☀️ ᴀʟɪɴᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴋᴏᴠ. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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ximilialog2023-02-17 06:27 pm
peasant) wrote in ximilialog2023-02-17 06:27 pmEntry tags:
peasant) wrote in ximilialog2023-02-17 06:27 pm
☀️ MAL.
1. trouble will always find her door and walk through as an uninvited guest.
2. those in power will do anything they can to remain as such.
3. malyen oretsev can, and will, always find himself in a fist-fight with danger itself. (as though he still has to prove his heroism, after all these years.)
the less generous portion of her brain is, admittedly, compelled to leave him to rot in the infirmary's grasp. no good deed goes unpunished, and the amount of fussy lecturing mccoy would deliver is a greater punishment than any bruise mal carries. it's by some merciful stroke of mal's fortune that she visits in the dead of night, instead, when the chaos has wound down into an eerie quiet. tomb-like, almost, like the world has been laid to rest before the coming day.
from there, it isn't quite so much a grand abduction as it is ... a helpful escape. mal, for the most part, can carry his weight without leaning upon her as a crutch — even if alina watches his staggered gait, hones hawk-eyed into the droop of his sore shoulder, winces at every heavy footfall he makes. she nearly laughs outright, an explosion she has to let fizzle out; a finger holds steady at her mouth, in its stead, to hush him.
beneath that same finger, her lips twitch.
under her breath, like a whisper might disturb the very air encompassing them: ] You're going to get us caught.
[ — like old times. when she would scrape her knee in a sprint from keramzin and slow them down. when mal's boots would alert ana kuya to their trickery before they had a chance to disappear like spirits, heard but never seen among the orphanage's creaking floorboards.
she shoots a surreptitious glance behind them. crowds in closer to bodily usher him through the sunlight room, chest nudging against his back to propel him forward and out of plain sight. ]
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mal knows that from the nights he can't sleep, the ones where he wanders or sits in this room making arrows or sharpening his hunting knife.
he hasn't been doing any of that since they've returned to the station. no, he's too bruised and burned to move one arm or stand too long without feeling winded. enough tucking and rolling away from flames will do just that, light on his feet as he was in elven form. back in his own body, mal's feeling the consequences of it as they make their midnight escape from the infirmary's clutches.
he's sure that he'll hear about it from mccoy; he's on bedrest still and moves slowly enough to show that he still needs it. he's not one to heal quickly like joe or andy, not a grisha able to heal themselves. no, just mal. human, easily hurt. dumb enough to throw himself into danger if it means one other person doesn't get hurt.
he stumbles at that shove, glances over his shoulder with a raised brow. ] If I fall, you're going to have to carry me wherever it is we're running off to.
[ and then a pause, now whispering softer like he's remembered to ruse and they truly can get caught. ] Should we have gone back to my room to grab the pipeweed? [ it's strange to call it his room. before the mission it had been his and drift's; mal hasn't been back in it since they've returned but he knows one side's empty. it shouldn't be as upsetting of a thought as it is. after all, heading on any mission with the first army meant the chance of returning to find out that plenty of once full cots were emptied. ]
already a cw for drug references/usage..... forgive me
[ she shoots back, dry. for all the strength she now harbors, there are pieces of that girl she can't shuck off. little alina starkov, small and underfoot — some twiglike stick of a girl that might snap in half under pressure. wholly dependent upon a frail body to drag her from her sickbed, when the worst symptoms of a repressed power crept in.
he had trusted those delicate bones to keep him safe as children, against all logic. just as he's followed her across country, across space, across worlds in what alina can only assume is a grave lapse of sanity and rational decision-making.
after all, he's long since repaid the favor of protection he owes her. alina purposefully averts a lingering stare from what speckled burns she can count on his skin, waxy and pink. more wounds for him to carry in her hopeless journey.
a tip of her head brings her jaw level with a gust of artificial wind, sweeping through her hair like a loving caress. ]
I thought you had it on you. [ the little furrow to her brow is a convincing act, held long enough for her to rummage in her pockets. a questionable bag dangles between two fingers as they wag toward him. the facade splinters with her proud smile. ] You didn't really think I'd forgotten, did you?
