Work Text:
Nikolai Lantsov liked to get himself in trouble. It didn't matter if he was in court, or if he was stirring up disturbance in the waters of the True Sea. Nikolai liked to get himself in trouble, and all these years I was always there to save his head and patch him up for his next stupid ideas.
It was my job, after all. Nikolai comes to see me when he’s in need of dire fixing— when his body is sore and his limbs are covered in deep purple bruises, and when his charm doesn't come out to be as persuasive and as flowery as he’d like it to be. Pathetic would be an understatement to how I felt every single time my heart skips a beat when he stumbles into my room at the most ungodly hours of the night, mumbling about how much he needed to be under my care. He needed me because I was a healer, I was of benefit to his well-being. He didn't need me because I provided tranquility, and he certainly didn't need me because he felt something towards me.
“I take it as you didn't miss me?”
I hear Nikolai’s unmistakable, feathery voice by the door, and I turn to see him leaning on my cedar door frame, tapping his foot like a ticking clock. He’s a mess, that’s what. Traces of dried blood on his broken nose, a few cuts and gashes on his pretty little face, a bruised lip, and knowing him, there’s most likely a wound or two behind his black poet’s blouse.
“You’re lovely company, Nikolai. How could anybody not miss you?” I cross my arms at him, nodding to the bed.
We fall into something of a routine: Nikolai makes his way into my room at a bell or two past midnight, I treat him while trying my best to keep myself calm from all the flirting and the occasional displays of affection, then, I drag him out the door to collect whatever bit of sanity I have left. I try not to think of his affection as something personal, after all, he did grow up a prince, and princes had to charm people into not assassinating them almost every day.
His gait is hardened when he makes a beeline for my bed, groaning when he sinks down on the soft mattress, “You tell me, darling. I’m not the one who didn't bother coming to see my arrival.” Nikolai continues, “Instead, I find out you’ve chosen poor, sweet Lev over me. Does treason run in the family?”
A smile laced with spite is etched on my face, “The same way vanity runs in yours.”
“Sardonic little thing, aren't you?” He narrows his eyes at me. Nikolai leans back on his hands, adjusting the way he sits whilst trailing his eyes after me like a hawk. I feel hot at the way I’m placed under scrutiny over such a small task of gathering bandages and disinfectants.
I school any hint of discomfiture on my face into something a little less readable, “People say it’s my best quality.”
I kick the stool between his legs, settling on it before taking a closer look at his face. Nikolai didn't appreciate messy work, so I take my sweet time making sure nothing leaves a scar, “You are a waste of a pretty face with all these gashes.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. You get into trouble, you bleed, and you whine about it while I try my best to keep you the vainest, most reckless peacock of all of Ravka.” My voice lowers as I pour all my focus on healing a stubborn cut on his jaw.
I hear a hum of agreement, and in an instant, I look back up at him, alarmed. Nikolai was a man of reason, and he certainly loved reasoning with me whenever I tell him how rash of a man I think he is.
Instead, Nikolai tips forward with a lazy smile, almost closing the very small gap between us.
The proximity makes concentration difficult, even more so when Nikolai decides to plant a hand on the side of my stool, caging me in with his body. The fluorescents aren't helping me in the slightest when it illuminates how defined and prince-ly Nikolai’s features are under the sharp light of my room, and while I’d never openly admit this, the way he’s all gashes and cuts just adds onto how… attractive he looks.
Good saints. Ew. What is he doing to me?
I can hear my erratic heartbeat ring into my ear when his half-lidded, hazel eyes run their course over me, momentarily stopping on my lips before it returns to hold my gaze.
My heart hammers at my chest, and I could only pray the heartrenders next door can’t hear me.
Nikolai nods slowly, running his tongue across his teeth, “So, you do think I have a pretty face. And to believe the people say my appeal is all fake.”
The smile on his face afterward reeks of court-trained charm and flattery, and it pisses me off to the point that I want to press a kiss on his mouth to shut him up completely. Nevertheless, I pay no attention to how close his lips are to mine, instead biting back at this old trick of his— one he’d abuse to see me the tiniest flustered.
