[ his words are a sweetly painful thread cutting cleanly through him, reigniting a spark to illuminate the lonely dark. it hurts to smile — crooked and slightly unsure, less confident than his practiced pretenses but no less bright — but it's the first genuine bit of hope he's felt in days. warmth rushes through him, relief softening his features. kaz can't know how much he needs the people he cares for to believe in him — how much it hurt when zoya looked at him as if she'd stopped — but maybe he does know. kaz has always had an uncanny way of silently puzzling him out, and this reassurance that he doesn't deserve this lonely existence pulls at something in him. disbelief, maybe, but coupled with a desperate longing to swallow down his words.
he's come to recognize kaz's halting way of speech that belies true honesty, familiar in its rarity. it calms him the more flustered kaz gets, pushing the words out like heavy stones dropping at his feet. he collects them with earnest care, even the jagged ones — i wouldn't have called you here — because they still fit perfectly among the rest. i've never — you're the only one who's ever — i keep missing you. he wishes he could draw nearer, kaz’s touch more than he expected but still not enough. it will never be enough to have him like this when he knows he’s unlocked kaz’s longing for more, gradual and stuttering as the process might be to restart. you can’t touch him, a truth so difficult to swallow that a part of him still reels from the shock of it.
but it’s something. it’s a yes. it’s a chance, and he won’t squander it despite his reservations. his smile stretches, boyish and brilliant around the ache in his chest. ]
I told you before that I would ask a great deal of you, and I’m not done asking yet. I won’t see you go backwards. No matter my present circumstances. The difference between the two of us is that you allow me a certain amount of grace, but I have no qualms about dragging you back into the light while you flap and peck like those awful pigeons infesting your docks. [ he reaches up and slowly tugs at one end of kaz’s tie, once again letting the fabric flutter away from his neck. ] The Crow Club makes more money than sin. I’m sure you could do something about your bird plague. They defecate on my ship every time she docks here.
[ his fingertips glide gently along kaz’s ribs, stopping at the buttons of his vest, his gaze shifting to something pensive and distracted. the monster uncoils at this close proximity, the dark veining at his hands giving a sudden pulse. nikolai’s breath hitches sharply, fingers hovering an inch away from kaz’s snug buttons. does he dare? his hands are bare but fabric mutes the touch, deft hands flicking open his vest as he did in the bedroom, his palms sliding down his shoulders to nudge the vest down his arms. he has to be able to touch him, has to be able to hold him, perhaps not in the way he longs to but at least like this. because he won’t risk not being able to hold onto him in the water. ]
Don’t be ridiculous. The hat is too valuable to risk losing it somewhere in the canal. Knowing you, you’d try to knock it away on purpose. I’ll wear it the next time I add to your tab at the Crow Club. [ still loosely gripping his arms, he traces his thumb above where he knows the single letter tattoo is. ] Answer me honestly. Have you let anyone come close — innocuous, a hand here, a brush there, contact that you know now to be completely normal — or have you been so angry about the shifting terrain between us that you’re willing to throw away all measure of progress you’ve made? Forward doesn’t mean a closed door.
[ he holds his gaze for a long moment, then untangles himself to fetch new gloves as asked — and to allow kaz to provide an answer without being stared down as if he’s being scolded. he wants to know. he wants kaz to understand that this isn’t over, that he’s not going to leave him drifting nor will he allow him to worm his way off this particular hook so easily. nikolai has had plenty of time to think — all conflicting thoughts — but one thing felt clear. he’s squandered enough of his time away. he made that mistake in ravka, existing in the same space as kaz brekker and yet hardly coming close, another regret for the mounting pile. so he can’t touch him the way he wants. so he can’t kiss him, can’t trace his tongue along his skin and taste the salt of his sweat, can’t drink down his moans and unlock what makes him shiver. that doesn’t mean the work is done. when has he ever left a wounded man behind, much less one he loves like this?
kaz might hate him for throwing him into the drink again, for pushing him with endless questions and demanding more than he thinks he can give. but he handled it all before and only snarled at him a handful of times for it. nikolai feels comfortable with these odds. he returns with a smile, hands sheathed in fresh gloves. it must be painful for kaz to have stood there for so long, so he beckons him to the door, down the paved trail to the canal where his boat awaits — painted a particular shade of blue with gold embellishments that catch the rays of the setting sun — and because anyone might assume he’s just helping brekker walk anyway, he holds out a hand for him to take. ]
She’s called the Sapfiry. I’ve taken a liking to sapphires lately.
