[By the time either of them realize what's happening, they've already been in hiding for a month. A month of laying low out in the country together, him swearing to protect her at any cost. This world isn't her own, and she doesn't fit in at all. But she quite literally fell into his lap, and he's been determined to keep her safe ever since.
When she suggests they run out as far as they can to the countryside, he seems to go along with that plan. Anyone that assumes she's able to actually control time and space likely isn't going to look for her out there. But what starts as simply hiding out quickly turns into the two of them working together to clean up the small cottage and the barn just out beyond.
Cleaning quickly turns into building something that resembles a home, and Clara can't remember the last time she's spent so long in one place. But eventually they start a garden and tend to the bees that have made their home in the fields right behind the cottage. Sheep show up the second week in, and despite Mal swearing they just appeared, Clara's certain he went to find them simply to please her.
The dogs and cats and cows and ducks mysteriously arrive the week after that, and soon enough they have a simple but busy life. They spend their days working their little farm, and their nights huddled close together, chatting and her reading books aloud to him. Those nights spent close together slowly become less and less innocent as time goes on, simple touches of their hands and lingering stares increasing in frequency.
When he finally seems to have had enough of the mounting tension, he finds her one afternoon in the barn. It's just started to rain, and Clara's run through the fields from the beehives in order to seek shelter. He's been out chopping wood, and is soaking wet when he steps into the barn with his axe in hand. Her eyes are wide as she stares over at him, taking in the sight he makes. She isn't sure she's ever seen anything so attractive in her entire life.
Or anything she's wanted more.
It's that thought that's on her mind as he sets the axe aside and he steps in close to fuss over her. All she can do is keep her eyes on his lips, even as she reassures him that she's fine. It's Clara that rises up on her tiptoes to steal the first kiss, but it's him that decides to move in close, pressing her against one of the posts in the barn.]
Look at you, stepping up to claim what you want. [She teases, knowing very well he only lets her boss him around because he fancies her.] It's about time.
[ this life, the simple passage of time shared on a small farm is what mal's wanted for a long time. long ago when he stood as an outsider in the orphanage, even with alina at his side.
later still when he'd traded the lodging of the orphanage for an army cot. he hadn't imagined that he'd have it.
the circumstances are different, of course, but there's not a part of mal that is complaining about the life he's built with clara in the last month. a part of him has forgotten that this is for her safety, that he is meant to protect and not get lost in what could be.
and yet, while they are here --- why not enjoy it? why not savor the nights by the fire or the days tending to the animals. why not nurture a spark of something that he does not want to end, when his whole life has been about not holding on too tightly because nice things rarely happen to ravkan orphans.
all things slip away but even if this does, not now. it's too late anyway for not getting attached, not when their touches linger and mal finds his gaze drawn to clara like she's the brightest star shining in the night sky. he finds animals to tend to that she mentions, feels himself breathing easier when she lights up at the sight of sheep or the stray mutt who'd followed mal back from his last hunting trip and had helped him track pheasants.
he's chopping wood when the rains start, a surprise storm that leaves everything soaked through. mal hadn't bothered with a shirt and it would be a lie to say he wasn't showing off for her.
clara runs for the barn and mal, drawn like moth to flame, follows. they're both panting and while the sound of rain echoes through the space, everything fades away and all he can focus on is clara. how much he wants, how much he needs to kiss her now. it's been weeks of not-so-innocent touches, of near kisses broken up by the sound of animals or someone passing by.
he's sure and yet --
she's soaked and mal wants to make sure she's alright. so he stalks close after setting down the axe and realizes, as she leans up to press her lips to his to cut off his worry, that maybe he's been the prey all along. his hands fall to her waist as he crowds her against the beam. she's so much smaller than him, easy to lift up as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. ] Finally? [ he raises a brow at that, but his words are teasing and there's cockiness bleeding through. ] I was trying to be a gentleman. [ except there's nothing about mal that's gentleman. certainly not now as she presses keeps her close, as he leans in to kiss her again. ]
Who said I wanted you to be a gentleman? [She retorts, knowing very well that he wouldn't want to actually be one. No, he's too rough around the edges, lacking trust in men that would properly call themselves a gentleman. But he has been nothing but sweet and chaste with her until now, and even after that kiss and with as close as they're pressed together? He's not being anything but gentle with her as he kisses her again.
All the weeks of growing closer and toeing the line of will they or won't they have ended in this. The tension between them is thick now, only growing stronger by the second. It goes straight to her head, making her dizzy with desire. He had been showing off for her earlier. And she had craved him then. But now they're equally cocky and sure of themselves, both running hot with arousal and a need to be close.
