Later, examining the collection of marks, Nikolai will consider: what exactly had tipped him past the breaking point?
In all the collection of sensations, was it Alina's nails digging half-moons into his chest that broke him apart?
Maybe so.
Maybe it is how she almost says his name, or the way her body shudders and shivers over him, or how wet she is, how flushed her skin is just now. All of these are such fine things in combination, and there is such novelty in hearing his name—
Maybe it is the intimacy inherent running warm between them, built up so tenuously and linked into place now.
It might matter to Nikolai later, when he is alone with all that's happened in the past twenty-four hours and can't help but try to turn it all over in his mind. But right now, all of it converges and overwhelms what last dregs of self-control he had left.
He comes, saying her name. Alina, projected into her head even he has says it aloud, reaches up to sink his fingers into her hair. Doesn't kiss her. Their breath mingles and their noses brush and she trembles over even the light press of his fingers. Says something else, low and thick and fond in Ravkan, affectionate and pleading all at once.
Words made pretty for their honesty, wrecked and urgent and said nearly into her mouth, they are so close. It all comes to the same thing: Stay a little longer, Alina, even if all they can do together is sleep.
This is better. For all the fluttering fear that rose in her belly because of her own vulnerability, it is so much better to see how he squirms, to hear him uttering her name like a prayer, to watch how his expression twists. He's beautiful. She wants to kiss him, but wants to hear him more. So she lingers, impossibly close, letting the new wetness that stains the inside of her skirts cool.
As she sinks into him, she lifts her hands, slowly, to cradle his face. To savor this closeness. Then she buries her face against his sweat-slick neck, collapsing fully, sweat mingling. She strokes his arm, steady and slow, an assurance before she can muster words.
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs finally, her voice still ragged with the dregs of feverish hunger as well as the fatigue of physical effort. There is a burn in her thighs that tells her this is enough for now, and she makes a happy if creaky little noise as she shifts her hips to stretch them out, shifting herself just to the side of him lest either of them have cause for lingering concern about the closeness of their bits.
Her breaths are heavy still, coming in tandem with his. She plants one hand on his chest so she can feel his ribs expand. The moment feels indulgent, luxurious. When has she ever had the opportunity to just linger like this, to hold and admire? She shifts her head back onto the other side of his pillow, lifts her gaze to search his face again, admires the sheen of sweat and the flush of his cheeks and the way his lips part to draw in more air.
Smiles, a little goofily, as she realizes that she can have this, if she wants it. He has offered it to her. And she already loves him a little for showing her what it could be like, could come to love him more, maybe.
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no subject
In all the collection of sensations, was it Alina's nails digging half-moons into his chest that broke him apart?
Maybe so.
Maybe it is how she almost says his name, or the way her body shudders and shivers over him, or how wet she is, how flushed her skin is just now. All of these are such fine things in combination, and there is such novelty in hearing his name—
Maybe it is the intimacy inherent running warm between them, built up so tenuously and linked into place now.
It might matter to Nikolai later, when he is alone with all that's happened in the past twenty-four hours and can't help but try to turn it all over in his mind. But right now, all of it converges and overwhelms what last dregs of self-control he had left.
He comes, saying her name. Alina, projected into her head even he has says it aloud, reaches up to sink his fingers into her hair. Doesn't kiss her. Their breath mingles and their noses brush and she trembles over even the light press of his fingers. Says something else, low and thick and fond in Ravkan, affectionate and pleading all at once.
Words made pretty for their honesty, wrecked and urgent and said nearly into her mouth, they are so close. It all comes to the same thing: Stay a little longer, Alina, even if all they can do together is sleep.
no subject
As she sinks into him, she lifts her hands, slowly, to cradle his face. To savor this closeness. Then she buries her face against his sweat-slick neck, collapsing fully, sweat mingling. She strokes his arm, steady and slow, an assurance before she can muster words.
"I'm not going anywhere," she murmurs finally, her voice still ragged with the dregs of feverish hunger as well as the fatigue of physical effort. There is a burn in her thighs that tells her this is enough for now, and she makes a happy if creaky little noise as she shifts her hips to stretch them out, shifting herself just to the side of him lest either of them have cause for lingering concern about the closeness of their bits.
Her breaths are heavy still, coming in tandem with his. She plants one hand on his chest so she can feel his ribs expand. The moment feels indulgent, luxurious. When has she ever had the opportunity to just linger like this, to hold and admire? She shifts her head back onto the other side of his pillow, lifts her gaze to search his face again, admires the sheen of sweat and the flush of his cheeks and the way his lips part to draw in more air.
Smiles, a little goofily, as she realizes that she can have this, if she wants it. He has offered it to her. And she already loves him a little for showing her what it could be like, could come to love him more, maybe.