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it's strange that that's a normal thing to say now. that robots exist, that they feel like a natural part of their lives while on the station that's been home to him for nearly a year; a year of life stolen from death's hands, an opportunity to make things right.
he's not sure he's doing that but he'll keep trying, like he'll keep falling in step where alina leads.
but then he gives her a narrow eyed side glance. ] I was incapacitated. [ he starts to bicker, a natural thing for the two of them before alina waves that bag of herbs in his face and mal's expression melts into a proud smile. ] But there's a reason you're my favorite. Didn't doubt you for a moment.
[ then his dips his head toward the tree line. if they are making an escape and feigning the need to hide, why not go into the forest and complete the facade. ] After you.
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[ she scoffs out a breath, faux-offense heavy in its gust, and tries not to dwell on how fair-weathered his favor may be. nearly falling into zoya's bedroll. fleeing from grisha women, only to run to them. if she sifts through it for too long, it becomes no easier to untangle.
and no easier for her to justify why, precisely, her mind sinks claws into it. tears through those old words to dissect them for the truth of his feelings. malyen oretsev's potential like or dislike of bedding grisha company is no concern of hers.
equally impossible to ignore: the little flutter of bird wings in her gut at the praise, the pride that warms the brown of his eyes into amber, sunlit glass. she swallows, tears the feathers of that feeling right out, by making an immediate beeline for a cropping of trees. cloistered, private, beyond its boundaries. ]
A year, and I still hold rank as favorite? There mustn't be much stiff competition.
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after all, he knows that for so long there was a wall between them. no, not a wall, a blindfold over his eyes that stopped him from seeing alina for what she was -- that light, that senses of home and belonging that he chased.
that he will chase to the tree line, fumbling in his step as it grows more difficult to keep moving. he's far from healed, but there is an adventure to be had and he won't sit this one out. ] There isn't a competition at all, Alina.
[ it's easier to say it when she's walking ahead of him, when they're not facing each other. maybe it's why it had been easier to put his feelings to paper, to write letters that she never read in the end. even now, when mal wants to see her. ]
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his honesty trips her up, sets itself in front of her like a stone that can't be — won't be — ignored. behind her, alina's loose braid swings in a pendulum arc from the haste of swiveling head as it turns in his direction, owl-fast. ]
Isn't there?
[ it's the only question she can grasp through a series of fluttery blinks before she's repaid for losing focus. one more step forward, and her boot fumbles over a root — a humiliatingly poetic way for her to fall all over herself for reasons unknown. it's just mal. it should come as no surprise, really. but in growing up, in growing older —
she's never discounted that he might outgrow her, one day. like an old hand-me-down sweater that's too snug, too itchy, too reminiscent of the past.
before she can take a tumble, her hand shoots forward to snag on a low-hanging branch, halting the forward momentum of her body. if she sounds out of breath as a result, well — she can only hope he'll spare her tattered pride. ]
Everywhere you go, you manage to make friends. That's hardly a skill we share.
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mal takes a step back, still the wounded fawn faced with not a butterfly but a tigress on a mission.
until that tigress stumbles, looses her footing and instead fumbles like a kitten who has yet to grow into it's paws. or a rabbit, maybe. no, she's more cat than anything else, slow to trust and give her affection freely. it has taken mal a lifetime to learn who alina is, truly is, and even then he's not sure he's seeing it all. after all, there's a new side of her she's growing into and mal's uncertain there's a place for him beside her if he doesn't fight for it. that kitten is growing into some mythical creature that alina's likely read about in her books.
but for now that mythical, glowing being is a fumbling young woman falling forward. not any young woman, but the one closest to mal's heart. so he's moving to catch her before he thinks about it, before his shoulder and legs protest how swiftly he sweeps into save her from the momentum and the snapping of that branch.
were he smaller, they'd go tumbling but mal stands against the force of it with arms wrapped around alina's frame. he frowns, brows furrowed together. friendship is easy for him, yes, but in the end he knows where his loyalties lie. at least, now better than before. ] That doesn't mean anyone takes your place.
