[ when nikolai rejects his offer of assistance, companionship, love; a series of complicated expressions plays across his face. brick by brick, kaz brekker rebuilds his composure. the slash of his brows cuts low, mouth taut, and his gaze lowers to their layered grip. it’s all he can do not to bite the hand still extended.
hard to parse what nikolai means by correcting him. what work remains? hasn’t kaz spent months sanding down his edges and opening his throat? all for someone who would rather drown than have you. kaz pulls his hand from nikolai’s before he stands, instead fumbling over the first buttons if his shirt, made of material finer (and bluer) than he’d ever pick for himself, silky against the skin. if he didn’t think nikolai might disappear, he’d slip beneath the deck like the shadow he is. unfortunately, even this latest humiliation isn’t enough to supplant that fear. although he manages to stand on his own, nikolai swiftly provides the help he wouldn’t ask for.
every gesture of care must be so small to nikolai, having been loved and loved in turn. kaz scrubs a hand over his face to stop it from crumpling, a burgeoning wetness rubbed from his eyes. a blanket heavy enough to slow his shakes, wrapped around his shoulders. a pillow slid beneath his leg where it most hurts. no one has ever cared for him like this. he’s never let them.
with good reason. it’s ruinous. there’s nothing more painful than being confronted with the very thing he sacrificed to get what he wanted — what he thought he wanted. it’s as if nikolai dragged a subterranean, hellish creature into the sun. maybe he did. it burns just the same. worse, the raking light will pass, leaving him scorched in the dark.
the occasional shudder overtakes him, limbs refusing to still after revisiting his waterlogged nightmares in the flesh. even once the distance between them clears his head, he has no counter. no matter how much nikolai claims to feel, it’s not enough. not to name the feeling outright, let alone act on it. with a sigh, he rolls the tension from his shoulders as he looks up without seeing. if only he could go away inside and say nothing, or return to his room atop the slat that no one dare enter uninvited. but nikolai is here, not there. close enough that if kaz turned his head, he’d need only tip it to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck. tempting in the firelight. and unwanted.
he thought that playing the bastard would dull the ache, at least, no satisfaction quite like the collapse of bone beneath his balled fist. it hadn’t. nor had the attentions of others, endured to suit his strategy and curiosity both. the moment nikolai called him back, he came limping to his door. pathetic — and unchanged. when nikolai speaks, kaz listens, eyes flitting sideways to sneak a glimpse at his freckles before following the curve of his arm to the stars. as it happens, he knows little of constellations beyond basic navigation. since stories like this didn’t serve his aims, he never bothered to collect them. blackened wings conjure the demon, and he wonders about the mechanics of its shadowy limbs. hadn’t been able to see how they sprung forth in the dank cellar.
struck by an impulse, kaz reaches across nikolai’s back to drape the blanket across them both, clothed shoulders brushing before he straightens and busies himself with his buttons. maybe in fjerda, nikolai says, where they’re going. where he went to the ends of reality to save the man beside him. where nina zenik will look at him with those huge, knowing eyes of hers while she draws the merzost from his bones. ]
[ mildly, brows arching — ] You’re not the one who stole from them. [ something he hadn’t mentioned on their way out, given the circumstances of their parting. he stole from shu han, too, as he left his meeting with the princess, exhilarated that his legend had expanded its domain. and, of course, he took from ravka shortly thereafter. twice. the first time, he only thieved from the courtiers who attended his audience with the dragon queen (and bargained dimitri into his service). the second, he’d nicked books from the palace library and replaced an emerald embedded in a lantsov bust with a rather lovely rock. there’d been little else to do without nikolai’s company, after all.
hazarding another glance at nikolai, kaz’s heart scrambles into his throat. nikolai remains sun-drenched, as always, even in the moon-dark. his smile hurts just as much as every token of affection. if this is all kaz can give him, if this is all nikolai wants — he turns away and blows out an exhale. maybe the work isn’t yet done. ]
Fortunately, I’m rather talented at breaking in and out of Fjerdan prisons. [ a flat look. ] You’ll have to pay for my services, of course. [ tipping his head this way and that. ] But since I’ll be freeing myself, anyway, there’s an argument to be made for a lower rate.
