[ the angrier nikolai is, the more alive he is, overtaken by feelings he can’t shut out or rationalise. it’s helpful, to a point — almost preferable to the hollow thing he’s been at other low moments.
the coppery taste of blood fills kaz’s mouth, more familiar than not, and air hisses between his teeth. this isn’t the gentle, careful nikolai from the first or last time. you need to be careful warns the voice at the same moment nikolai proves it. his hand stills. if there’s one thing that isn’t true, it’s the first of nikolai’s slashes. kaz brekker has always known what he wanted, even when that wanting diverged from his original purpose as a vengeful spirit.
in this moment, he knows what he wants better than nikolai, who has been contradictory for some time. this is just that tendency honed to a fine blade, slotted between kaz’s ribs and twisted with intent to harm. kaz can see it for what it is, though that does nothing for the pain. better to pause and review the evidence, swirling before him like the stones in that stupid kaleidoscope: nikolai asking him to leave the job and ravka, then stumbling over an invitation to stay in his room, in his bed. a request that he leave was followed by the very ask that drew him into nikolai’s lap.
logical thoughts scatter as nikolai ruins his new vest — for fuck’s sake — and seizes his tie, constricting his throat. you wrote me letters you said there was nothing better than me waiting you lied and lied and lied.
if kaz’s tongue is poison, nikolai’s is silver. he knows this, having spent weeks searching for pearls of truth in all his blethering. with nikolai wanting and threatening in his ear now, he closes his eyes. fighting the rip current only hastens drowning. kaz withdraws his hand from nikolai’s trousers and instead curls it at his wrist, prepared to break it away from his tie, his throat, if necessary. as he licks the blood from his lips, his breath evens its pace without slowing. ]
I’m not some toy you have to break to rid yourself of it. [ bitten out, hurt hidden the in the relentless grind of his rasp. that’s what all this is, isn’t it? he’s not performing as expected or wanted, so the little prince is tossing him at the nearest wall in frustration. ] I knew you from the moment I met you. [ a prince in privateer’s clothes. ] And I’ve told you what I want. [ you, whole and hale, whether that’s in his arms or someone else’s (though he certainly has a preference). evenly — ] So if you want me to go, you have to ask.
[ the other accusations range from absurd — that he was just a good fuck, when he was probably anything but that, all shaking hands and towering walls — to dangerously accurate. i’m done holding your hand strikes deep in his marrow, memories of intertwined fingers recurring through the whole of their entanglement. kaz had been exposed that first time on the ship, bleeding out and terrified of a healer’s hands. had accepted nikolai’s help, his touch in the times they collided after that. impossible to stop his old shame from resurfacing, weakness inherent in his inability to touch others freely, even now.
of course a thing like him can't walk this path beside nikolai, but he can try to turn him in the right direction (away from him, back toward his generals and nazyalensky). he lets his head fall into nikolai’s shoulder to slacken the fabric at his throat, smelling not sweat and salt — only decay. the chill down his spine is just that. a fear response.
he needs to leave. ]
Ask — [ his breath catches, and he hates himself for it. ] Ask for what you want.
[ because he won’t be cajoled into a retreat. his stubbornness will trigger the sickness or force nikolai to send him away openly, whichever comes first. ]
no subject
the coppery taste of blood fills kaz’s mouth, more familiar than not, and air hisses between his teeth. this isn’t the gentle, careful nikolai from the first or last time. you need to be careful warns the voice at the same moment nikolai proves it. his hand stills. if there’s one thing that isn’t true, it’s the first of nikolai’s slashes. kaz brekker has always known what he wanted, even when that wanting diverged from his original purpose as a vengeful spirit.
in this moment, he knows what he wants better than nikolai, who has been contradictory for some time. this is just that tendency honed to a fine blade, slotted between kaz’s ribs and twisted with intent to harm. kaz can see it for what it is, though that does nothing for the pain. better to pause and review the evidence, swirling before him like the stones in that stupid kaleidoscope: nikolai asking him to leave the job and ravka, then stumbling over an invitation to stay in his room, in his bed. a request that he leave was followed by the very ask that drew him into nikolai’s lap.
logical thoughts scatter as nikolai ruins his new vest — for fuck’s sake — and seizes his tie, constricting his throat. you wrote me letters you said there was nothing better than me waiting you lied and lied and lied.
if kaz’s tongue is poison, nikolai’s is silver. he knows this, having spent weeks searching for pearls of truth in all his blethering. with nikolai wanting and threatening in his ear now, he closes his eyes. fighting the rip current only hastens drowning. kaz withdraws his hand from nikolai’s trousers and instead curls it at his wrist, prepared to break it away from his tie, his throat, if necessary. as he licks the blood from his lips, his breath evens its pace without slowing. ]
I’m not some toy you have to break to rid yourself of it. [ bitten out, hurt hidden the in the relentless grind of his rasp. that’s what all this is, isn’t it? he’s not performing as expected or wanted, so the little prince is tossing him at the nearest wall in frustration. ] I knew you from the moment I met you. [ a prince in privateer’s clothes. ] And I’ve told you what I want. [ you, whole and hale, whether that’s in his arms or someone else’s (though he certainly has a preference). evenly — ] So if you want me to go, you have to ask.
[ the other accusations range from absurd — that he was just a good fuck, when he was probably anything but that, all shaking hands and towering walls — to dangerously accurate. i’m done holding your hand strikes deep in his marrow, memories of intertwined fingers recurring through the whole of their entanglement. kaz had been exposed that first time on the ship, bleeding out and terrified of a healer’s hands. had accepted nikolai’s help, his touch in the times they collided after that. impossible to stop his old shame from resurfacing, weakness inherent in his inability to touch others freely, even now.
of course a thing like him can't walk this path beside nikolai, but he can try to turn him in the right direction (away from him, back toward his generals and nazyalensky). he lets his head fall into nikolai’s shoulder to slacken the fabric at his throat, smelling not sweat and salt — only decay. the chill down his spine is just that. a fear response.
he needs to leave. ]
Ask — [ his breath catches, and he hates himself for it. ] Ask for what you want.
[ because he won’t be cajoled into a retreat. his stubbornness will trigger the sickness or force nikolai to send him away openly, whichever comes first. ]