[ he wishes that he had the letters to pull from his pocket, to speak for him. instead, he has his own unsteady words as a familiar hum rings through his ears. ] None of them are home.
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like it's mentally taking stock to forcibly alert her to the fact this isn't just rabbit-loving, soft-spoken mal. not anymore.
her throat bobs with a swallow. oxygen eludes her, even when she takes an inhale to soothe her burning lungs — because those words land like a fist in her solar plexus, knocking the wind from her every time she tries to recover. vaguely, she notes the familiarity of it, words she's read on paper somewhere else, months before he'd shown his face.
but through the deja vu of it, she only manages to gape up at him. flounders, face splotchy with — exertion, she'd like to claim. that's all. in all of her kittenish flailing, she fails to notice where her nails have sunken into the meat of his arms to keep herself upright as her neck cranes back just to look at him. (another reminder that he's grown, towering above her in ways that make her feel smaller.) ]
Zoya said you tumbled her. [ — is what pummels out of her mouth. some blurted-out sentence even alina seems surprised by. she blinks once, twice, before her expression settles into something pinched. for all that she tries to make it sound curious as she clears her throat, it carries obvious strain for her to press: ] Did you?
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he could have stayed with her that night; tumbled one last time before they went to face their deaths like zoya had offered to him. but he hadn't. his little friend from keramzin had gone without a meal and, in truth, if he was to meet his death in the fold, mal had wanted to spend the night with someone that meant something to him. he'd wanted to leave alina with a good memory, when she'd fooled him into thinking she wasn't going to do something stupid like follow him into the shadows.
his brows rise upward on his forehead, toward his now short hairline. ] I told you I didn't.
[ and then he frowns, wondering what it was that made a liar out of him so quickly and the grisha within the walls of the little palace the ones who spoke nothing but the truth in alina's ear. but the words that tumble from alina's lips aren't an accusation, are curious and stilted like colored with --- with what? jealousy? mal isn't sure he believes that and, yet, there's a hint of something reflected there that reminds him of the feelings digging into his chest during their reunion, before they went after that stag.
so he doesn't bristle in anger, does not force up his walls and the hard edges that are saved for others and rarely turned toward the woman before him, even if there's a frown that tugs the corner of his mouth and there's a hint of frustration in his tone. ] Have even a little faith in me, Alina. I spent the night with you.
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maybe he had, reason says. between the two of them, alina knows she would never amount to anyone's first choice. she hadn't even been kirigan's, truly, until he saw greater potential in manipulating her than feeding zoya praise once he'd already had her so loyal and dependent upon his approval.
that spiraling drain of thought doesn't help. it only leans her toward a sarcastic, bladed interjection she has to bite back: well, forgive me for losing you that opportunity. her face gives a little frustrated twist, at conflict with herself, as she sinks her teeth into the soft flesh of her inner cheek. ]
Why not?
[ — she doesn't intend for it to err more interrogation than question. her lips press together, then roll, as though she hadn't meant to say it at all — another sentence loosening its chains before she can imprison that, too.
she doesn't wait for an answer, already expects he'll insist he'd feared zoya the same way he might fear her; only curls her fingers tighter in his sleeve before she loosens her grip, moves to rearrange the wild mess her hair has become in the chaos, with a little sarcastic snort. as if that might smooth it over, restore normalcy. ]
We both know army boys don't take all night to finish.
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there's frustration seeping off of alina and while mal keeps his arms still wrapped tight around alina's frame, before reaching up to stop her attempts to fix her hair in the wind. it's a fool's errand.
mal opens his mouth to argue. that's easy for them, the bickering banter back and forth like children playing in the fields outside of the orphanage as ana kuya gave chase. ] Sure, but men take their time -- [ which is not the point. mal is not here to argue with alina over what sort of lover he is, that he doesn't prefer that quick tumble where all they do is chase that finish line. if he'd stayed in zoya's tent, he would have spent the night --- but that's not the point.
no, not when he realizes --- ] Are you mad I didn't sleep with her?!