And of course they're going at it in the barn of all places. She supposes that's part of living a quiet and charmed life in the country. They have all the privacy in the world on their little farm. The home they made together is cozy and safe, so far removed from the rest of the world that there's no need to worry about prying eyes or being discovered. This is their little world, and all that matters is one another.]
Think I'd prefer it if you weren't, actually.
[There's no need to pretend to be a gentleman, at least not any longer. Not when he's lifted her, and her hands are all over him, and her legs have lifted to curl around him. They're pressed close, and the post at her back gives her purchase enough that she can rock ever so slightly against him. Of course, there's not much they can do still fully clothed. Especially with as soaking wet as they both are. But with the way she's looking up at him now, eyes dark with lust and want, lips kiss swollen and breath coming heavier now; she thinks that he'll be able to tear her clothes off of her in record time simply due to a need to have her then and there.
They've been dancing around this attraction for far too long now. She isn't sure it's possible to turn back and act like this kiss never happened. Not that she wants to. If anything, she wants to hurry forward and never look back. They ran into having to hide here together, her crashing into his life and this world making them both a target. And he's dedicated himself to protecting her, even when he didn't have to. He's taken care of her, worked with her to help her adjust. And now she loves the life they've made, and wants nothing more to make it something they can truly experience together. Completely, without any hesitation.
Hopefully he doesn't mind abandoning the thought of being a gentleman to get them there.]
( nikolai lantsov would never complain about the extent of responsibility resting on the shoulders of second sons — which is, of course, very little besides looking pretty and smiling brightly, both of which he exceeds at, expertly — but he's well aware of when a party has gone on too long, despite all his well bred manners insisting he stay in place. the lantsov palace is stuffed full of people in attendance for a rather hasty party thrown for his older brother vasily who, after recent events, is now engaged to a woman of fine royal lineage, and not the prostitute he was pictured shoving his cock into in the back of a royal car on a tabloid magazine last week. cover up and carry on might as well be the lantsov family motto, at this point.
it's all very exciting. the shaking of hands with dignitaries and spinning pretty girls in expensive dresses around in circles, and smiling through the unsubtle remarks at nikolai's own lineage, but a man can only take so much of the false niceties of court before it wears thin. it is not helped that the focus is on vasily, his half-witted brother who will be king, a true horror story of the generational effects of royal inbreeding. it's not helped that nikolai posts pleasant pictures to his instagram with halfhearted captions, finishing half a bottle of fifty year old wine before kissing his mother on the cheek and bidding her goodnight, pilfering another bottle away on his escape with slick, talented fingers.
he's just outside the door to his room when he thinks to look behind himself and see his bodyguard following. well — it's his job, in any case, but it's still a little surprising to see him there, silent and grumpy as always. nikolai gives him his best grin, turning up his charm. if his shoulders weigh a little heavier than they had in the dance hall, it's of no real consequence. it is late, after all. )
Oretsev. ( he nods in greeting. playfully, he holds out the bottle of wine, jangling it in offering. ) I'm sorry, I didn't ask if you wanted to stay. Any princesses catch your eye? Well — it's no matter. Let's continue things in my room, shall we?
[ the thing about banquets and parties of any size, is that they are never fun for the staff. which, despite the fact that nikolai treats him more like a pet dog that follows along willingly, malyen oretsev is. he's paid to keep watch, to remain close but out of the way while people who wear earrings worth more than mal's life talk about how the black caviar provided with the second course of dinner wasn't aged properly. he hates listening to it, but he has a job to do.
at least in this moment.
nikolai floats around the palace with practiced ease and his shadow follows at a distance, room to room.
he snorts as he sees the prince pilfer a bottle of wine but mal's paid to be neither seen nor heard unless he's ensuring nikolai's safety, so he doesn't say anything. no one will miss the wine and if they do, well, a ruined night for a rich asshole isn't the worst thing in his book.
he follows, brows furrowed as he tries to figure out what exactly is the plan for the night. there's a chance that nikolai is as tired as he told his mother, but it's slim.
and ah. there it is. ] Highness. [ he answers because that's not what he's sure nikolai wants but outside of nikolai's rooms or mal's apartment, he's not letting him pull any fondness or nicknames from his lips. still, there's an upward curl to the corner of his mouth. ]
If I wanted to stay? How much wine have you had already? [ he shakes his head, reaches out to swipe the bottle because even playing hard to get, mal oretsev is a moth drawn to the flame. or simply poor at strategy. ]
Is this any good? [ he wouldn't know, of course. ] Continue? I have been working so haven't started.