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he's come to recognize kaz's halting way of speech that belies true honesty, familiar in its rarity. it calms him the more flustered kaz gets, pushing the words out like heavy stones dropping at his feet. he collects them with earnest care, even the jagged ones — i wouldn't have called you here — because they still fit perfectly among the rest. i've never — you're the only one who's ever — i keep missing you. he wishes he could draw nearer, kaz’s touch more than he expected but still not enough. it will never be enough to have him like this when he knows he’s unlocked kaz’s longing for more, gradual and stuttering as the process might be to restart. you can’t touch him, a truth so difficult to swallow that a part of him still reels from the shock of it.
but it’s something. it’s a yes. it’s a chance, and he won’t squander it despite his reservations. his smile stretches, boyish and brilliant around the ache in his chest. ]
I told you before that I would ask a great deal of you, and I’m not done asking yet. I won’t see you go backwards. No matter my present circumstances. The difference between the two of us is that you allow me a certain amount of grace, but I have no qualms about dragging you back into the light while you flap and peck like those awful pigeons infesting your docks. [ he reaches up and slowly tugs at one end of kaz’s tie, once again letting the fabric flutter away from his neck. ] The Crow Club makes more money than sin. I’m sure you could do something about your bird plague. They defecate on my ship every time she docks here.
[ his fingertips glide gently along kaz’s ribs, stopping at the buttons of his vest, his gaze shifting to something pensive and distracted. the monster uncoils at this close proximity, the dark veining at his hands giving a sudden pulse. nikolai’s breath hitches sharply, fingers hovering an inch away from kaz’s snug buttons. does he dare? his hands are bare but fabric mutes the touch, deft hands flicking open his vest as he did in the bedroom, his palms sliding down his shoulders to nudge the vest down his arms. he has to be able to touch him, has to be able to hold him, perhaps not in the way he longs to but at least like this. because he won’t risk not being able to hold onto him in the water. ]
Don’t be ridiculous. The hat is too valuable to risk losing it somewhere in the canal. Knowing you, you’d try to knock it away on purpose. I’ll wear it the next time I add to your tab at the Crow Club. [ still loosely gripping his arms, he traces his thumb above where he knows the single letter tattoo is. ] Answer me honestly. Have you let anyone come close — innocuous, a hand here, a brush there, contact that you know now to be completely normal — or have you been so angry about the shifting terrain between us that you’re willing to throw away all measure of progress you’ve made? Forward doesn’t mean a closed door.
[ he holds his gaze for a long moment, then untangles himself to fetch new gloves as asked — and to allow kaz to provide an answer without being stared down as if he’s being scolded. he wants to know. he wants kaz to understand that this isn’t over, that he’s not going to leave him drifting nor will he allow him to worm his way off this particular hook so easily. nikolai has had plenty of time to think — all conflicting thoughts — but one thing felt clear. he’s squandered enough of his time away. he made that mistake in ravka, existing in the same space as kaz brekker and yet hardly coming close, another regret for the mounting pile. so he can’t touch him the way he wants. so he can’t kiss him, can’t trace his tongue along his skin and taste the salt of his sweat, can’t drink down his moans and unlock what makes him shiver. that doesn’t mean the work is done. when has he ever left a wounded man behind, much less one he loves like this?
kaz might hate him for throwing him into the drink again, for pushing him with endless questions and demanding more than he thinks he can give. but he handled it all before and only snarled at him a handful of times for it. nikolai feels comfortable with these odds. he returns with a smile, hands sheathed in fresh gloves. it must be painful for kaz to have stood there for so long, so he beckons him to the door, down the paved trail to the canal where his boat awaits — painted a particular shade of blue with gold embellishments that catch the rays of the setting sun — and because anyone might assume he’s just helping brekker walk anyway, he holds out a hand for him to take. ]
She’s called the Sapfiry. I’ve taken a liking to sapphires lately.