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of all the names they had called her, she was always certain they could do much worse than sticks. ]
Calling any of them men is far too generous.
[ stubborn, her wrists give a little wriggle, determined to get back to sorting her hair. and, when that fails to break his grip — she settles for petulantly blowing out a gust, fanning her hair upward on the breeze it creates.
before it falls back to strike her in her cheek, just as it puffs up into splotchy indignation, red and ripe with a flush. ]
That's a stupid question, Mal. Don't ask stupid questions.
[ her lips thin, though there's something more solemn to the pinch of her exasperated expression. ]
Is that the real reason? Or was it because she's Grisha?
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it loses it's effect with the huff, that puff of air that leaves hair still in alina's face. so mal lets go of her wrist to tuck the stubborn strands behind her ear, a careful movement like he isn't sure of the kitten will bat his hand away with sharpened claws. ] You're acting mad.
[ she is mad, he can tell. it will probably earn him a scratch or two now, more likely than before. and then he feels it, that strike to his cheek in the form of exasperated words. he deserves those words, that doubt, for all his suspicious words and disdain as he looked at the second army grisha with their fresh fruit, the luxuries afforded to them for the powers that made them worth more than his life; than the lives of every friend he had.
and there is still that fear; the knowledge that he dies by grisha hands. he's scared, yes, but not of alina. even if he'd been a fool and not seen her for what she meant to him before, he'd seen her after he found his way to her again and held her in his arms.
mal still can't help the defensiveness in his tone, the confusion now. ] I was there to steal food for you, Alina. Grisha or not. I wanted to get back to you. Is that not good enough?
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that absence where a protest should be is ... deafening. a blaring alarm to a mind that can hear what goes unsaid. even as she allows his touch, there's a monumental shift in her expression. guarded. a quiet closing of a door to hide behind.
her anger deflates in a breeze of hot air, an exhale that sinks her chest. she feels sunken — some wreck of a girl drowned by her own utterly confusing disappointment. of course he's terrified. of course that fear must extend to her. she hardly knows how he can even stand to touch her like this, much less like —
ways he'll never touch her. it's pointless to think about, uninvited as the thought is. she ignores the shock it is to her own nervous system as it filters into her brain, playing on a maddening loop. she wedges her palms against his chest, forcing the slightest gap between their bodies.
quietly firm: ] It's a simple question, Mal. Yes or no.
[ her chin prods upward, unable to help the provocation that tumbles free of her. ]
I'm sure you wouldn't be the first man in history to admit you can't handle a Grisha woman.
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then she's back, sinking claws in and pushing him back. mal's not sure where the whirlwind will take them, where this ends. where alina's outbursts lead them and yet, as always, mal attempts to follow even as she pushes on a burn hidden underneath the pull-over he's wearing. the wrappings underneath will likely be spotted in red, but mccoy's anger isn't top of mind right now.
mal grabs at her forearms, hands splayed over to nearly catch alina's elbows to stop her from running away from him. ] I can handle Grisha women fine. She just isn't the one I want.
[ the first unproven, the second a statement he hadn't expected to say at all. perhaps because he hadn't had the words, couldn't have put the cause of ire and jealousy into words that weren't reactions to the darkling's attempt to rile him up.
i'm not going to kill you, mal. i don't have to. time will do it for me, when mal had so little time and didn't know it. when it was all gone before he had the chance to see if anything said about alina caring had been true. they had no time then, it's been a year now and who knows how much more time there is to waste so he doesn't do more than steal himself for what comes next. ]
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genya? but — no. she'd been present for such a transient time, there and gone like a ghost alina had banished from ximilia's corridors, and only felt the absence of once there was no one to exert her anger upon. her brow furrows like a question mark. he would have told her there was someone else. someone important, back in the encampments.
wouldn't he have? because he can't mean — ]
You don't know any other ... [ she trails off, the wheels only beginning to turn mid-sentence. lamely, she finishes, ] Grisha women.