“Oh, you are pretty.” I move away slightly, raking my eyes over him, his sunlight hair, his partially opened shirt, and the multiple rings adorned on his calloused hands, “Just not when you’re talking. And you talk…” He licks at his lips ever so subtly in amusement when I jab a finger on his chest, “A lot.”
A glimpse at his dilated pupils before his head falls on my shoulder is enough for me to know I’ve caught him off guard, and it satisfies me to know that for once, I’ve been the one to render him completely flustered.
I can feel his laugh on my neck, and it burns the exposed part of my skin, “You wound me, malyshka.”
He stays there for a few seconds, before silently groaning when he adjusts himself. If he weren’t so close to my ear, I probably wouldn’t have heard him, “Nikolai? What is it?”
Of course, he does this: looking at me as if I made up the fact that he groaned in my ear, “What’s what?”
I know he isn’t going to tell me even if I asked. He’s stubborn and stupid, and while he has a flair for the dramatic, Nikolai rarely wants anybody to worry about him.
I scan my eyes over him, and my eyes fall on a bloodied bandage wrapped around his abdomen, peeking out his shirt, “Take your shirt off.”
“Oh?” Nikolai’s eyes widened, almost comically. He’s taken aback, and it doesn't seem like he’s bothering to hide it at all, “Well, close the door, sweetheart. I’m not that filthy.”
Huh?
…
Oh.
Like a badge of embarrassment, heat starts to rise in me, prompting a shameful blush to creep up my ears. I gasp, “I didn't mean it that way!” My eyes start to dart around the room to avoid his face, “I can see the bandage on your stomach, and I don't want you bleeding all over my bed.”
“Look at me.” Nikolai has an edge to his voice, and I respond, flicking my eyes back to him, “If you don't want me bleeding on your bed, you’re gonna have to take off my shirt yourself.”
“You’ve got hands, don’t you?”
“And I’ve got a wound on my stomach that squeezes out blood when I move.”
We stare at each other for a good few moments before I reluctantly reach for him. I can feel his eyes on me as I unsteadily work on unbuttoning his shirt, perusing the tiniest of my movements, and I silently pray to the saints that I don't start to look like a brighter shade of Corporalki red.
The tension is rather thick and I try to ignore the bubbling feeling of how horrible this would look if anybody ever saw us in this… rather misleading position. What would the people think if they saw the prince's darling healer hovering over the prince himself, unbuttoning his shirt while he sat there, looking as if he’s enjoying the view?
Maybe I should've listened to Nikolai and closed the door, regardless of what was happening inside.
“You’ve got shaky hands, my darling.” He whimpers when the shirt slips off, the cold air biting at his wound, “You like what you see?”
I roll my eyes, “I’ve seen better.”
Liar. I, in fact, have not seen better.
I would’ve said more, but my voice, like the traitor it was, falters to nothing when I glance at Nikolai’s body. He was well-built with broad shoulders and arms that’ve been obviously put through rigorous work, and saints, is he a sight for sore eyes. My poor mother would be clutching her pearls if she knew what was going on in my mind.
When it hits me how long I’ve been staring, I shake my head, directing my attention back to his wound.
Nikolai takes notice of my eyes on him. He flashes me a puckish grin, teasing dripping from his voice, “Now, see here, malyshka. This is where we’re gonna have a problem.” He says, “You tell me you don't like what you see, but then stare at me like I’m a marble sculptor’s magnum opus.”
Out of spite, annoyance, and any other feeling similar to vexation, I poke at his wound, resulting in him slapping my hand away. It’s unclear to me whether I wanted to hurt him for talking too much, or if I just hated him for acknowledging the things he does to me.
“Do not flatter yourself, you little pompous prince.” I run a piece of cloth over the blood on his toned stomach, “You are a marble sculptor’s failure at best.”
“Would it kill you to admit how attractive you think I am?”
“If I thought you were attractive, then probably,” I mutter, starting to work on his wound.
“You said I was a waste of a pretty fa— OW!”
Sudden jolts of flinching, groaning, and drawn-out gritting of his teeth are the only things to come out of Nikolai’s mouth for every minute I spend on him. I imagine he isn't the most pleased with the blood and the gut-wrenching pain he’s experiencing right now.
He falls silent when I’ve finished sealing the wound, but this was Nikolai Lantsov; he wasn't one to stay silent for too long.