[ it’s only natural for a new king to begin collecting assassination attempts. it’s nothing exciting and certainly nothing new. people have been trying to kill nikolai for years — as prince, as sturmhond, as a damnably handsome but generally unwanted nuisance. and that’s how he feels now, confined in his chambers like a scolded schoolboy while zoya, tolya, and tamar prowl the little palace for weaknesses. unwanted.
it’s silly. it’s not that no one wants him around. he’s the king, after all. he’s just physically incapable of moving more than a few steps without debilitating pain, even after treatment by the palace’s best healers. grisha healing is not magic is what he’d been repeatedly told after his complaints, and he needs to give his body a night to recover from its losses. but sitting still is quite possibly the thing he excels least at, and it’s no less than a half hour later that he’s inching his way to the door, his coat thrown over his rumpled bedclothes. the taste of brandy is still strong on his tongue, dulling the pain and making all of his decisions seem perfectly advisable.
he slips into the hall, no real destination in mind. perhaps he could make it to his laboratory, but that’s an extremely far trek, and he’s likely to be caught by zoya’s harpy gaze. alina, frankly, is the person he wishes to see most, but just because they’re engaged does not mean they’re actually in love, and he has never pushed the antiquated duties of royal husband and wife onto their relationship. nothing of the attempt on his life was public, and with no audience there is no reason for alina to come rushing to his side to make a show of concern. he hasn’t asked. she hasn’t come. carefully, he sets the thought aside. he has always been alone in the palace, and that needn’t change just because he’s king.
pain sweeps through him, sharp as a rogue blade. perhaps the orders to stay abed were not exaggerated after all, but he’s already here and might as well keep going. he inches along down the empty hallway, braced against the wall for support, looking every bit the drunken king who’s lost the way to his bedchambers. he doesn’t even realize where he’s standing until a door swings open and nearly hits him in the face. then a familiar, very solid body does walk straight into him, and the resulting wash of agony almost takes him to his knees.
almost. one scarred hand grips mal oretsev’s shoulder for dear life as nikolai sags with a low groan. ]
All Saints. You are the clumsiest man I’ve ever met.
[ a life at sea had been freeing, yes, but it has also put a lot into perspective for mal oretsev. the fact that he could no longer feel a magical call home did not mean that his heart did not yearn for land, for the person waiting for him on the shores that he'd let slip through his fingers like the sand of ravka's beaches.
so eventually the hummingbird left the waters, sailed through sea and air only to return toward the palace. the rest of the crew would return to sea but malyen oretsev would not, instead taking his place where his heart felt whole. with alina, with a sense of renewed purpose that was not defined by what he could do to help her in one goal. now he knows he can keep her safe, to be the man at her side even if he has to stand aside and watch an engagement play out before him.
and that-- well, all of that is complicated. mal's learned plenty about himself during his time at sea, where his gaze can turn and linger. returning has made things complicated for where his heart lies in alina's hands, his eyes do linger unbidden on the sharp lines of nikolai's jaw. those lines and angles are the same places alina's gaze lingers and it's not long before she notices, though she says nothing. at least until there's an attempt on nikolai's life and while mal sticks closer at her side, she insists it is the king that needs protection.
she's right.
mal does not find nikolai in his chambers when he goes to check on him, instead he's sure the king has made a run for it. where to, mal's not quite sure. but it sends him on a journey through the winding halls of the palace, determination in his step until he rounds a corner and into the very man he is searching for.
mal's hands shoot out as nikolai groans, bracing to hold the man up and awkwardly landing on his flank. ] And you are the worst patient in Ravka's history.
You're meant to be in your room. In bed. [ but even for the annoyance in his voice, mal's appraisal shows that there's no real new damage and the crease in his brow smoothes. he keeps his hold steady, trying to take some of nikolai's weight as he breathes through the pain of it all. and if he tries to step away, mal refuses to allow it. the poison, from what mal understands, means he is in constant pain. ] Where are you trying to squirrel away to?
on this night, they're both stalking a pair of vampires broken off from their coven. nikolai has become familiar with the families that populate the city, most of them small and preferring solitude, but not all. some of the vampires in town have yet to wrangle their members into good behavior, or their lust for blood has become uncontrollable. nikolai remembers putting them down like animals. now that he's been on the other side of that lust, he realizes why this affliction is a curse. the trade for immortality isn't worth the price.