[ save for her. but despite the slow kindling of realization in alina's eyes, not quite fully ignited — her breath hitches with the possibility, a noise that sounds too loud in her ears, under the rush of a pulse. she blinks rapid-fire, dark eyelashes fanning against her cheek.
suddenly, the simulated night air feels like a balm against the overheated furnace raging in her cheeks. she swallows thickly, too winded and uncertain of herself to sound fully challenging when she tests the waters, presses: ]
Bold of you to boast about something you haven't proven.
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and it's alina that he's not afraid of, for all he knows and doesn't know she's capable of.
the realization is light in her eyes, a spark of something that's only just kindling into a flame. it's up to him to help it burn brighter, to settle it. there's a flush to alina's cheeks, rosy and red, and mal knows that the wind is nipping at his own that he can use as an excuse. but he doesn't feel like cowering, like letting himself topple in the wind when facing that uncertain challenge and instead he's steady when he speaks. ] Shall I prove it then?
[ they're against the tree line already, it takes very little for mal to take a few steps and guide alina back with one hand falling to he waist until his frame shields hers from the wind against a towering pine. ] Do you want me to prove it?
[ he's not sure what she wants from him, when moments ago she'd wanted to know why he hadn't bedded another. ]
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alina's gaze flits, butterfly-fast, over the complete portrait of mal's expression. uncertain, but steady. the look of a man dedicated to seeing a mission through, if he's given the order. all she has to do is see the command through, herself.
her chest rises and falls with a suspended breath, stilted in her lungs. there's no question in her mind he would retreat, if she demanded it. allow her the luxury of pretending they hadn't been standing on a precipice, about to tip over. maybe it would be for the better — something precious left unchanged, for fear of breaking it.
perhaps she's forgotten how to do anything for the better; perhaps it's selfishness that drives her, a curiosity that hasn't been quenched. instinctually, her fingers wrench into mal's collar as though it were reins, steering him closer. unnatural as the simulation is, she can vividly feel the scratch of bark through her jacket as she presses back into it.
lowly, she reminds him, ] I told you not to ask stupid questions, Mal.
[ she gives another yank. pulls him down to her level until their lips hover a sliver of an inch from one another, her hot exhale puffing out against his mouth. ]
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yet, there's no question that mal will take it. he'd dive into any dark waters if alina asked, rush forward without thinking of the consequences to himself if there is a chance he'd pull her to the shores or find another mythical creature to help her on her quest. he would have if he had the chance to, back in ravka.
if this weren't all just borrowed time.
first kisses are sometimes sweet things, sometimes desperate. other times it's longing and passion that color them wholly. perhaps this is a bit of everything, a press of lips to lips that's cautious, longing, desperate and knowing all at once while proceeded with a roll of mal's eyes and a snort.
his hand nearly dwarfs her cheek as he tilts her chin toward his, closes what little distance there is between them and presses alina back into the bark of the pine. ]
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her eyes droop to his mouth, studies it like it's a viper approaching. when his lips finally do land, she feels bitten with how natural it feels. simple and easy, like breathing air; like she's been kissing mal all throughout their life. her body already seems to know how to respond to him, fumbling for only another second — another moment of an exhale into his mouth — before she answers with firmer pressure. curves her body into the bracket of his, once her shoulders balance on bark, and tightens her fingers in his collar in her fight to remain strong-legged and upright.
he's too large. she's too small. she can feel the resistance of his chest as she pushes back, but alina acts like it's a war of attrition anyway, as she takes the opportunity to snag her teeth on his lower lip. a small, harmless sting as payback for his frustration with her — before she soothes over it with a flick of her tongue, wet and soft and somehow hesitant for something so bold. ]
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mal's forgotten about his wounds, about the ache in his shoulder and the sting of wrappings around his torso as alina arches close. it's natural to slide his hands to her hips, to briefly wonder how easily she fits against him as if they were molded from the same clay for this. mal's not much of a poet, an artist but he can appreciate what nature has made of them.
