[ he grins at that despite the tiny spear of trepidation that sinks squarely into his chest. he thinks — not for the first time — that alina sees things all too well. she has an uncanny gift to cut straight to the heart of the matter, perhaps because there's so much of herself that she's hidden away just as he has. she knows too many of his tricks.
it's a comfort, in a way. but it also leaves him slightly off balance, because it makes it that much harder to control the situation. it makes his charm somewhat ineffective, at the very least, and he's come to rely on it quite a lot these days. ]
Perhaps that will change with you in my bed. [ but he notices the same things in her, the quiet weariness she carries, the way she seems worn down when she thinks he's not looking. a certain darkness haunts her gaze, as if she spends her time seeing ghosts. ] Perhaps it will benefit us both.
[ a fervent wish and perhaps a foolish hope, but a theory he would nonetheless like to test. he runs one hand through his rumpled hair before he returns to the bed, reaching over to grasp both of her hands and pull her to the edge. he plants a warm kiss to her forehead, drawing his fingers gently through her long hair. ]
Then we shall. Do this again. [ he flashes a grin, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger and letting it fall as he brushes her chin. ] Whenever you want, Alina.
[ then he turns to the tray of forgotten food, scooping out a glop of jam for his toast. he takes a comically large bite, moaning out a noise of appreciation as he moves to his closet, picking out a teal coat emblazoned with the double eagle crest. he brings it over, brushing the crumbs from his hand before he drops it over her shoulders. ]
You'll have an audience. Might as well make a statement.
[ a quiet, pensive agreement. it's laughable, to believe that she might strip away his secrets with each piece of clothing that flutters to the floor. but in these more tender moments, when his lips brush against her forehead like a promise imprinted on her skin, she can believe it is more than the fantasy of a bastard prince and an orphan girl suffocating beneath their ambitions for ravka.
the easing tension in her spine speaks to a relief she doesn't give voice to. even as she narrows her eyes at the moan pouring out of his throat, quite aware that he has — deliberately or otherwise — only contributed to their audience with that particular performance. even as that puddle of teal drapes along her shoulders, drowning her in its lavish fabric.
he really does have the most terrible taste in clothing. the gaudiness is nearly offensive to her eyes, but it wouldn't be nikolai if he wasn't skilled at peacocking. she snorts, plucking it off of her shoulders with a wrinkle of her nose just so she can turn it over and inspect it, despite knowing what embroidery she will find.
if she were a fool, she could convince herself that it means nothing — that it's only to rile the servants into twittering — but it is, undoubtedly, a statement. a large declaration of his fondness, of the ties that bind them, but she is not deaf to what messages she will convey. it dares her to prove herself, challenges her to make a choice; if mal had been so rattled by a kefta — by what it had represented — she cannot imagine his anger to be anything less than a storm on a horizon, sending him into that dark whirlpool of self-destruction she has seen him spiral down into.
she swallows thickly, hesitating for a moment longer, before she pulls her arms into its sleeves. ]
If this turns out to be a way of marking your territory, I'm going to choke you with the rest of your toast.
[ it is, after all, what alina considers a fair warning. ]
[ there's a moment where he holds his breath and wonders if she'll actually take the coat or politely set it aside in favor of reason and peacekeeping — both of which have their merits but neither of which he's currently interested in. but after a few long seconds of consideration slip by, she slips her arms into the coat, and nikolai makes sure the relief that floods him doesn't show on his face. ]
Marking my territory isn't my style. I prefer my territory to come to me willingly, lured in by my matchless wit and unlimited reservoir of charm. And my good looks.
[ he gets dressed while he talks, slowly becoming less boyish and more kingly despite the fact that he's still eating the jam with his fingers, and inspects himself in the mirror, frowning a little as he examines the shadows beneath his eyes. ]
It looks almost as good on you as it does on me.
[ he turns, his frown disappearing and replaced with a bright smile. for all its gaudiness he loves the color — it reminds him of the vastness of the sky and the ocean, and how both can be traversed endlessly and still offer a new sight each time. ]
Bright colors rather suit you, I think. Blue and gold in particular. Do you think I should get a brooch fashioned with my face on it? Would you wear it? Would it be a good gift? Perhaps I should wear it instead as a statement of sorts.
[ she knows what she would say if she were nikolai, brimming with an overconfidence that is as infuriating as it is enviable: everything suits me. as it stands, she seems to shrink further into the fabric at the attention, before scolding herself. if she cannot endure nikolai's focus and flattery, there is very little chance of her withstanding a gossiping, scandalized servant.
then again, she is struck by how little their views on her matter, in comparison. perhaps it's simply the embarrassment of hoping his compliments are more than empty, hollow shells he is used to presenting to courtly companions. she covers her uncertainty with a scoff as she straightens her spine, as if she had never looked unsur of herself at all, and delicately rolls up the sleeves until she can cuff them at the elbow.
it would be a shame if she were to dirty what likely has more value than everything she has ever owned combined, even if it serves to remind her how different their worlds had once been. different, and somehow too painfully similar all at once. ]
You're only going to lure someone in with one of those.