it's the reason why he's slipping through the trees with a furry little rabbit wriggling in his coat. he's sorry that it'll have to die, but not so sorry that he'd give up the human life that could be spared instead. he wants to get to the vampires first, take them far away from here, and have no one be any the wiser — least of all mal. he's been frustrating mal's hunts for months now, with great success.
so of course this is the night his luck would run out. a shot fires, one of mal's blessed bullets that sizzles as it strikes flesh. nikolai flinches from his hiding place, the rabbit trembling against his chest. he doesn't particularly like hats, but he's taken to wearing one in the last several years, and he pulls the wide brim low over his eyes now, hiding his prominent blond hair and hazel eyes. even though it's night now, it only takes one instance of getting caught in the sun to learn that particular lesson.
abruptly, the scent of blood fills the air. as if there's a hook in his chest, he nearly staggers forward, his mouth wet and teeth aching, but a sudden panic takes precedence over his sharp hunger. one vampire lies dead in the grass. the other has mal pinned in the dirt, mal's clothes soaked in blood, the vampire's teeth lowering to sink into his throat.
nikolai reacts without thinking, crossing the distance in a blink. he uses the same weapons that mal has, their guns a matching pair from when they used to hunt together, and the ravkan double-eagle glints in the moonlight as he squeezes the trigger and expels a bullet into the back of the vampire's skull. he catches the body before it can fall on mal, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing, and then he kneels, seeing nothing but dark wetness permeating mal's clothes.
there's no time for introductions. no time to prepare mal for the shock that's coming. he needs a capsule, and one quick search through mal's pockets comes up empty.
of course he would be this reckless. every old emotion comes flooding back, everything he's kept buried since the moment of his death. mal would never drink from a vampire. but maybe —
nikolai rips his hat off, his hair falling into his eyes. with one blackened, sharp fingertip, he opens up his wrist and holds it to mal's mouth. his hand cradles the nape of mal's neck, lifting him gently. ]
Drink. [ he tries to keep his expression blank, because mal has every right to stake him right now. thankfully, he seems too weak to fight back. ] Mal, drink my blood right now.
[ it'll be enough to make sure he survives the trip back to nikolai's home. ]
[ even after all these years, there are some days that are harder than the rest.
the sun bears down upon her harder than others. her skin prickles and almost pops like she's burning. there's an ache at her collarbones where stag antlers once protruded, and her wrists feel heavier than they do on the good days. sometimes, alina holds out her hands for the sun, but it doesn't come to her as the fireflies do around the orphanage.
these days are hard on her. her bones feel heavier and her muscles overused. she's no good with the children even though she tries—and she really does, wishing to be present for them in a way no adult was present for her.
but he takes over, as he always does. when her skin's a little paler despite her flush. mal always holds her up, much like the sky does the sun.
during most of those days and evenings, she usually slinks away into the shadows. this evening, she slinks into him.
the furred rug is soft beneath her back. alina's wearing nothing but her silk blouse as he tugs her trousers off her hips. ]
Mal—
[ she laughs and ignores how her heart flutters, warming her from the inside out. pressing her hand to her warm face, alina behaves like this is the first time—
and sometimes it feels like it is. she's shy rather than confident, wishing to roll away from him lest he look at her too long and see… she's not quite sure what she expects him to see. something he likes? ]
I'm fine. You've had a busy day.
[ alina knows her concerns will fall on deaf ears. no matter how early mal rises or how hard he labours, he'll always come to her as though he's fully rested.
her skin burns where he touches her; his fingertips are light against her ankles as he tugs her trousers off her legs. she doesn't like telling him about these days, even though he always makes her feel better. ]
this has some mix of show mechanics & pretending mal reads
( mal presses a kiss to the boney slope of her ankle, a reverent touch of lips as if he were within the halls of a church and praying in the pews. the only altar that malyen oretsev worships at is before him; his home, his country, his wife, the other half of everything that he is and makes him whole.
he misses the times when he knew where she was at all moments, where he was drawn to her like only her proximity filled his chest with air and soothed every wound and worry. it is different now, though he is still a moth to a flame. now they have been unmade and remade, now they are bound by choice and never duty.
and it is no duty to care for her, to ease the aches of long days with anything she asks of him. she does the same with every laugh, with every simple touch.
he does not mind when she needs to rest in the shade, when her bones ache and he must carry her. this part of her has always been his to guard, to protect once he grew beyond the snares of youth.
he kisses her again but this time it is her calf, then the inside of her knee. her thigh before he rests his cheek against her skin, looks up at her from where he is kneeling between her limbs. his shirt has joined her trousers, his own undone. ) A long, hard day is best ended with tending to those one loves. I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere.