it's easier to lift her up, to press a knee between her legs and hold alina up instead of hunch closer and have her scramble for purchase. if his shoulders protest, well, he has something to prove; to meet that tentative flick of tongue with an upward curl of his lips and sweeter kiss, chaste for a moment longer before his tongue traces the curve of her lower lip and seeks something deeper. ]
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she recovers soon enough, wriggles down onto the pleasant pressure of his knee until she can lock her legs to his hip, press her boot's sole to the bottom knot of his spine. dirtying his clothing is only an afterthought, a fleeting consideration. there and gone, even if her head wasn't pleasantly floaty with sensation. it's only fitting, really, to kiss mal for the first time among wilderness and soil, grit and nature. something that calls to the very fabric of what they are, a friendship patched together in open fields and grassy hills.
without a thought, her hands scrabble down his shoulders, sink deeply into the tissue beneath. like a zap of electricity to kickstart the mind, she interrupts the sweeping tease of her tongue into the cavern of his mouth to lean back, a harried mumble agains this mouth: ]
Mal.
[ too winded to be anything solid. unsturdy, as it fluctuates from the small, hitching pants of her breath. what's worse is her own inability to disconnect herself, magnetized to his mouth. her concern should take precedence, but she only spares it the
briefest of considerations in a low, distracted warning, ] Your shoulder.
[ he's undeniably making it worse. equally undeniable, mccoy would kill them both for exacerbating injuries. alina chooses to ignore that ever-present danger by sucking his lower lip into her mouth, as if it does not entirely contradict her atempt at a noble protest. ]
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there will be consequences to their midnight tryst, to this adventure where alina absconded him from the infirmary. mal's body will bear the brunt of it but with his heart hammering in his chest, with the sense of giddiness in his chest he doesn't mind.
yet alina's words to make him groan, a low sound that rumbles through his chest more like a growl than the snoring of a bear that alina teases him for. the sounds ends in a muffled grunt, mal's hand tighten their grip on alina's hips but he doesn't do anything to stop her or unwind her from his frame. ] It's fine.
[ his voice is strained, yes, but mal doesn't care. he'd rather not thing above it truly, instead focused mapping out alina's mouth with his tongue, with practiced skill and yet a boyish eagerness for something that he's wanted and hadn't named before. that eagerness turns his attention from her mouth, but only when they are so winded that there is no other choice but for him to catch his breath and press open mouthed kisses along the delicate line of alina's neck. ]
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his lips swipe it away, swallow the protest down. one of the only efficient ways to keep alina starkov quiet, it seems, even once her mouth is given free reign to run. instead, her head lolls back into the scratchy bark behind her, dark strands catching on its rough edges as her head lolls to the side. she can feel her heartbeat in her lower lip, puffy and kiss-swollen, travel to the pulse in her throat — a rhythm that gives a little leap against his attention.
anticipatory, as much as it is anxious. beneath the flimsy collar of an airy blouse, she's too hyperaware of what lies there, where he's traveling toward scuffed skin — pink with scar tissue barely concealed by white fabric, the velvet edges of an amplifier tucked beneath. she squirms a little on habit, hopeful that such a tactic might force the both of them to forget what lies underneath her clothes. easily excused as sensitivity as her mouth blossoms open around a shivery sigh.
reflexively, her hand smooths over the nape of his neck, travels up to lock him in place — only to find the prickle of short-cropped hair, instead. nothing so easily grabbed as the mop of hair he'd sported days ago. she groans out a frustrated little sound at the discovery and its reminder, and sets her nails to tentatively rake down his scalp instead. ]
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he cups the other side of alina's neck with one his hands, takes more of her weight on his torso as his hands slide up to thread through strands growing tangled in the wind.
