roughworkdone | Open Post

"Inej."

Kaz isn't religious, but he whispers her name like a prayer. He slides his arms around her, bringing her closer until there isn't space between them at all. His head tips down, brow against her hair. She smells like the sea.

Then he presses a kiss to her brow, and it feels just a little easier. Kaz wants to be the man that can sweep her into his arms, but this is what he can do right now. And as their layers come away, he know it will be easier. And then it will be time for her to leave again.

"I'm at your disposal for as long as you're here," he says with a faint smile. It isn't a small thing for him to offer, and he trusts that Inej won't actually abuse it so much that it takes him away from business. "Starting now."

Between them, there are lots of little moments she cherishes. Right now, this is one of them, when it's the first break in the armor before it all sluices away. If kissing her had caused the crack, this is a whole portion falling off, readying the rest to crumble. It's in how he pulls her so close the delineation of their bodies goes hazy, how he presses his brow to hers, kisses without prompting.

She keeps ahold of him, loops her arms around his chest so she can press her hands to his shoulder blades. Like this, she can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing; she feels safe.

"So much freedom." She replies, amused and grateful all in one. He's busier than usual nowadays, with the Barrel under his thumb. This isn't a light effort at all and she plans to make the most of it.

"Well, I've been sailing for nearly a month straight—" Inej starts off, gently extricating herself from his arms (there's a pang of regret, but she has plans). "—come help me relax." She finishes, tugging him along by the hand. Even if this ended up with them taking a nap on his bed, she'd be glad.

"So, a bath?" he teases, unable or unwilling to hold it back. Regardless of what change he may or may not be capable of, his sense of humor is probably beyond saving.

Kaz reluctantly lets Inej slip away from him. He follows after her, fingers curled around hers. He can feel the warmth of her touch through the thin leather. He hangs back just long enough to leave his cane resting against his desk, frees his hand long enough to shrug out of his coat to toss it in the same direction.

"What can I do?" he asks, more sincere. A bath isn't out of the realm of possibility, if she wants one.

Honestly, the suggestion isn't out of the question, even as she resists the urge to shake her head at him. At least he's lightened up enough to break the tension with humor. Progress.

She lets him go with only a faint bit of reluctance, which is immediately replaced by interest. Over the years, she's seen him shrug off his jacket hundreds of times but she hasn't gotten sick of it. There's something about how he rolls his shoulders to do it.

Blinking, she seems to consider, and then: "Lend me a shirt?" Because this one sure isn't staying on. Not that it's uncomfortable, it's just one too many layers and she's ready to be done with it. Her vest comes off first, an immediate sweep of relief going through her as she drapes it over the back of the nearby chair.

Kaz watches the vest come off and he feels the familiar stir of heat that used to make him so miserable. Back when he believed that he would never be able to act on physical desire again. Maybe it's been slow going, but at least there's something that feels more like hope now. He could do this. With Inej's help and her patience, he could do this.

It takes him a few seconds to realize Inej asked him for something, and without answering, he limps to the small wardrobe he's acquired for himself. He finds a shirt that he's absolutely certain has been laundered recently and offers it to Inej.

"We should keep clothes for you here," he says after a moment, surprised with himself for not thinking of it sooner. He knows Inej has things on the ship, but why should she have to worry about hauling clothes across the Barrel? He'll see to it before her next visit.

It's gratifying, that short delay before he answers. Well, not verbally, but a response all the same, as he hands her a shirt from the dresser. She sets it on the bed for now, working on methodically stripping out of her current clothes. Off come the boots, the pants, socks, shirt. There's nothing intentionally teasing about it, though she knows he's watching.

Last to come off is the compression vest, which she sighs after it drops to the floor. His shirt gets pulled on, familiar in the way it swamps her smaller frame.

"Then I won't have an excuse to wear yours." She says with a grin, as she neatly rolls up the sleeves. There's a logic in it, of course. Keeping a spare set of clothes isn't such a terrible idea. But maybe she likes how the air seems to shift as soon as she puts his shirt on. Maybe she likes being able to turn her nose towards the collar and catch his familiar smell underneath the soap.

He watches as Inej finishes undressing, utterly distracted as she reveals more and more of herself with the purpose of putting on his shirt. As a rule, Kaz Brekker doesn't blush, but he feels warmth creeping through him none the less.

Once the shirt is on, it's impossible not to notice how the hem brushes her thighs.

"Of course, how could I do anything to deny you that."

Kaz seems to consider for a moment, then rather deliberately slips off his gloves. He leaves them on a nightstand and keeps his eyes down as he slides off his suit jacket, then waistcoat. He's changed in front of her dozens of times now, but it's always different when he knows he has Inej's attention versus when his mind is on something else entirely, when changing is just a cursory move between one thing and another.

She laughs at his response, simply glad to be back in their personal rhythm. Now that she's undressed (and re-dressed, sort of), she takes a seat on the bed. It's well timed, because now she can turn her attention to Kaz as he starts to peel off the layers of his clothing. In what feels like forever ago, she could barely stand to watch, blush rising up every time he took his shirt off to wash.

Here, she has no problem looking, though a bit of heat still comes to color her cheeks. She fiddles with the hem of the borrowed shirt, fingers itching to comb through his hair or run down the back of his neck. It's near irrational, how much she suddenly wants to touch him, enough that she takes a slow breath in and then out to calm her fluttering pulse.