( heard it somewhere, maybe. or made up on the spot and sealed it with another kiss and a boyish grin.
it has been a long day, the work to keep a homestead and tend to children as rambunctious as they once were tiring. yet, he wouldn't trade a moment of this life for another. )
she's kissing him. one of her favourite pastimes. alina smiles against his lips, sucking his bottom lip between hers before she tips her head away slightly so she can murmur, ]
I'm pretty sure you heard that from Viktor, who heard it from Mikhail, who heard that from Irina.
[ she chuckles. gliding her hand along his nape, she cups the back of his head and drags her nails down his back with her other hand. when the world feels upside down and inside out, touching mal, hearing the little sounds he makes, and feeling the warmth of his skin is enough to centre her. ]
Mal.
[ this time, it's not said in a desire to protest his ministrations. she loves it when he's here, when he's either beneath or on top of her. alina's never felt so safe, so free to simply fall apart if she so wishes to. if she does, he won't ever begrudge her for being ridiculously human. ]
It hurts here.
[ she taps her fingers against the underside of her jaw near her ear. there'd been an ache hours ago that's long since gone, but malyen oretsev doesn't need to know that. ]
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no subject
When she suggests they run out as far as they can to the countryside, he seems to go along with that plan. Anyone that assumes she's able to actually control time and space likely isn't going to look for her out there. But what starts as simply hiding out quickly turns into the two of them working together to clean up the small cottage and the barn just out beyond.
Cleaning quickly turns into building something that resembles a home, and Clara can't remember the last time she's spent so long in one place. But eventually they start a garden and tend to the bees that have made their home in the fields right behind the cottage. Sheep show up the second week in, and despite Mal swearing they just appeared, Clara's certain he went to find them simply to please her.
The dogs and cats and cows and ducks mysteriously arrive the week after that, and soon enough they have a simple but busy life. They spend their days working their little farm, and their nights huddled close together, chatting and her reading books aloud to him. Those nights spent close together slowly become less and less innocent as time goes on, simple touches of their hands and lingering stares increasing in frequency.
When he finally seems to have had enough of the mounting tension, he finds her one afternoon in the barn. It's just started to rain, and Clara's run through the fields from the beehives in order to seek shelter. He's been out chopping wood, and is soaking wet when he steps into the barn with his axe in hand. Her eyes are wide as she stares over at him, taking in the sight he makes. She isn't sure she's ever seen anything so attractive in her entire life.
Or anything she's wanted more.
It's that thought that's on her mind as he sets the axe aside and he steps in close to fuss over her. All she can do is keep her eyes on his lips, even as she reassures him that she's fine. It's Clara that rises up on her tiptoes to steal the first kiss, but it's him that decides to move in close, pressing her against one of the posts in the barn.]
Look at you, stepping up to claim what you want. [She teases, knowing very well he only lets her boss him around because he fancies her.] It's about time.
no subject
later still when he'd traded the lodging of the orphanage for an army cot. he hadn't imagined that he'd have it.
the circumstances are different, of course, but there's not a part of mal that is complaining about the life he's built with clara in the last month. a part of him has forgotten that this is for her safety, that he is meant to protect and not get lost in what could be.
and yet, while they are here --- why not enjoy it? why not savor the nights by the fire or the days tending to the animals. why not nurture a spark of something that he does not want to end, when his whole life has been about not holding on too tightly because nice things rarely happen to ravkan orphans.
all things slip away but even if this does, not now. it's too late anyway for not getting attached, not when their touches linger and mal finds his gaze drawn to clara like she's the brightest star shining in the night sky. he finds animals to tend to that she mentions, feels himself breathing easier when she lights up at the sight of sheep or the stray mutt who'd followed mal back from his last hunting trip and had helped him track pheasants.
he's chopping wood when the rains start, a surprise storm that leaves everything soaked through. mal hadn't bothered with a shirt and it would be a lie to say he wasn't showing off for her.
clara runs for the barn and mal, drawn like moth to flame, follows. they're both panting and while the sound of rain echoes through the space, everything fades away and all he can focus on is clara. how much he wants, how much he needs to kiss her now. it's been weeks of not-so-innocent touches, of near kisses broken up by the sound of animals or someone passing by.
he's sure and yet --
she's soaked and mal wants to make sure she's alright. so he stalks close after setting down the axe and realizes, as she leans up to press her lips to his to cut off his worry, that maybe he's been the prey all along. his hands fall to her waist as he crowds her against the beam. she's so much smaller than him, easy to lift up as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. ] Finally? [ he raises a brow at that, but his words are teasing and there's cockiness bleeding through. ] I was trying to be a gentleman. [ except there's nothing about mal that's gentleman. certainly not now as she presses keeps her close, as he leans in to kiss her again. ]
no subject
All the weeks of growing closer and toeing the line of will they or won't they have ended in this. The tension between them is thick now, only growing stronger by the second. It goes straight to her head, making her dizzy with desire. He had been showing off for her earlier. And she had craved him then. But now they're equally cocky and sure of themselves, both running hot with arousal and a need to be close.
