reznikolai | I N B O X

[With infinite tenderness he laps up the milk spilled from the breast he hasn't suckled yet, savoring each sweet bead as he used to savor each moment spent with Alina. As he still does, except those moments are fewer and farther between now, and bitter more often than sweet. Like this one, where they're cracked open to reveal their softest parts and there is no salvation from it, there is no healing, there is only this endless rawness.]

I know. [For the moment, he rests his forehead against her breastbone. Breathes in her skin.] I'm sorry too.

[Shifting their bodies as one unit, Nikolai sits and and scoops her into his lap. With her straddling him like this, her tits sit within easy reach of his mouth, ripe fruits ready to burst, begging to be tasted. He resumes his strangely solemn work, massaging her aching breasts, latching onto the nipple he hasn't tried yet. As he relieves her, his hand trails down her stomach, mourning the flatness of it. His fingers dip between her legs to linger with light strokes over the heat of her entrance — warm and wet even through her panties.]

Is this okay...?

[Doing this even though they're not together anymore. Taking what they will have to give back.]

No, [ She shakes her head quickly, nosing against his hair, breathing in the scent of it deeply. She wonders if all of him is so stubborn that their baby might have golden locks curling on their head rather than her dark hair.

But apparently that is no indication to stop, a series of soft moans escape her parted lips, echoing the pattern of their bodies. She bobs in his lap, following the path of his fingers, rolling her hips back and forth. She stifles a low whine as the fabric drags over her warm center, his thumb brushing over her clit, not enough pressure through the layers, too much friction that leaves her burning for him.

She whimpers, her skin puckering into goosebumps at the chill of the room. Warm milk dribbles down her stomach, leaking from the breast he had abandoned. ]

Please— [ She sucks in a breath, being pulled to a familiar precipice with relief on the horizon but she knows she must first summit a mountain of need. It feels impossible, insurmountable. She could not get herself there, he has to carry her. ]

Please. [ She whines again, tears spilling out of the corner of her eyes. ] Please touch me.

[ Want me. Love me. ]

[No, she says, and Nikolai pauses, heart sinking into his stomach, shame rising up. But then she rolls against him, taking his touch for her own, and — actions speaking louder than words — he resumes petting her. Please, she says, and he listens. Through the tether, stronger now than it has been for a long time, he can feel her ache as if it's his own. And it is. It is.]

Saints, I want you. [A plea breathed against her breast as he drinks of her.] I want...

[Again his fingers trace the flatness of her belly, the dribbling trails of spilled milk, and his voice cracks. The rest of the sentence is lost. Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes. Cupping her ass in two handfuls, he pulls her against him, replacing the pulse of his fingers with the grind of his cock. His breath trembles out of him, bends into a moan.

As he tugs off her underwear and pulls out his cock, as the soft slick give of her surrounds him, and they sink into each other as they have a hundred times before, that's when he feels the hot wet of tears roll down his cheeks. He wants to be strong for her, but maybe it's just as important to be weak with her.]

Edited 2022-05-14 23:16 (UTC)

Ah— ah.

[ Alina squeezes the back of his neck to steady herself as Nikolai pushes into her. She's tight, not painfully so, but she welcomes the blunt head of his cock inside of her far less frequently now. This is not the long sessions of their lovemaking where he made her cry out his name from just his fingers and his tongue multiple times over.

And still she wouldn't change it. This is what she needs. She needs him, messy and unplanned. Perfectly imperfect in its honesty. ]

I want— [ She chokes on the words. She can't hold it back now. She can't afford to lie to him. Or to herself. ] I want it too.

[ She grasps the back of his hand, pulling it back to the flat of her stomach as she begins to rock against him. ]

Can we pretend? [ She whispers it, her mouth against his temple, her hips bumping in small hitches. ] Just... just for one night.

[It's artless, the way he makes love to her tonight. Each movement, wrought from raw need. His body misses hers. His heart misses hers, at a level that cannot be communicated through words.]

Oh, love...

[That word that's gotten him in so much trouble. Nikolai doesn't mean to say it. It happens as naturally as the thump of his heart as she rocks in his lap and accepts him inside of herself. Behind this soft, sad exhalation lies so much that, for all the skill of his silver tongue, he doesn't know how to say. Isn't that how they got here? Pretending for just one night. Living in a daydream, drunk on the honey aroma of glowing blooms.

His tacit agreement is in the way he squeezes her in his arms. The way he loses himself in worshipping her breasts, kissing prayers in circles all around her rosy nipples. In the rhythm of their bodies, breath and flesh keeping time, things slide back into place. He teases like he used to, about her eagerness, about the fullness of her breasts, the sweetness of her milk. Forgetting himself, losing the shape of reality in the hazy heat of passion, he comments:]

Are you sure there will be enough for—?

[The end of the question sags. There is no baby. No little Dominik. He distracts both of them with a kiss, melding their mouths together before Alina can react.]

Edited 2022-06-22 03:41 (UTC)

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