“I don’t like Lev very much.”
I stand to pick up the bandage from my bedside table, “You don’t like a lot of people, Nikolai.”
With a heavy huff of breath, he starts, “He’s unprofessional. Lev’s been taking up too much of your time and it’s unfair. Chatter is, he’s being intentionally careless so that he can get you doting over him long enough to ask you out on a date.”
Lev, huh. I have noticed him frequenting the clinic more often than usual these days.
I suppose there isn’t any harm in seeing where it goes with him in the chance the chatter was true. It would be one date with one guy who wasn't even half bad. He trained with Zoya and me back in Os Alta until Nikolai took me away to be his healer. He wasn’t bad-looking and probably more competent than most men in Ravka.
Saints know how long I’ve gone without a little romance in my life, and Nikolai certainly wasn’t going to fill that void anytime soon.
I lean on the table, “You call it unprofessional, I call it romantic.”
“What?” Nikolai’s mouth dramatically gapes open, “Romantic is when my uncle Sergei buys my aunt Ludmilla multiple dachas in Udova for their anniversary, not when somebody breaks three of their bones every single day for attention.”
“Oh?” I settle back in, crossing my arms, “Pray tell, who was the hard-headed pirate who broke his arm so that he’d have a reason to force me into talking to him?”
He scrunches his nose, “You know how I feel about that word.”
“Hard-headed?”
“Pirate.”
Nikolai reaches out to grab at my wrist, luring me back into my seat, “You’re my healer, malyshka, not his. I can't see why he thinks he can hog you every single day.”
“I am everybody’s healer, Nikolai.” I corrected him, “If you want me all for yourself, then I suggest giving me a raise.”
He raises his eyebrow at me, “Name your price.”
“One of your aunt Ludmilla’s dachas in Udova.”
Nikolai laughs, “I’ll give you all of their dachas if it means you’d attend to me and to me only.” He continues, “I’d march up to the Darkling with nothing but dear Baghra’s cane if that meant having you all for myself.”
“Don’t be stupid, Nikolai—” I try to clear my head, sensing whether he was fooling around or not. “At least bring a rifle with you.
After I bandage the wound, he lets me do the work of slipping back on his shirt, staring me down with half-lidded eyes while I fumble with his buttons, “We have so many heartrenders and healers, malyshka, surely they can handle Lev, and everybody else, for that matter.”
I can’t help but sense that Nikolai’s becoming jealous of Lev, but that would be straight delusional and rather pathetic, so I shove it aside. Although, I’ll admit, the idea of a possessive and jealous Nikolai gave me some sort of thrill, and I imagine the longer I think about it, the redder my cheeks get.
Nikolai clears his throat to grab my attention when he realizes I’m deep in thought. I shake myself sober, grabbing him by his arm and dragging him to my bedroom door.
I can’t afford to think about jealousy and romance with him; not here and certainly not now. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll check up on your wound.”
—
The morning bustle of the Spinning Wheel keeps everybody on their toes. I find myself running on my usual morning cup of adrenaline and tea when these idiot grishas and otkazat’syas come in continuously into my clinic, with requests varying from a fresh roll of bandage to mending back a bone into its proper position.
It isn't until eleven in the evening when I get to rest, hoping to meet with Nikolai then fall into my not-soft-but-soft-enough bed mattress, but before I could get any farther, Lev walks into the clinic. He presents burns on his arms, from what I can only assume are the results of Inferni flames.
I let Lev ramble and ramble on while I did what I could to turn the stubborn burned patches of skin back to normal, occasionally offering a laugh or two. It takes me a long time to finish due to the fatigue from today’s work and the thoughts of Nikolai waiting for me clouding my head, but when I finally do, Lev catches my wrist in his hand.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time together, haven’t we? I was wondering if you were avail-”
No.
“Lev, you should be going now. It’s getting late and you still have an early day tomorrow.” I smile, already halfway through the door, “Have a good night.”
… Oh, saints. What is wrong with me?
I check my pocket watch, rushing through the hallways to get to my room in an effort to get there faster. It’s a quarter to one in the morning, and if Nikolai was still awake and waiting, he’d never let me hear the end of this.