And of course they're going at it in the barn of all places. She supposes that's part of living a quiet and charmed life in the country. They have all the privacy in the world on their little farm. The home they made together is cozy and safe, so far removed from the rest of the world that there's no need to worry about prying eyes or being discovered. This is their little world, and all that matters is one another.]
Think I'd prefer it if you weren't, actually.
[There's no need to pretend to be a gentleman, at least not any longer. Not when he's lifted her, and her hands are all over him, and her legs have lifted to curl around him. They're pressed close, and the post at her back gives her purchase enough that she can rock ever so slightly against him. Of course, there's not much they can do still fully clothed. Especially with as soaking wet as they both are. But with the way she's looking up at him now, eyes dark with lust and want, lips kiss swollen and breath coming heavier now; she thinks that he'll be able to tear her clothes off of her in record time simply due to a need to have her then and there.
They've been dancing around this attraction for far too long now. She isn't sure it's possible to turn back and act like this kiss never happened. Not that she wants to. If anything, she wants to hurry forward and never look back. They ran into having to hide here together, her crashing into his life and this world making them both a target. And he's dedicated himself to protecting her, even when he didn't have to. He's taken care of her, worked with her to help her adjust. And now she loves the life they've made, and wants nothing more to make it something they can truly experience together. Completely, without any hesitation.
Hopefully he doesn't mind abandoning the thought of being a gentleman to get them there.]
no subject
it's all very exciting. the shaking of hands with dignitaries and spinning pretty girls in expensive dresses around in circles, and smiling through the unsubtle remarks at nikolai's own lineage, but a man can only take so much of the false niceties of court before it wears thin. it is not helped that the focus is on vasily, his half-witted brother who will be king, a true horror story of the generational effects of royal inbreeding. it's not helped that nikolai posts pleasant pictures to his instagram with halfhearted captions, finishing half a bottle of fifty year old wine before kissing his mother on the cheek and bidding her goodnight, pilfering another bottle away on his escape with slick, talented fingers.
he's just outside the door to his room when he thinks to look behind himself and see his bodyguard following. well — it's his job, in any case, but it's still a little surprising to see him there, silent and grumpy as always. nikolai gives him his best grin, turning up his charm. if his shoulders weigh a little heavier than they had in the dance hall, it's of no real consequence. it is late, after all. )
Oretsev. ( he nods in greeting. playfully, he holds out the bottle of wine, jangling it in offering. ) I'm sorry, I didn't ask if you wanted to stay. Any princesses catch your eye? Well — it's no matter. Let's continue things in my room, shall we?
( maybe it isn't that late, on second thought. )
i'm late but i brought starbucks
at least in this moment.
nikolai floats around the palace with practiced ease and his shadow follows at a distance, room to room.
he snorts as he sees the prince pilfer a bottle of wine but mal's paid to be neither seen nor heard unless he's ensuring nikolai's safety, so he doesn't say anything. no one will miss the wine and if they do, well, a ruined night for a rich asshole isn't the worst thing in his book.
he follows, brows furrowed as he tries to figure out what exactly is the plan for the night. there's a chance that nikolai is as tired as he told his mother, but it's slim.
and ah. there it is. ] Highness. [ he answers because that's not what he's sure nikolai wants but outside of nikolai's rooms or mal's apartment, he's not letting him pull any fondness or nicknames from his lips. still, there's an upward curl to the corner of his mouth. ]
If I wanted to stay? How much wine have you had already? [ he shakes his head, reaches out to swipe the bottle because even playing hard to get, mal oretsev is a moth drawn to the flame. or simply poor at strategy. ]
Is this any good? [ he wouldn't know, of course. ] Continue? I have been working so haven't started.
malkolai shenanigans begin
it’s silly. it’s not that no one wants him around. he’s the king, after all. he’s just physically incapable of moving more than a few steps without debilitating pain, even after treatment by the palace’s best healers. grisha healing is not magic is what he’d been repeatedly told after his complaints, and he needs to give his body a night to recover from its losses. but sitting still is quite possibly the thing he excels least at, and it’s no less than a half hour later that he’s inching his way to the door, his coat thrown over his rumpled bedclothes. the taste of brandy is still strong on his tongue, dulling the pain and making all of his decisions seem perfectly advisable.
