[ 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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[ 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. ]