[ the sarcasm drips from her as she saunters toward him, ignoring the twist in her gut at the concept of someone. someone else, drawn in by him. someone else, warming his bed. someone else, who would replace the space she had once occupied, if she were to leave. ]
I think I see enough of your face as it is. [ then, dryly: ] But sure. Wear it yourself. You can consider it your gift to the world every time you force them to look upon it.
[ the corner of her mouth twitches. it's barely-there, a suggestion that she likes this teasing banter a bit too much, at times. ]
They might think you're terribly starved for attention, though.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
it's a comfort, in a way. but it also leaves him slightly off balance, because it makes it that much harder to control the situation. it makes his charm somewhat ineffective, at the very least, and he's come to rely on it quite a lot these days. ]
Perhaps that will change with you in my bed. [ but he notices the same things in her, the quiet weariness she carries, the way she seems worn down when she thinks he's not looking. a certain darkness haunts her gaze, as if she spends her time seeing ghosts. ] Perhaps it will benefit us both.
[ a fervent wish and perhaps a foolish hope, but a theory he would nonetheless like to test. he runs one hand through his rumpled hair before he returns to the bed, reaching over to grasp both of her hands and pull her to the edge. he plants a warm kiss to her forehead, drawing his fingers gently through her long hair. ]
Then we shall. Do this again. [ he flashes a grin, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger and letting it fall as he brushes her chin. ] Whenever you want, Alina.
[ then he turns to the tray of forgotten food, scooping out a glop of jam for his toast. he takes a comically large bite, moaning out a noise of appreciation as he moves to his closet, picking out a teal coat emblazoned with the double eagle crest. he brings it over, brushing the crumbs from his hand before he drops it over her shoulders. ]
You'll have an audience. Might as well make a statement.
no subject
[ a quiet, pensive agreement. it's laughable, to believe that she might strip away his secrets with each piece of clothing that flutters to the floor. but in these more tender moments, when his lips brush against her forehead like a promise imprinted on her skin, she can believe it is more than the fantasy of a bastard prince and an orphan girl suffocating beneath their ambitions for ravka.
the easing tension in her spine speaks to a relief she doesn't give voice to. even as she narrows her eyes at the moan pouring out of his throat, quite aware that he has — deliberately or otherwise — only contributed to their audience with that particular performance. even as that puddle of teal drapes along her shoulders, drowning her in its lavish fabric.
he really does have the most terrible taste in clothing. the gaudiness is nearly offensive to her eyes, but it wouldn't be nikolai if he wasn't skilled at peacocking. she snorts, plucking it off of her shoulders with a wrinkle of her nose just so she can turn it over and inspect it, despite knowing what embroidery she will find.
if she were a fool, she could convince herself that it means nothing — that it's only to rile the servants into twittering — but it is, undoubtedly, a statement. a large declaration of his fondness, of the ties that bind them, but she is not deaf to what messages she will convey. it dares her to prove herself, challenges her to make a choice; if mal had been so rattled by a kefta — by what it had represented — she cannot imagine his anger to be anything less than a storm on a horizon, sending him into that dark whirlpool of self-destruction she has seen him spiral down into.
she swallows thickly, hesitating for a moment longer, before she pulls her arms into its sleeves. ]
If this turns out to be a way of marking your territory, I'm going to choke you with the rest of your toast.
[ it is, after all, what alina considers a fair warning. ]
no subject
Marking my territory isn't my style. I prefer my territory to come to me willingly, lured in by my matchless wit and unlimited reservoir of charm. And my good looks.
[ he gets dressed while he talks, slowly becoming less boyish and more kingly despite the fact that he's still eating the jam with his fingers, and inspects himself in the mirror, frowning a little as he examines the shadows beneath his eyes. ]
It looks almost as good on you as it does on me.
[ he turns, his frown disappearing and replaced with a bright smile. for all its gaudiness he loves the color — it reminds him of the vastness of the sky and the ocean, and how both can be traversed endlessly and still offer a new sight each time. ]
Bright colors rather suit you, I think. Blue and gold in particular. Do you think I should get a brooch fashioned with my face on it? Would you wear it? Would it be a good gift? Perhaps I should wear it instead as a statement of sorts.
no subject
then again, she is struck by how little their views on her matter, in comparison. perhaps it's simply the embarrassment of hoping his compliments are more than empty, hollow shells he is used to presenting to courtly companions. she covers her uncertainty with a scoff as she straightens her spine, as if she had never looked unsur of herself at all, and delicately rolls up the sleeves until she can cuff them at the elbow.
it would be a shame if she were to dirty what likely has more value than everything she has ever owned combined, even if it serves to remind her how different their worlds had once been. different, and somehow too painfully similar all at once. ]
You're only going to lure someone in with one of those.
[ the sarcasm drips from her as she saunters toward him, ignoring the twist in her gut at the concept of someone. someone else, drawn in by him. someone else, warming his bed. someone else, who would replace the space she had once occupied, if she were to leave. ]
I think I see enough of your face as it is. [ then, dryly: ] But sure. Wear it yourself. You can consider it your gift to the world every time you force them to look upon it.
[ the corner of her mouth twitches. it's barely-there, a suggestion that she likes this teasing banter a bit too much, at times. ]
They might think you're terribly starved for attention, though.