he slips into the hall, no real destination in mind. perhaps he could make it to his laboratory, but that’s an extremely far trek, and he’s likely to be caught by zoya’s harpy gaze. alina, frankly, is the person he wishes to see most, but just because they’re engaged does not mean they’re actually in love, and he has never pushed the antiquated duties of royal husband and wife onto their relationship. nothing of the attempt on his life was public, and with no audience there is no reason for alina to come rushing to his side to make a show of concern. he hasn’t asked. she hasn’t come. carefully, he sets the thought aside. he has always been alone in the palace, and that needn’t change just because he’s king.
pain sweeps through him, sharp as a rogue blade. perhaps the orders to stay abed were not exaggerated after all, but he’s already here and might as well keep going. he inches along down the empty hallway, braced against the wall for support, looking every bit the drunken king who’s lost the way to his bedchambers. he doesn’t even realize where he’s standing until a door swings open and nearly hits him in the face. then a familiar, very solid body does walk straight into him, and the resulting wash of agony almost takes him to his knees.
almost. one scarred hand grips mal oretsev’s shoulder for dear life as nikolai sags with a low groan. ]
All Saints. You are the clumsiest man I’ve ever met.
no subject
so eventually the hummingbird left the waters, sailed through sea and air only to return toward the palace. the rest of the crew would return to sea but malyen oretsev would not, instead taking his place where his heart felt whole. with alina, with a sense of renewed purpose that was not defined by what he could do to help her in one goal. now he knows he can keep her safe, to be the man at her side even if he has to stand aside and watch an engagement play out before him.
and that-- well, all of that is complicated. mal's learned plenty about himself during his time at sea, where his gaze can turn and linger. returning has made things complicated for where his heart lies in alina's hands, his eyes do linger unbidden on the sharp lines of nikolai's jaw. those lines and angles are the same places alina's gaze lingers and it's not long before she notices, though she says nothing. at least until there's an attempt on nikolai's life and while mal sticks closer at her side, she insists it is the king that needs protection.
she's right.
mal does not find nikolai in his chambers when he goes to check on him, instead he's sure the king has made a run for it. where to, mal's not quite sure. but it sends him on a journey through the winding halls of the palace, determination in his step until he rounds a corner and into the very man he is searching for.
mal's hands shoot out as nikolai groans, bracing to hold the man up and awkwardly landing on his flank. ] And you are the worst patient in Ravka's history.
You're meant to be in your room. In bed. [ but even for the annoyance in his voice, mal's appraisal shows that there's no real new damage and the crease in his brow smoothes. he keeps his hold steady, trying to take some of nikolai's weight as he breathes through the pain of it all. and if he tries to step away, mal refuses to allow it. the poison, from what mal understands, means he is in constant pain. ] Where are you trying to squirrel away to?
vampire au
on this night, they're both stalking a pair of vampires broken off from their coven. nikolai has become familiar with the families that populate the city, most of them small and preferring solitude, but not all. some of the vampires in town have yet to wrangle their members into good behavior, or their lust for blood has become uncontrollable. nikolai remembers putting them down like animals. now that he's been on the other side of that lust, he realizes why this affliction is a curse. the trade for immortality isn't worth the price.
it's the reason why he's slipping through the trees with a furry little rabbit wriggling in his coat. he's sorry that it'll have to die, but not so sorry that he'd give up the human life that could be spared instead. he wants to get to the vampires first, take them far away from here, and have no one be any the wiser — least of all mal. he's been frustrating mal's hunts for months now, with great success.
so of course this is the night his luck would run out. a shot fires, one of mal's blessed bullets that sizzles as it strikes flesh. nikolai flinches from his hiding place, the rabbit trembling against his chest. he doesn't particularly like hats, but he's taken to wearing one in the last several years, and he pulls the wide brim low over his eyes now, hiding his prominent blond hair and hazel eyes. even though it's night now, it only takes one instance of getting caught in the sun to learn that particular lesson.
abruptly, the scent of blood fills the air. as if there's a hook in his chest, he nearly staggers forward, his mouth wet and teeth aching, but a sudden panic takes precedence over his sharp hunger. one vampire lies dead in the grass. the other has mal pinned in the dirt, mal's clothes soaked in blood, the vampire's teeth lowering to sink into his throat.