if it is a trap meant to distract him, to pull the tracker's attention elsewhere it works. mal knows what's hiding beneath the loose fabric of alina's blouse, has seen it but not touched; it's felt like a forbidden thing between them. he stops his trail of open-mouthed kisses at the junction of her neck and shoulder, presses his forehead to heated skin as she rakes her nails into his scalp and squirms enough to distract him. it earns another groan, a rumble through his chest before mal surges to to claim alina's lips once more and this time his legs do shake to bear the weight of them as he presses his thigh between hers and wants. ]
Alina. [ a moan, a prayer and a question mumbled against her lips. ]
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but she isn't envisioning zoya, sweet-smelling in the way that flytraps lure a meal to its mouth, stirring up mal's interest. she isn't comparing herself to the same army girls that had flocked and tweeted around mal while she'd stood by unnoticed, ignoring the strange pulse of disappointment in her chest that she'd easily blamed on the burn from shitty first army food. mal's interest in others had never been particularly secret, nor had his experience, but —
she suspects it helps, that she isn't that naive and bumbling and inexperienced girl anymore. that she's blossomed, in the time they've been apart. learned about herself. learned about — this. how to look him in the eye, shameless, and angle her hips just right to drag herself against the trunk of his leg. once, twice — not shy, but experimental. testing what feels best, when the seam of her trousers rubs where she needs it most.
that's answer enough, she thinks, to his unspoken question.
her lips, puffy and pink from the way she can't stop chasing his, part around a shaky exhale. color dapples itself high on the points of her cheeks, dark eyelashes fluttering to tickle her face. looking at him is a short-lived exercise in control, for as much as she finds there's a unique power in knowing what she's done to him — to feel him quake and still want to crumble him more.
instead, she buries her face in his shoulder and bites down into the fabric there, fingers fisting at the back of his shirt. anything to give her steady leverage to grind down a little more hotly, a little more desperately, even if it isn't enough. even if her whine says as much, high-pitched and needy where she tries to muffle it. even if part of her thinks she could get off just like this, with enough determination, and live with whatever teasing he dishes out to her in the future because of it.
tongue and teeth slide over his throat, like it's the punctuation she needs when she breathes out into his skin: ] Will you touch me?
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what came before matters little, even if foolishness stood like a wall between them. now he wants to make up for lost time, for missed opportunities that will never come to fruition on ravkan soil as they are now. but maybe it's better, for they've grown into different people here. mal hardly recognizes the soldier who feared dying in the trenches above all else.
the trenches are lifetimes away; and mal is sure he'll forget the sound of artillery, that it'll be replaced in his memory with every breathy gasp and mewl that leave's alina's lips. each whine is a better sound than the cacophony of memories from a home that's no longer a home. no, home is in his arms; quaking, skin-flushed and quivering thighs wrapped around him. ]
Saints, Alina. [ the words normally coloured by exasperation laden with fondness now leave him as a groan, as desperation. he rocks up against her, hard and aching in the confines of loose, cotton joggers he'd worn to the infirmary as their hips roll together and the pleasure builds but isn't enough. ] Yes. Anyway you want me to.
[ he'd drop to his knees, if she asked. but that thought barely registers as he works a hand into what little space there is between, slides a palm up her inner thigh to tease her with daft fingers press and rub with practiced skill through the rough fabric of her trousers before moving up to fumble with the buttons there. ]
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but the thought had always bubbled up for her, unbidden, in a tattered first army bedroll; in the wilds of ravka, on the run from the black cloud hunting them. it feels more true to them that there's nothing particularly glamorous about the bark scratching against her back, or mal's hindered ability to fit even a finger inside of her trousers, or the hampered fabric that separates them — all factors that make alina snort out a breathy laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
she yanks her zipper down in one deft movement, not quite looking forward to the struggle that getting her underwear aside will be like this, and nudges her palm against the back of his neck. ]
I don't think this is going to work.
[ — for one, she'll need to be on her feet to even get her pants off. but she appreciates the zealousness of his effort, all the same. ]
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there really is no room. he presses his lips to alina's neck gently compared to the heated desperation from moments before. ] You might be right about that.
