oneinfive | THEM FANCY LADS, CONT. (Nikolas/Winter)

THEM FANCY LADS, CONT. (Nikolas/Winter)

[From here:

Well, here they are, on the world's most introverted date, the one that only the extravert between them realizes is a date.

Which is to say, that evening, when he'd normally be retiring to his rooms, Nikolas makes his way to Winter's little private study instead for all that reading Winter seems to think can be a social activity. Maybe he isn't wrong. It can at least be a comfortable one, between the two of them, at this point; that counts for a lot. It's been so very long since most things between them were comfortable. If sitting together in amicable silence, maybe even leaning on one another, can join that list, Nikolas is more than happy to make the first move in adding it.

He raps lightly and quickly on the door, as if worried he might be overheard. It's quite unlike his usual way of being.]

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I—well. Then I am sorry I kept you waiting, and that the dark truth of it is, I meant to keep you waiting for quite a bit longer, though I have known I would say it for some time now—

[The truth comes tumbling out the way he usually won't let it, all at once and barely controlled. It wouldn't do to let Winter begin thinking Nikolas wasn't a terrible person, after all! He must have out with the whole of it and let Winter make his own, informed decision to have him taken out with the rest of the trash!

But perhaps the most honest part is the way Nikolas's hand darts over to grope for Winter's, as if looking to hold it for just a few moments before he's forced to give up on all of this forever. As he surely should be!]

I-- what? Really?

[ Since when have you known?! though Winter can't quite bring himself to actually ask that question. For one, he's distracted by the movement of Nikolas's hand, staring for a second before he very daringly takes it. Look at that! Look at him! He's initiated hand-holding with a boy. And not just any boy, but one who's haunted him for so many years.

Once he has it, though, he's not entirely sure what to do with it. The only person he's used to hand-holding with is his sister, and her hands are significantly smaller than Nikolas's. Ultimately, Winter just folds both of his around Nikolas, studying them for a long moment and then looking up again. His face hurts from how hard he's blushing. ]

Well. Whether you meant to say it now or not, it has been said, and so... now what?

Oh. I. Well.

[Smooth. He's entirely taken aback by the sudden happenstance that he's sitting here alone with Winter, holding his hand and looking him right in the eyes. What's truly ridiculous is that now that it's happened, he can barely remember why he spend so very long not letting it. So much of his life has been an endless parade of reasons for this not to happen, and yet here they are now, and it's so very easy! It's done. It's truly gone and happened at last; why did it take so damned long?!

Nikolas blinks, his own cheeks nearly as pink as Winter's, though less visibly on his dark skin.]

. . . I rather think that is up to you, above all else.

I... I mean.

[ Why is it up to him? Why does this have to be his decision?! He's not ready! He's never even considered this within arm's reach of possibility before!! And now he's here having to make the decision for the both of them--! This isn't like matters of state, where he can rely on logic or the comfort of rational problem-solving; this is more like when he asked the King for mercy on Nikolas's behalf, only more.

This is trying to make a decision about what he, Winter Quertis, might want, and for a few long seconds he just clutches Nikolas's hand as tightly as possible. His own fingers are chilled. ]

I... I would rather like it if...

[ He can say it. He can do this! He can get the words out. ]

I'd like to have what I want for once, Nikolas.

Then. Then! You will have to come and take it now, won't you, my dear! My—dear, dearest Winter. My very dearest, you can't know how—no, as I said, it is up to you to seize what you want with your own hands.

[He can hardly hear his own words anymore; they spill out in a mess onto the floor over the pounding of Nikolas's own heart in his ears. He can't be the one to assume that what Winter wants is all or any of that. His shoulders shake with the desire to lean in and take, but despite however things may look right now, he cannot allow himself to think he deserves to make a move on someone he's wronged so deeply . . . !

But here he is, not paying terribly close attention to how very hopeful his own face looks.]

With my own hands, is it...

[ That's not terribly helpful either. Every time they'd had an encounter like this before, Nikolas had taken the lead -- whether he'd only been bluffing his courage or not, he'd at least known what to do. Should Winter kiss him? Take his hands? What is there even for him to try except for gaping in sheer dumbfounded amazement?

Perhaps in a different world, under different circumstances, Winter would have allowed himself the courage to do one, or the confidence to believe he could do so gracefully. Instead, he does the latter, reaching out with trembling hands to take Nikolas's in his own. ]

I suppose this is entirely too literal, but I hope you will forgive me that.

[Nikolas stares down at their hands, briefly surprised—and then he wonders why he's surprised, and begins to laugh.