"You're the worst tease I've ever known."

"Worst as in bad or worst as in good?" he asks with a faint smirk as he looks up to meet her gaze. Kaz slides his suspenders off his shoulders before he attends to the buttons on his shirt. Every time they're together again, there's a few hours, a day, in which Kaz needs to reset himself. Needs to relearn and remember that touch is not all bad. He craves it from Inej regardless of how much he fears the consequences. And he is getting better. He knows he is.

He hasn't fainted on her yet. That has to mean something good.

And Inej is patient, maybe because she has to be or wants to be, or because she understands. Kaz is careful when he touches her, too. Because he wants to, his fingers itch to, and the last thing either of them wants or needs is to dredge up painful memories in the other.

Kaz pauses when his torso is bare, as if waiting for her nod to continue or stop.

"Still deciding—keep going." She's not distracted enough to lose her train of thought, nor the sense of amusement that's keeping the levity between them. It's not exactly tip-toeing, not like it used to be around their respective past, but it is careful handling. Each span of time requires a reset; for her, it's to remind herself that this is Kaz, who would never do anything to hurt her. Who, while he espouses using greed as his servant and lever, has proven time and again to care.

With that in mind, it's easier for her to want his hands on her. To know that the damage and violence they're capable of would never be turned on her. He isn't the men from the Menagerie and could never be.

"Unless you've gotten shy since I saw you last?" Sometimes, he makes it too easy to tease him.

Kaz rolls his dark eyes and resumes undressing.

"You know me," he rasps. "I've always been terribly modest."

This from the boy that used to shuck off his clothes while Inej sat in his window for a quick rinse from a basin. He's changed in front of her so many times that he never thought about it until he realized she was watching. Really watching.

Kaz strips down to the pale cotton shorts he wears beneath it all. His weight is balanced mostly on one leg to spare the other, and he is aroused. How could he not be by the sight of Inej in his shirt?

She still remembers her reaction when he'd first stripped in front of her. That's years ago now, soon after she'd been given her first knife. He'd been going over plans (something somewhat new to her, then) and then had simply unbuttoned his shirt and wiped off. She remembers mentally recoiling, the shock hitting her like a slap of cold water.

Quickly, she'd realized it hadn't been to tease or flirt or take advantage. He just didn't have a sense of modesty. It had taken her time to get used to, but eventually she'd gotten there.

(She also remembers how it felt that first time she'd seen him in a different light, how it seemed her heart would stutter out if she looked at his bare back for too long).

Her pulse still flutters now, but she's allowed to look her fill. So she does, admires the slant of his shoulders, the way the muscles work in his arms and stomach as he bends to pull his trousers off. There's a familiar wave of heat that settles under her skin when he straightens, left only in his shorts. Dark eyes sweep down the angle of his hips pointedly and then back up.

"Sit." Inej pats the spot next to her on the bed, fully intending to see how much he's willing to try and handle.

Kaz does as he's told and sits on the edge of the bed, near to Inej but not quite touching. The distance is for her as much him: he leaves it to her to cross, when she is ready. He never thought ceding control would gain him anything, thought it would grate against him as badly as any cage. But it doesn't. He puts power in Inej's hands and he trusts her not to abuse it.

It is, all at once, terrifying and freeing.

"Good to see you again, Wraith," he murmurs fondly, just so that he's said it out loud.

He sits as he's told and really, she'll never be over the strange pride she feels. It's more than the rush of power he's placing in her hands—though that certainly cannot be overstated—it's also the amount of time and trust they've both put into this. Here he is, Dirtyhands, bastard of the Barrel, following what she asks (demands) of him.

And here she is, the Wraith, the ghost of Ketterdam's streets, putting herself in a man's bed willingly. Here she is, with soft words that have all the might of a knife in the safe world they've made for themselves.

"And you as well, Kaz Brekker." There's a weight to her words, not just the warm gladness she has at being here again. It's also the awe of privilege, how he's letting her see what's beneath the armor, just like he said he would. A word kept. As if spurred on by this, she moves closer, purposely leans forward to let his shirt gape open, and carefully places a hand to his cheek. If he doesn't stiffen, she'll continue to touch a path downwards, palm laying flat on his chest.

Kaz can't help the way his gaze drops to the flash of warm skin beneath the open shirt. The hand on his cheek, soft and small and familiar, makes him swallow but he manages not to go tense. This has always been a slow exercise, frustrating in its glacial pace. He wants to give her more, everything, but it takes building up. Maybe faster this time than the last, but not instant.

As her hand slides down to press to his chest, goosebumps rise and fall and Kaz shivers beneath her touch. But he doesn't try to pull away, nor does he go tense and distant. He wants nothing more than to lay his hand over hers and his fingers twitch, but he can't quite bring himself to do it yet. But he wants to.

He doesn't lock up, which is testament to the progress they've made. She can tell he's still on edge, waiting for his past to drag him under. But he doesn't shy away, keeps letting her touch where she wants.

And well, she doesn't miss the way his gaze drops for those few precious seconds. A small smile curls her mouth and she can't help but tease.

"See something you like?" She pulls her hand away from his chest, leaning back and touching herself instead. Her hands cup her scant breasts, shirt pushed off to the sides so it gaped open properly. So much of her wants him to touch, but she knows this is a slow process. Until then, she'll let him adjust on his own.

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