nikolai reacts without thinking, crossing the distance in a blink. he uses the same weapons that mal has, their guns a matching pair from when they used to hunt together, and the ravkan double-eagle glints in the moonlight as he squeezes the trigger and expels a bullet into the back of the vampire's skull. he catches the body before it can fall on mal, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing, and then he kneels, seeing nothing but dark wetness permeating mal's clothes.
there's no time for introductions. no time to prepare mal for the shock that's coming. he needs a capsule, and one quick search through mal's pockets comes up empty.
of course he would be this reckless. every old emotion comes flooding back, everything he's kept buried since the moment of his death. mal would never drink from a vampire. but maybe —
nikolai rips his hat off, his hair falling into his eyes. with one blackened, sharp fingertip, he opens up his wrist and holds it to mal's mouth. his hand cradles the nape of mal's neck, lifting him gently. ]
Drink. [ he tries to keep his expression blank, because mal has every right to stake him right now. thankfully, he seems too weak to fight back. ] Mal, drink my blood right now.
[ it'll be enough to make sure he survives the trip back to nikolai's home. ]
hello 💍
the sun bears down upon her harder than others. her skin prickles and almost pops like she's burning. there's an ache at her collarbones where stag antlers once protruded, and her wrists feel heavier than they do on the good days. sometimes, alina holds out her hands for the sun, but it doesn't come to her as the fireflies do around the orphanage.
these days are hard on her. her bones feel heavier and her muscles overused. she's no good with the children even though she tries—and she really does, wishing to be present for them in a way no adult was present for her.
but he takes over, as he always does. when her skin's a little paler despite her flush. mal always holds her up, much like the sky does the sun.
during most of those days and evenings, she usually slinks away into the shadows. this evening, she slinks into him.
the furred rug is soft beneath her back. alina's wearing nothing but her silk blouse as he tugs her trousers off her hips. ]
Mal—
[ she laughs and ignores how her heart flutters, warming her from the inside out. pressing her hand to her warm face, alina behaves like this is the first time—
and sometimes it feels like it is. she's shy rather than confident, wishing to roll away from him lest he look at her too long and see… she's not quite sure what she expects him to see. something he likes? ]
I'm fine. You've had a busy day.
[ alina knows her concerns will fall on deaf ears. no matter how early mal rises or how hard he labours, he'll always come to her as though he's fully rested.
her skin burns where he touches her; his fingertips are light against her ankles as he tugs her trousers off her legs. she doesn't like telling him about these days, even though he always makes her feel better. ]
this has some mix of show mechanics & pretending mal reads
he misses the times when he knew where she was at all moments, where he was drawn to her like only her proximity filled his chest with air and soothed every wound and worry. it is different now, though he is still a moth to a flame. now they have been unmade and remade, now they are bound by choice and never duty.
and it is no duty to care for her, to ease the aches of long days with anything she asks of him. she does the same with every laugh, with every simple touch.
he does not mind when she needs to rest in the shade, when her bones ache and he must carry her. this part of her has always been his to guard, to protect once he grew beyond the snares of youth.
he kisses her again but this time it is her calf, then the inside of her knee. her thigh before he rests his cheek against her skin, looks up at her from where he is kneeling between her limbs. his shirt has joined her trousers, his own undone. ) A long, hard day is best ended with tending to those one loves. I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere.
( heard it somewhere, maybe. or made up on the spot and sealed it with another kiss and a boyish grin.
it has been a long day, the work to keep a homestead and tend to children as rambunctious as they once were tiring. yet, he wouldn't trade a moment of this life for another. )
mal knows what a book is???? #alinasimpact
she opens her mouth and—
she's kissing him. one of her favourite pastimes. alina smiles against his lips, sucking his bottom lip between hers before she tips her head away slightly so she can murmur, ]
I'm pretty sure you heard that from Viktor, who heard it from Mikhail, who heard that from Irina.
[ she chuckles. gliding her hand along his nape, she cups the back of his head and drags her nails down his back with her other hand. when the world feels upside down and inside out, touching mal, hearing the little sounds he makes, and feeling the warmth of his skin is enough to centre her. ]
Mal.
[ this time, it's not said in a desire to protest his ministrations. she loves it when he's here, when he's either beneath or on top of her. alina's never felt so safe, so free to simply fall apart if she so wishes to. if she does, he won't ever begrudge her for being ridiculously human. ]
It hurts here.
[ she taps her fingers against the underside of her jaw near her ear. there'd been an ache hours ago that's long since gone, but malyen oretsev doesn't need to know that. ]