I peek through the crevice of my red cedar wood door, and by a stroke of bad luck, Nikolai was still awake and waiting, and probably impatiently, too, judging by the bouncing knee and the constant knuckle cracking, “Nikolai,” I call softly, “Hi.”
“You’re late.”
“And you’re in my room. You don’t get to complain.”
Nikolai beckons me over with a grin, crooking his finger in a come hither motion, “Come here. I’ve missed you.”
His drowsy voice pulls me in, and without a second thought, I walk over to him. Once I’ve settled on the stool between his legs, I poke at his forehead, “Lying little pirate.”
We’re blanketed by comfortable silence when Nikolai starts to let me unbutton his shirt, humming a low tune of a sea shanty while I continue on unwrapping the bandage around his stomach. When it drops, it reveals a rather healed wound for something that was oozing blood just yesterday. I splay my fingers over the scar, healing whatever was left.
I break the silence, “Lev asked me out today.”
“Oh?” The humming comes to a stop, “Well, what did you say?”
“I, uh,” I stumble on my words, “I didn’t let him finish asking.”
It takes a few seconds of stillness before Nikolai responds, a knowing smile etched from ear to ear, “I knew you wouldn’t.” He leans forward when I button his shirt up, dropping his elbows down to his lap, “Obviously, you haven't the faintest interest in Lev. In fact, it’s obvious you like somebody else entirely.”
I scoff, ignoring the proximity, “How are you so sure?”
“I pay attention, malyshka— to you, specifically. That’s how.”
Before I could respond, a booming sound of a door getting barged in followed by a shout of my name echoed throughout the room. Nikolai and I turn our heads to see Lev panting and struggling to find his words. When his breathing eases down, he says something along the lines of ‘I really, really like you. Please go out with me.’
I’m stunned, and words stick to my throat when I try to croak out an answer, leaving my mouth gaping open. I wasn't expecting such a bold proclamation from Lev, and certainly, I wasn’t expecting that while there was somebody else in the room.
Nikolai flicks his eyes back at me after staring at Lev with a furious crease in between his eyebrows. He scoffs, “Well, it seems like Levochka is here to finish what he started.” He doesn't miss a second when he hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me in just enough to whisper against my lips,
“Too bad I’m not letting him.”
Then, he kisses me.
He kisses me full of fervor and with an arm pulling me in closer until I’m practically straddling his lap. Nikolai’s thumb runs over the length of my waist to ease the tension in my body, and his lips smile into the kiss while giving a side-eye at the door, as if in satisfaction of showing Lev something he’d never get to experience as long as Nikolai was around.
I know Lev’s gone when he directs his eyes back at me, leaning further back on his other arm when he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue on my bottom lip. I return it almost immediately with my hand tangled in his hair and the more I show signs of interest, the cockier his smile gets in return.
When I pull away for air, his breathing is heavier and his lips are red and swollen. Nikolai licks at his lips, grinning, “Seems like Lev got his answer, didn’t he?”
That’s when the realization hits me. Was that all there is to it?
“Lev?”
That was all there is to it, I suppose.
He needed some sort of childish revenge on Lev after he took up my time at the clinic, causing me to run late. I knew Nikolai didn't like waiting, but he could've at least done something else to spare me the shame of thinking that the kiss was genuine.
My heart drops, and an ugly wave of emotion stirs inside of my stomach. Heaving a heavy breath, I say, “Nikolai. Out.”
—
The next few days are rough. Avoiding Nikolai in the very same place he was running wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, but somehow, I managed to slip away every time I saw him walking towards me or whenever he tried to talk to me. On multiple occasions, a letter or two of his find their way into my desk, asking me to tell him what he did wrong, and that he’d make amends for it however I see fit.
I never found a reason to write back, mostly because we lived two hallways away from each other.
However, it was only a matter of time until I had to talk to him, and it was during the after-hours of a bustling Saturday night.
I hear my name from across the hall, with Tamar, who honestly looks like a blur of drab-olive-colored shapes from the distance, waving at me, “Come quick! Nikolai broke his arm.”
My ears perk up at his name, and without a second thought, my legs start moving towards his room, unclear if I’m abandoning all the grudges I might've held against him this week. With a soft creak on the big cedar door, I step inside of his chambers, pushing past the doors with a slight struggle. When I fully step inside, the doors behind me heavily snap close, eliciting a small shriek from me.
