that confidence. it's miserable, in another, to know its creation came from every dirty look and ill word. she doesn't want to think of how long it has taken him to guard himself against those barbs, or how long it may take her to do the same. she doesn't want to think of the way she often feels as though she is slipping and slipping, in over her head, and wondering if the world around her has truly witnessed how unworthy she is — some orphaned girl turned grisha, made into the living legend of a saint. she doesn't want to think of legacy, or the loneliness their lives demand.
her eyes settle on the gold of his hair burnished by the sunlight, instead, and the soft stroke of her fingers as she brushes it from his eyes. as tempting as it is to seal her eyes shut as though it might spare her the nervous ratcheting of her heart, she watches him through the spellbound fog of dark, half-hooded eyes. just in case. just in case he needs to know she is imagining no one else dipping low between her thighs, dragging a kiss-swollen mouth over the twitching muscles in her thighs. just in case she needs to convince herself this isn't a figment of a dream. it should be one, having a prince asking for a taste of her, but —
he feels more real, like this. more tangible, like something she could dare to have, if only she reached for it. her fingers cascade down his cheek, fluttering back upward to card through his hair and down the nape of his neck, a touch as soft as a butterfly's wings. there is too much of him for her hands to decide where to linger, where to touch. ]
I happen to like your spoiled blood.
[ more than i should. her tongue comes out to wet her lips, teeth toying with her bottom lip, as she swallows her insecurities. the splay of her legs is slow, opening to him in the invitation. even if she can feel herself dripping onto her thigh, onto his pristine sheets. there will be no question that the rumors have some truth, now, after this.
for now, she hooks a leg over his shoulder, her voice as tremulous as her gentle smile when she murmurs, ] How could I hate anything that shuts you up, Nikolai?
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alina makes him feel seen for the first time in what feels like ages. not as the prince or the privateer or the soldier or the bastard son. just as nikolai. just as the parts of himself that he's hidden for so long that he almost began to forget them.
he might never find another who accepts his shortcomings like this. certainly no queen bred to be on a throne would see the humor in it. most days, nikolai can barely find it himself.
for the millionth time, he's reminded of how much is at stake here. of how much he wishes for this. of how he'll accept a rejection with a smile but how badly it will hurt to hear it. ]
Just one of my many good qualities. [ he nuzzles her soft skin with a faint smile, sucking another bruise to her inner thigh. ] Don't worry. I'll make up for the silence later.
[ then he dips down between her legs, settling comfortably as he kisses the warm wetness there. the sheets will be dirty and there will be rumors. right now he can't find it in him to care so much about that. he presses his tongue against the rosebud of her clit, sucking gently as he teases her, savoring her heat and taste. saints, mal is a fool if he never did this, but nikolai is grateful to him all the same for the late start. it means that maybe this is something that she'll remember him for. maybe only him, if he's lucky.
his tongue moves faster while he gently sinks one finger inside of her, allowing her several moments to get used to the feeling before he moves again, in and out slowly, all the while working her with his mouth. he glances up to catch a glimpse of her face, hoping for a favorable outcome while he hums softly, releasing a warm breath over. ]
It's exquisite down here. [ he grins cheekily before kissing her clit again, his tongue moving swiftly. in all honesty he means it, as ridiculous as it might sound. it is exquisite, and so satisfying to finally have a taste. ]
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oh, because he has embedded himself into her like this, made his mark with the first warm swipe of his tongue and the blooming bruises painted into her skin.
only a fool would think that nikolai lantsov does anything without deliberation. it can hardly be a mistake, alina thinks — but there is solace to be had in knowing she is not alone in that. he's practically wearing her, lips glistening with the slickness of her arousal when his mouth lifts and curves into something decidedly more familiar — that teasing, devastating grin she has come to know, on a mouth more ruinous than she had anticipated.
maybe she is a fool, after all. fool or not, she burns from the sight of it, molten heat swimming through her veins, her skin bright with the vividity of her flush. for a moment, she has to squeeze her eyes closed against the vision he creates, more so when she digs her fingers into his hair until it's a ragged, disheveled mess beneath hands desperate to find anything to anchor her to this moment.
for another moment, she considers strangling him for speaking. or perhaps it's simply the fact that he moves from her long enough for the ghost of his heated breath to wash over her, to make her body jolt and a whine tear its way up her throat. ]
Don't — [ but the sweep of his tongue is there again, warm and wet and perfect, as it flicks across her clit in quick swirls of his tongue, and alina's breath wrenches into a building moan. the slide of her legs over his shoulders is immediate, digging into his spine to bring him closer, and closer still, as she rocks up to meet the stretch of his finger. she clenches around it, impossibly greedy, muscles fluttering to drag him deeper — and tries to ignore the self-consciousness that pricks at the edge of her mind as she tries to fall into his rhythm, rising and falling to collide with every plunge of his finger. ] — be embarrassing.
[ there's hardly room for embarrassment when she's riding his hand with stuttering movements, when the force of her grip is nearly pressing him into her too eagerly, but that compliment — it still stains her face a splotchy red. ]
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