[ there is a flare of light deep in her chest, his steady thrusts holding her at that apex of her orgasm for as long as they last. each one cracking her wide open, sending a fresh flutter of ecstasy through her slack expression, for once unshuttered.
his spend hot on her belly almost makes up for the sudden loss as he pulls out of her. she wants to weep with it, but when his palm flattens over her abdomen and smears the mess into her skin, it's like salve to a wound. it lays claim to her, if not in a way they'll regret later. she tips her head, deepening the kiss when he brings it to her, all sharp teeth and lazy hunger.
it should have been like this, she thinks as the fog of her arousal begins to clear, sated to sleepiness for the time being. this should have been the first time she'd had someone inside of her. not pressed to a brick wall with shadows splaying her legs.
she draws out of the kiss, blinking blearily up at nikolai, taking in his red face and his wet mouth and his unfocused eyes. the mess of his hair and the fine sheen of sweat that makes him glow, pink where he isn't pale. she loves him like this, breathless and wrecked. she strokes the side of his face, kisses him again, hungrier this time, eyes wetter for realizing what a terrible mistake she'd made with aleksander, for feeling that wound finally start to stitch closed by tiny measures. ]
Nikolai kisses her as he drags the mess of his palms across her skin, her belly to her hips, his softening cock pressed against the inside of her thigh. His body falls into hers, pinning her down into the mattress as he kisses her through the shuddering aftermath. His opposite hand threads into her hair, heel of his palm against her temple. When they break for breath, the first thing he says is her name.
As if it is all he can say. (What else is there but her?)
But by and by— ]
My little wife, [ is such a soft, sweet endearment, even if it is only true here in this shared bed behind that closed door. ] Alina. How do you feel?
[ All this against her mouth, only a breath away from those lazy, open-mouthed kisses that could so easily bear them both down into sleep if they allow it. ]
[ my little wife, he says, and alina melts into him. her arms settle around his shoulders, her legs tangle around him to squeeze him against her. he is warm and close and hers, a bulwark against the cold of the bedroom. her mouth melts against his, dizzy but resurfacing. each kiss has more space between it than the last. ]
Good. [ she mumbles, soft. tears still brimming, relieved. thinks again, it should have been like this. it should always be like this. ] Perfect. Thank you. [ another kiss. then, quieter, ] Thank you.
[ she likes being his little wife. likes sinking into trust, into that feeling of safety that is so unfamiliar and terrifying. she is embarrassed, as she comes back to herself, but even as she blinks him back into focus, she sees him there with her. just as drunk and stupid on their own lovemaking. and she smiles, drawing one arm back from around his neck and shoulders to instead touch his face like she wants to bottle it, savor it. ]
[ There are things he should be doing. They both know that. It would be true even in Ravka. But here, there is nothing to keep him from stretching out bonelessly over her, fitting their bodies together. Making himself into an anchor for her, as she finds her way back to herself. ]
I'll come to the banya with you, after we nap.
[ As if this too is decided, as if they have done this often enough that there is habit to it, routine. ]
[ teasing him comes as naturally as breathing, mumbled against his lips as they slot together — comfortably, now, instead of frantically. it is the first time she's had this kind of languid, soothing reprieve in the wake of sex.
but it's also true. that she wants to keep the mark of him on her, that she wants to let his sweat and semen seep into her skin until he's as indelibly etched into her as her sins are.
the crown of bones around her throat make for a poor pillow, though, and she steadily shifts to account for that. to help him find a more comfortable way to rest.
eventually, rolling onto their sides and then nikolai onto his back, she tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder and finds this, at least, is still comfortable. that she can trace patterns in his skin, that she can guide his hand to find where he's left stains in hers. that these moments of gathering their breath can be quiet and peaceful and not broken by her mistakes. ]
I like this. [ she peers up at him through dark lashes, tears drying. she offers this as a sort of compromise: resigning herself to the idea of the banya and the fact that she will want to go, the drying sweat will make it sound necessary and welcome, but giving voice at least to the reason for her reluctance. ] Being yours.
[ For all his overconfidence, all his bravado, Nikolai is not unaware of how once unlikely it was that he would hear such words from Alina.
He'd held that uncertainty in his mind even stood on the altar alongside her. Perhaps Alina would never want him the way he wanted her. Nikolai had understood it, resigned himself to it. Marriages had been founded on less warmth than the pair of them had for each other.
Here, in the wreck they've made of this bed, tucked in alongside each other as Nikolai drags one of the rumpled blankets up and over them. ]
You're always mine, [ He tells her, the depth of his feeling so much easier to parse in this moment, made plain in the aftermath of all they've done together. ] Just as I'm yours. It doesn't matter what's cleared away in the banya.
[ Would it be easier with a ring? He'd given her such a massive, gleaming weapon of a thing, but that was a Lantsov heirloom. What would Nikolai had given her, if he had been free to choose? ]
[ he says it with such certainty. alina blooms with it, flushed warm with a sense of comfort and security that is borrowed entirely from his want of her. he has seen some of the ugliest pieces of her and refused to turn away. ]
Mm. Convincing.
