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[roughworkdone]

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meme continuations
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[greetfear]

"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.

[roughworkdone]

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?

[greetfear]

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.

[roughworkdone]

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.

[greetfear]

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.

[roughworkdone]

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.

[greetfear]

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.