[ either because of something nikolai says or the pain of unsticking his trousers, kaz winces. it’s almost all true, mind. he can’t abide tenderness after fighting it for years or tell a trap from a — date, if that’s what this was. doesn’t know how the night was intended to go, only that it went terribly. in fairness, it isn’t as though nikolai knows what he wants from their entanglement, either, seeing as he’d rather drown than name it love.
the fight leaves him when nikolai does, swept away by the wind and the knowledge that he might have finally ended this (not even on purpose, on accident). greedy, relentless, callous. he aches for the time when he never knew what it felt like to have nikolai’s hands on him, touching him where no one else would dare — where no one else will, if you have any sense. despite sHivering from the cold and his affliction, kaz never thinks to call for help. until nikolai returns, deathly pale in the lamplight and still somehow lovely, he assumes he’ll be left alone. that’s the way of things, isn’t it? everyone tires of him, this life, and goes. he visibly startles at nikolai’s presence (a half a second too early to be blamed on the towel). then, it takes a moment for nikolai’s next words to click. when they do — he chuckles. instinctive, fond, and swiftly curtailed. ]
It’s only a scrape. [ a grumbled protest that helps force the corners of his mouth downward. after fixing his scowl in place, kaz dries his hair, largely to delay following nikolai’s orders. only once it’s suitably fluffed does he press the towel against his skin, gaze dropping to nikolai’s gloved hands. his stomach isn’t as bad as it looks, particularly when compared to his leg, which has only worsened after being left unattended. he should be charting a course to see zenik, but they can’t even make port until morning without drawing unwanted attention, in their pathetic state. ]
[ kaz expels a breath and leans to the side, no doubt disrupting nikolai’s work in the process. when he straightens again, the blue shirt — obviously selected with him in mind, blood warming his throat — hangs off his fingertips. his sharp eyes catch on nikolai’s bowed head, hair gilded in moonlight. ] Presumptuous of you. [ to bring spare clothes when they’ve no idea how to talk to each other any longer, let alone touch. he shrugs on the unbuttoned shirt without further examination. thinking of the care nikolai attempted to put into this night only shows how ill-equipped he himself is to be anything but this. you will still be you. ]
[ his brows arch in a show of disaffection, ] You don’t have to do this. [ worded carefully to sidestep the flaw nikolai expertly pinpointed minutes earlier. ] If it’s too difficult to be around the blood. [ his blood. ] Or to touch me. [ he swallows hard. ] I understand. [ that it's not always possible to overcome these things: the revulsion, is his case, or the hunger in nikolai’s. some days are harder than others, touches shifting from welcome to harrowing in the blink of an eye. for want of a distraction, kaz fumbles buttoning a cuff before realising his palm has re-opened. a tsk slips from his mouth as he moves the towel from his torso to his hand, leaving rosy skin and dried blood behind. at least this can be done with trembling hands (his weakness blossoming under nikolai’s attention despite his efforts).
there are further remarks on his tongue. i don’t know what you want from me recurs but kaz doesn’t dare say it. you ruined the only thing nikolai wanted tonight. a wave of nausea rises up to his chest, so he finally takes the flask with his uninjured hand and sips it in the hope of settling his rattled person. ]
no subject
the fight leaves him when nikolai does, swept away by the wind and the knowledge that he might have finally ended this (not even on purpose, on accident). greedy, relentless, callous. he aches for the time when he never knew what it felt like to have nikolai’s hands on him, touching him where no one else would dare — where no one else will, if you have any sense. despite sHivering from the cold and his affliction, kaz never thinks to call for help. until nikolai returns, deathly pale in the lamplight and still somehow lovely, he assumes he’ll be left alone. that’s the way of things, isn’t it? everyone tires of him, this life, and goes. he visibly startles at nikolai’s presence (a half a second too early to be blamed on the towel). then, it takes a moment for nikolai’s next words to click. when they do — he chuckles. instinctive, fond, and swiftly curtailed. ]
It’s only a scrape. [ a grumbled protest that helps force the corners of his mouth downward. after fixing his scowl in place, kaz dries his hair, largely to delay following nikolai’s orders. only once it’s suitably fluffed does he press the towel against his skin, gaze dropping to nikolai’s gloved hands. his stomach isn’t as bad as it looks, particularly when compared to his leg, which has only worsened after being left unattended. he should be charting a course to see zenik, but they can’t even make port until morning without drawing unwanted attention, in their pathetic state. ]
[ kaz expels a breath and leans to the side, no doubt disrupting nikolai’s work in the process. when he straightens again, the blue shirt — obviously selected with him in mind, blood warming his throat — hangs off his fingertips. his sharp eyes catch on nikolai’s bowed head, hair gilded in moonlight. ] Presumptuous of you. [ to bring spare clothes when they’ve no idea how to talk to each other any longer, let alone touch. he shrugs on the unbuttoned shirt without further examination. thinking of the care nikolai attempted to put into this night only shows how ill-equipped he himself is to be anything but this. you will still be you. ]
[ his brows arch in a show of disaffection, ] You don’t have to do this. [ worded carefully to sidestep the flaw nikolai expertly pinpointed minutes earlier. ] If it’s too difficult to be around the blood. [ his blood. ] Or to touch me. [ he swallows hard. ] I understand. [ that it's not always possible to overcome these things: the revulsion, is his case, or the hunger in nikolai’s. some days are harder than others, touches shifting from welcome to harrowing in the blink of an eye. for want of a distraction, kaz fumbles buttoning a cuff before realising his palm has re-opened. a tsk slips from his mouth as he moves the towel from his torso to his hand, leaving rosy skin and dried blood behind. at least this can be done with trembling hands (his weakness blossoming under nikolai’s attention despite his efforts).
there are further remarks on his tongue. i don’t know what you want from me recurs but kaz doesn’t dare say it. you ruined the only thing nikolai wanted tonight. a wave of nausea rises up to his chest, so he finally takes the flask with his uninjured hand and sips it in the hope of settling his rattled person. ]