Nikolai is pacing around his bed, and when he hears me, he comes to a stop, “You’ve been avoiding me, have you?”
I say with a certain edge to my voice, reminding myself I was here to only mend his arm and nothing else, “Give me your arm.”
It takes a little bit of reluctance, but he walks towards me in a gait that can only be described as both intimidating and attractive, with eyes half-lidded and sharp, the occasional blond strand of hair falling over his eyebrow.
I feel around his arm, and sure enough, his bones aren't broken. I furrow my eyebrows, skeptical of whether this was just a ruse, yet I continue feeling around the arm.
My suspicions are confirmed— his arm was never broken, “Nikolai-”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
I bite my tongue, dropping my gaze somewhere else. At the corner of my eye, Nikolai clicks his tongue, getting impatient with my silence, but he decides to try once more, “Why are you avoiding me?
“Figure it out.”
He works his jaw in exasperation of the only answer I’ve given him since I’ve entered his chambers. Then, he hisses in a low voice, “Screw this.”
I feel the wind get knocked out of me as I’m pinned back against the door. His hand is planted on the hard surface of the cedarwood, and his other hand is gripping the hand I had on his arm.
The slight impact of my back hitting the door sobers me up, and suddenly all of my senses are too aware for my liking. My poor heart was hammering inside my chest at the way his hand is caging mine, the way he still smells of snow and the perfume I gave him on his birthday, and the way that his gaze just refuses to leave mine.
“What did I do wrong, malyshka?” Slowly, the grip on my hand loosens, the same way his voice lowers down into something of a whisper. Nikolai brings it to his lips, kissing the space between my wrist and my palm, still looking at me, “When I told you in the letters that I’d make amends however you see fit, it wasn't a try at humor—but to do that you’d have to tell me what it is I need to fix.”
He mutters against my wrist, softly. Nikolai talks of it like it would hurt him, “Is this about the kiss?”
I’m reminded of the kiss, and the ugly emotion I’ve felt days ago comes crashing back, settling into a boiling puddle on my stomach, “And if it is? What would you do, then?” I yank back my hand, “You kissed me for petty revenge, Nikolai. How do you think that would make me feel?”
I plow on, “To think that I kissed you back!” I say, “For saint’s sake, Nikolai, I kissed you back! And for what? For it to be some pathetic, childish revenge!”
Nikolai lets me calm down, peering down at me with half-closed eyes and a wicked grin showing just how level-headed he is about my rambling. I want to hit that grin off his face with a shovel.
“You’ve been avoiding me because you thought the kiss was revenge?” He calmly says, as if what he did wasn't a big stab wound to my pride and sanity.
I scoff in disbelief, “Was it not?”
Nikolai tips forward and I back into the door further until I can feel every single ridge of the surface. My heartbeat skips a beat or two when his grin widens, and my breathing hitches when he opens his mouth to talk.
“Malyshka, do you really think so low of me?” He breathes out of clear exasperation, never letting his gaze leave mine. “I could kiss you a million times—Saints help me, I want to kiss you a million times, and I would if you’d let me— because I was jealous of Lev for spending time with you, and because I’ve been insufferably trying to get your attention for years, but never because of revenge.”
I huff, “Is that so? Well-”
Huh. Did he just say he’s been trying to get my attention? That he was jealous of Lev?
For the love of all saints, did Nikolai actually like me?
He waits patiently for the words to sink into my head, running his tongue over his bottom teeth while he revels at the sight of my cheeks slowly starting to flush red, “And here I thought I’ve gotten you so used to me that you were just going to skip over the part where I said I wanted to kiss you.”
“Hear that, sweetheart?” Nikolai sneers, eyes chasing mine as I try to avoid his gaze, “I said I wanted to kiss you.”
I decide I’ve had enough of his taunts, and think to myself that for once, let me be the tease.
“Yeah?” My lips curl up into a grin, almost mocking his, “Kiss me then.”
Nikolai blinks but quickly regains posture, schooling the uncharacteristic blush into his usual, charming facade. He traces a finger on my jaw, pressing a chaste kiss on the edge of my lip,
“I can’t deny you anything, now can I, malyshka?”