[ she is right about it.
mal pulls back, panting and takes a quick scan of their surroundings . the momentary breaks reminds him of the pain his shoulder, the way his hand trembles against alina's skin from the strain. but-- but-- mal's more focused on a solution to the problem. which would simply be to set her down, yes, but can he be blamed for not thinking clearly? ] My coat makes a pretty good substitute for a bedroll if we're feeling impatient.
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Then fetch your coat. What's taking you so long?
[ respect for her, she assumes. extremely chivalrous, but entirely unnecessary. no amount of shame, if she possessed it, could separate her from mal in this moment. and if she doesn't move hastily — it leaves too much time available for him to change his mind. to pull away, and list all of the reasons they shouldn't be intertwined.
without waiting further, she wriggles — a clear indication for mal to place her on her own two solid feet to begin wriggling out of her trousers. ]
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[ yet he is already setting her down, though not before stealing another kiss from her lips. he's loathe to part from her but there's the matter of the coat, discarded on the forest floor beside him. mal had draped it over his shoulders when he'd left the infirmary and it's not so far away.
the distance shows him that they're still in plain sight; that anyone could still notice movement off the beaten path through the sunlit room. it reminds him where they are, where they were headed to smoke. with the coat in one hand, mal holds the other for alina to take. ]
We're close enough to my camp for blankets too. [ he grins, offering a wink that's reminiscent of the boy he once was; a youth growing into a man instead of a soldier who'd spent long weeks in the trenches, who'd seen death too many times in his short years.
mal can't move fast still but it's a short walk further into the foliage, where a ravkan issue tent stands near a fire pit; a castle compared to a tumble on the snowy ground, though no little palace bed. better than a coat. ]
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[ hard and unforgiving as it would be. a warm wisp of amusement breezes through her voice, clings to the notes. the truth of the matter is it's — precisely what she might have expected, from mal. there's a softness to him not even the first army could beat and brutalize out of him.
in fact, she suspects it would have been a more difficult task to convince him to tumble her right there in the snow. it's not a balm to her ache of impatience, but — it turns her insides fizzy and effervescent, just knowing he'd taken her comfort into mind. that this is more special than a rough tumble on a forest floor. her eyes flick from the tent — so reminiscent of home that she can allow herself to pretend they're back in ravka, back in the first army, that they'd never had reason to abandon it at all — then back to mal's strong profile. the sharp curve of his jaw. the line of his smiling mouth. ]
You know ...
[ her palm floats out of his, instantly mourning the warm graze of his callouses, the rough patches of skin where he's gripped a rifle's stock over and over. but it's worth the process of shucking off of her boots, uncaring where they fall — and then shimmying out of her trousers, tossing them toward the outskirts of his tent alongside the thin, flimsy cotton of her underwear.
a chill from simulated winter winds brush their fingers over her. alina has to consciously pin her arms to her sides to restrain herself from crossing them, armor against the wind or his eyes, as her nipples shiver into tight peaks in the cold. ]
If I didn't know any better, I'd accuse you of planning to seduce me.
[ her mouth splits open around a smile, despite the scandalized tone she attempts to inject into it. malyen oretsev, deliberate and smooth seduction artist — for all the girls that must have tripped over themselves for his attention, it's still a laughable thought. ]
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the tent will do little to protect them from the cold but it is, in fact, enough to give them some privacy. it reminds him of home; of some time before sleeping in a tent took him back to that final night along the fjerden border. this is the memory he wants to hold on to instead, the sight of alina stripping out of her layers in front of him.
she moves with determination, as if in stripping the layers from her body instead of allowing him to serves as a victory. he takes in the sight of newly exposed skin, but there's still plenty hidden under the length of her shirt as he drags his gaze up alina's frame. it adds to the spark burning within him; has that soft awe melting into a soft smile as he tilts his head.
mal stepping closer so he can slide his hands underneath the fabric that covers her and pull alina against his frame with ease; as if the heat of how much he wants will warm her from the wind. ] Is it working?
☀️ RAND.
☀️ SHANG-CHI.