He hates the sound of it, not because it's cruel or mocking, but because he remembers a time when it would have been. This laugh is fraught with nerves, but under that, genuinely joyful and fond . . . and yet he can't help but fear that Winter won't know that. How could he, after all? Nikolas has raised him to expect torment, not fondness. He convinces himself that Winter is already pulling back, whether or not that's the case, and grabs both of Winter's hands in his own in turn, squeezing them tightly.]

Oh, forgive me. It's more than I deserve, dear, but forgive me. I am not laughing at you! I'm only so . . . so very happy. I can't think of any other way to express it. I've always been awful at that, you see. You should well know by now what a wretch I am! And yet—here you are.

[He squeezes those cold hands again, more pointedly this time.]

Entirely too literal, as always, but . . . I would not have you any other way.

[ Winter does tense up a little when Nikolas starts to laugh. He can't quite help it. But a few seconds later he relaxes; he couldn't say precisely where the difference is, only that there is one, and he can hear it. His own lips quirk in the beginning of a smile, small and shy, not quite yet embarrassed.

All of this still feels so very dreamlike, but there's the strong grip of Nikolas's hands, and that helps to ground him somewhat. It's tight enough to hurt a little, but not out of any unkindness; that is entirely the fault of Winter's own frail build.

This is real! This is happening, and to him! Imagine that. ]

Then that's a relief for the both of us. I don't quite know how long it would take me to learn to change.

I'd rather -- if I may be that bold -- we learn how to be better at being happy.

. . . I would like that very much.

[His laughter ebbs, and he lifts his face to look at Winter properly again, right in the eyes. He burns to look away, save some face in his embarrassment and the overwhelming tide of his emotions—his eyes are prickling with them, even though there's no sorrow in him now—but he forces himself not to. He owes Winter at least that much honesty.

And more, really. Nikolas's grip loosens to something more comfortable.]

Winter. . . . I had planned to learn how to be a better man first. I did not want to burden you with taking me on, the way I am now. Improved, yes, but not so far as you deserve. Not after everything. Are you certain you would not rather wait for something better, even if that thing is myself, a few months or years from now? I want nothing more than this, but you know I am a selfish man. I always have been! That I will never rid myself of.

Something better?

[ He cocks his head briefly at that, his brows drawing together as he works through the idea. It's not that he doesn't understand the logic behind it, especially applied to himself. He's had months -- years -- of trying to convince himself that if he only applies himself a little harder, pushes a little further, improves himself a little more, then he'll be worthy.

But when he's the prize in question, it takes on a very different sort of connotation. So for now, he looks at their clasped hands, then up at Nikolas's face, both familiar and alien in this moment. ]

At this point, I would say it might be a greater unkindness, to offer me a glimpse of this and then whisk it away. I would rather it be a journey with companionship over parallel paths, never sure when they might finally cross.

[ . . . Well.

Nikolas, he of so many words, can't come up with a single one; all he lets out of his mouth is a choked little sound, half a laugh and half something else. The meaning of it is impossible to identify, even for someone who knows him. He couldn't say himself all that's wrapped up in it. But the important core of it is this: he leans in to press his lips to Winter's rather than answer in words. His whole body faintly trembles at just this much contact, charged as it is with emotion and restraint, and the hum of desire he swears he can feel so powerfully in himself that Winter must be able to hear it as well.]

[ Winter sucks in a hard breath at that; Nikolas isn't the only one who trembles at the contact. It's almost laughable: by this point he has been kissed, several times, by this very man! But it still feels like a first kiss in so many ways -- and a far better one than his actual first kiss.

After a moment to gather his nerve, he leans closer to Nikolas, tilting his head to make the angle easier, to hold the kiss as long as possible. Even if they don't do anything more than this -- or even if they do quite a bit more than this! -- he wants this to last. He wants to remember this. ]

[In that, they're of one mind. Nikolas can read the mood and the body language like a book even with his eyes closed. This one counts. He moves one hand to slip into Winter's hair, behind his neck, holding him gently there in place—no forcing or coercing, just the pure intimacy of touching, untainted this time by everything else that's darkened it before. His lips part gently, oh so gently, an invitation that he waits for Winter to accept.]

[ Again he hesitates -- it really is silly, how much he's "forgotten" how all of this goes. It hasn't been that long, but he feels fumbling and awkward. He spends long enough dithering that he also starts to worry that Nikolas might think he doesn't want it, so he shifts himself closer, parting his own lips in turn. Please don't mistake him! He does want this, even if he lacks any of the finesse he knows Nikolas has.