[ if nikolai won’t help himself, kaz will convince the demon that their interests are aligned. it must want food, life, freedom. a lever is a lever. hadn’t it asked who marked him, too, when they last spoke? as if it mattered. as if any scar from a person could compare. ]
no subject
hard to parse what nikolai means by correcting him. what work remains? hasn’t kaz spent months sanding down his edges and opening his throat? all for someone who would rather drown than have you. kaz pulls his hand from nikolai’s before he stands, instead fumbling over the first buttons if his shirt, made of material finer (and bluer) than he’d ever pick for himself, silky against the skin. if he didn’t think nikolai might disappear, he’d slip beneath the deck like the shadow he is. unfortunately, even this latest humiliation isn’t enough to supplant that fear. although he manages to stand on his own, nikolai swiftly provides the help he wouldn’t ask for.
every gesture of care must be so small to nikolai, having been loved and loved in turn. kaz scrubs a hand over his face to stop it from crumpling, a burgeoning wetness rubbed from his eyes. a blanket heavy enough to slow his shakes, wrapped around his shoulders. a pillow slid beneath his leg where it most hurts. no one has ever cared for him like this. he’s never let them.
with good reason. it’s ruinous. there’s nothing more painful than being confronted with the very thing he sacrificed to get what he wanted — what he thought he wanted. it’s as if nikolai dragged a subterranean, hellish creature into the sun. maybe he did. it burns just the same. worse, the raking light will pass, leaving him scorched in the dark.
the occasional shudder overtakes him, limbs refusing to still after revisiting his waterlogged nightmares in the flesh. even once the distance between them clears his head, he has no counter. no matter how much nikolai claims to feel, it’s not enough. not to name the feeling outright, let alone act on it. with a sigh, he rolls the tension from his shoulders as he looks up without seeing. if only he could go away inside and say nothing, or return to his room atop the slat that no one dare enter uninvited. but nikolai is here, not there. close enough that if kaz turned his head, he’d need only tip it to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck. tempting in the firelight. and unwanted.
he thought that playing the bastard would dull the ache, at least, no satisfaction quite like the collapse of bone beneath his balled fist. it hadn’t. nor had the attentions of others, endured to suit his strategy and curiosity both. the moment nikolai called him back, he came limping to his door. pathetic — and unchanged. when nikolai speaks, kaz listens, eyes flitting sideways to sneak a glimpse at his freckles before following the curve of his arm to the stars. as it happens, he knows little of constellations beyond basic navigation. since stories like this didn’t serve his aims, he never bothered to collect them. blackened wings conjure the demon, and he wonders about the mechanics of its shadowy limbs. hadn’t been able to see how they sprung forth in the dank cellar.
struck by an impulse, kaz reaches across nikolai’s back to drape the blanket across them both, clothed shoulders brushing before he straightens and busies himself with his buttons. maybe in fjerda, nikolai says, where they’re going. where he went to the ends of reality to save the man beside him. where nina zenik will look at him with those huge, knowing eyes of hers while she draws the merzost from his bones. ]
[ mildly, brows arching — ] You’re not the one who stole from them. [ something he hadn’t mentioned on their way out, given the circumstances of their parting. he stole from shu han, too, as he left his meeting with the princess, exhilarated that his legend had expanded its domain. and, of course, he took from ravka shortly thereafter. twice. the first time, he only thieved from the courtiers who attended his audience with the dragon queen (and bargained dimitri into his service). the second, he’d nicked books from the palace library and replaced an emerald embedded in a lantsov bust with a rather lovely rock. there’d been little else to do without nikolai’s company, after all.
hazarding another glance at nikolai, kaz’s heart scrambles into his throat. nikolai remains sun-drenched, as always, even in the moon-dark. his smile hurts just as much as every token of affection. if this is all kaz can give him, if this is all nikolai wants — he turns away and blows out an exhale. maybe the work isn’t yet done. ]
Fortunately, I’m rather talented at breaking in and out of Fjerdan prisons. [ a flat look. ] You’ll have to pay for my services, of course. [ tipping his head this way and that. ] But since I’ll be freeing myself, anyway, there’s an argument to be made for a lower rate.
[ if nikolai won’t help himself, kaz will convince the demon that their interests are aligned. it must want food, life, freedom. a lever is a lever. hadn’t it asked who marked him, too, when they last spoke? as if it mattered. as if any scar from a person could compare. ]