[ conceding the point, she lifts her chin. kisses under his. a lazy, affectionate thing that feels so easy to take now. it's short-lived, as she tucks herself back at his side. she is bleary-eyed still, exhausted in ways that stretch beyond the physical, and the blanket is warm like his body.
her heart slows its hammer, her eyes drift shut. she thinks in the last moments before oblivion that she could be happy, really properly happy, being his little wife. ]
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no subject
his spend hot on her belly almost makes up for the sudden loss as he pulls out of her. she wants to weep with it, but when his palm flattens over her abdomen and smears the mess into her skin, it's like salve to a wound. it lays claim to her, if not in a way they'll regret later. she tips her head, deepening the kiss when he brings it to her, all sharp teeth and lazy hunger.
it should have been like this, she thinks as the fog of her arousal begins to clear, sated to sleepiness for the time being. this should have been the first time she'd had someone inside of her. not pressed to a brick wall with shadows splaying her legs.
she draws out of the kiss, blinking blearily up at nikolai, taking in his red face and his wet mouth and his unfocused eyes. the mess of his hair and the fine sheen of sweat that makes him glow, pink where he isn't pale. she loves him like this, breathless and wrecked. she strokes the side of his face, kisses him again, hungrier this time, eyes wetter for realizing what a terrible mistake she'd made with aleksander, for feeling that wound finally start to stitch closed by tiny measures. ]
no subject
Nikolai kisses her as he drags the mess of his palms across her skin, her belly to her hips, his softening cock pressed against the inside of her thigh. His body falls into hers, pinning her down into the mattress as he kisses her through the shuddering aftermath. His opposite hand threads into her hair, heel of his palm against her temple. When they break for breath, the first thing he says is her name.
As if it is all he can say. (What else is there but her?)
But by and by— ]
My little wife, [ is such a soft, sweet endearment, even if it is only true here in this shared bed behind that closed door. ] Alina. How do you feel?
[ All this against her mouth, only a breath away from those lazy, open-mouthed kisses that could so easily bear them both down into sleep if they allow it. ]
no subject
Good. [ she mumbles, soft. tears still brimming, relieved. thinks again, it should have been like this. it should always be like this. ] Perfect. Thank you. [ another kiss. then, quieter, ] Thank you.
[ she likes being his little wife. likes sinking into trust, into that feeling of safety that is so unfamiliar and terrifying. she is embarrassed, as she comes back to herself, but even as she blinks him back into focus, she sees him there with her. just as drunk and stupid on their own lovemaking. and she smiles, drawing one arm back from around his neck and shoulders to instead touch his face like she wants to bottle it, savor it. ]
Tell me you don't have to go right away.
no subject
[ There are things he should be doing. They both know that. It would be true even in Ravka. But here, there is nothing to keep him from stretching out bonelessly over her, fitting their bodies together. Making himself into an anchor for her, as she finds her way back to herself. ]
I'll come to the banya with you, after we nap.
[ As if this too is decided, as if they have done this often enough that there is habit to it, routine. ]
no subject
[ teasing him comes as naturally as breathing, mumbled against his lips as they slot together — comfortably, now, instead of frantically. it is the first time she's had this kind of languid, soothing reprieve in the wake of sex.
but it's also true. that she wants to keep the mark of him on her, that she wants to let his sweat and semen seep into her skin until he's as indelibly etched into her as her sins are.
the crown of bones around her throat make for a poor pillow, though, and she steadily shifts to account for that. to help him find a more comfortable way to rest.
eventually, rolling onto their sides and then nikolai onto his back, she tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder and finds this, at least, is still comfortable. that she can trace patterns in his skin, that she can guide his hand to find where he's left stains in hers. that these moments of gathering their breath can be quiet and peaceful and not broken by her mistakes. ]
I like this. [ she peers up at him through dark lashes, tears drying. she offers this as a sort of compromise: resigning herself to the idea of the banya and the fact that she will want to go, the drying sweat will make it sound necessary and welcome, but giving voice at least to the reason for her reluctance. ] Being yours.
no subject
He'd held that uncertainty in his mind even stood on the altar alongside her. Perhaps Alina would never want him the way he wanted her. Nikolai had understood it, resigned himself to it. Marriages had been founded on less warmth than the pair of them had for each other.
Here, in the wreck they've made of this bed, tucked in alongside each other as Nikolai drags one of the rumpled blankets up and over them. ]
You're always mine, [ He tells her, the depth of his feeling so much easier to parse in this moment, made plain in the aftermath of all they've done together. ] Just as I'm yours. It doesn't matter what's cleared away in the banya.
[ Would it be easier with a ring? He'd given her such a massive, gleaming weapon of a thing, but that was a Lantsov heirloom. What would Nikolai had given her, if he had been free to choose? ]
no subject
Mm. Convincing.
[ conceding the point, she lifts her chin. kisses under his. a lazy, affectionate thing that feels so easy to take now. it's short-lived, as she tucks herself back at his side. she is bleary-eyed still, exhausted in ways that stretch beyond the physical, and the blanket is warm like his body.
her heart slows its hammer, her eyes drift shut. she thinks in the last moments before oblivion that she could be happy, really properly happy, being his little wife. ]