Maybe there's something to be said about eagerness in the face of shyness. He can only hope. ]

[There's something to be said for it, or maybe it's that it speaks volumes on its own. Nikolas knows Winter well by now. There's so much he's gotten wrong in the past, but he has always known him, and this, too, he can read for what it is. His lips curl into a smile for just an instant, but he can't keep that up and kiss at the same time, and damned if he isn't going to err for the kiss when Winter so clearly wants it himself. His tongue slips into Winter's mouth, requesting entry rather than demanding it.]

[ Winter's first response is a curious little noise. In a way it's a novelty, being asked -- he's too eager to proceed to really think of it as a bad thing, though. Nikolas might have taken recklessly in the past, but Winter had never tried to stop him, had he? And a large part of him had been happy for the attention from this man in particular.

But now they can start over. Now they can do this as proper lovers, which they must be at this point. So he parts his lips a beat later, shy but eager for more. ]

[Ah, that's an invitation Nikolas is all too ready to take. He pauses for only the briefest moment for his breath to stutter out against Winter's lips; he lets that happen deliberately, showing Winter how excited he is for just this much. It's enough that he might feel faint if he'd ever been that sort of man. As it is, he feels tight all over with desire, and he pours that now into the kiss since he has Winter's permission, his tongue slipping in to taste all of his mouth, one hand curling behind Winter's neck to hold him.]

[ He can't help it: he makes another noise, louder now, and a hard shiver goes through him at the touch of Nikolas's hand on his neck. He'd never thought of it as somewhere particularly sensitive, but it's like he can feel that touch through his whole body, leaving him tingling and breathless.

And a little greedy, too. He's not bold about it, but he is (just a little) less tentative, letting his tongue brush against Nikolas's in turn, trying to get as close as their separate chairs will allow. ]

[Right around now, with that touch, that moan, the way Nikolas's body reacts to it—is when the separate chairs thing becomes a bit too much to bear for him, at least, and he pulls away with a short, quiet gasp.]

Winter. My Winter—perhaps here is not the place, or if it is, you may as well come join me in my own seat. I daresay I could make the room for you if you didn't mind being very close indeed.

[Or they could go for a bed. Really, either way, Nikolas hopes they'll end up quite close.]

Close--

[ Very close indeed. He was already flushed, but as the suggestion and its implications register, he goes almost beet-red, fidgeting in his seat without pulling further away himself. He wants very much to be as close as Nikolas is hinting at, though there are a couple of seconds where he's paralyzed by his own timidness. How easily he just says that! It's something Winter envies more than he'd like to admit, like it's no terrible ordeal to just say it, like this was a properly expected thing to happen...

But he does finally push himself up to his feet, wobbling, and takes the step and a half over to Nikolas's chair. And there he hesitates again before -- does he sit on Nikolas? In the narrow gap of chair seat available? How does one do something like this?! ]

[He'd expected Winter to lead them back to his bedroom, and he's pleasantly surprised by the boldness. Well, well. So Winter does want to be that close, and in the study at that—Nikolas wets his lips as Winter steps over, reaching for him. When Winter hesitates, he reaches over to tug Winter into his lap straddling him, or at least to aim for that, very hopefully.]

Close . . . yes. If you like.

[ It's a little awkward -- he'd been hoping for a helping hand, if not initiative, from Nikolas, but not like this -- but he's a graceful young man, with a sense of balance both natural and engrained from years of practice. So, surprised as he is, it doesn't take much to get him in place, and once he is... well.

This is an entirely new and unique feeling. He likes it, even if it's also rather incredibly embarrassing. ]

O-oh. H-- hello.

[ He doesn't actually think to respond with any reassurance of his own, though his opinion is probably quite obvious on his face. ]

. . . Hello, you.

[A moment ago, he'd felt dark and sultry; when Winter says that, though, the sun comes out on Nikolas's face. He can't help the bright grin he shines right back at him. Not that the mood is entirely broken, not by far. They both clearly rather enjoy this. Nikolas's enjoyment is only going to become more obvious the longer they're in this position. For now, it's subtle.]

Are you comfortable, my dear? I was rather hoping you would see fit to stay for quite some time.

A long time? --I would think I'm too heavy for that.

[ He might be the head of one of the richest families of the kingdom, but he's still slight to the point of underweight. If nothing else, he's got some boney edges. But for the moment he's relaxed, wide-eyed as he leans against Nikolas. It's almost innocent, even if the position itself is absolutely suggestive. ]

But... I'd be happy to stay, as long as you'd like me.

The idea that you, Winter, are too heavy for anything, is a bit laughable. I can certainly take it!

. . . If you protest, however. I just may have to spirit you off to bed instead. As a courtesy to you, of course. To soothe your anxiety.

[There's nothing innocent about Nikolas's expression, though he's relaxed himself, and not urgent about the flirting. Either way, really, he's in an excellent position.]

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