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“Why,” Kaz croaks, “are you doing this?”
Aleksander takes in the pretty picture he makes: Kaz Brekker, slippery as an eel, finally tied down to the black throne. Clever hands held palm-down, not tight enough to damage, but firm enough to withstand the dirtiest tricks.
Three weeks in captivity has softened the sharp edge to his words, the cock-sure arrogance depleting day after guarded day. The Darkling likes him like this, a little softer. It’s closer to dependency, and Alek loves the taste of dependency.
“You’ve very valuable, Mr Brekker.”
“To who? You?”
“Does anyone else matter?”
Kaz stiffens as the Darkling approaches, cloaked with shadow, and Aleksander sees those stubborn steel eyes glaring up at him. “And what do you want me to do for you, exactly?”
“Serve at my side.”
Kaz scoffs, before his face sobers. He seems to read the honesty in the Darkling’s face. He’s good at reading people. They have that in common. “You can’t be serious,” he splutters, “I’m not Grisha.”
Alek sighs. “You understand so little. It is precisely because you are not Grisha. I should have one or two non-Grisha in my collection. You’ll be immune to things that make us vulnerable.”
“I’m your security?”
“If you like.” Aleksander smiles, cocks his head to the side, and can see the wheels churning in Kaz’s head. “What do you say, Mr Brekker? A room in the Little Palace, a seat beside the throne, handsome wages to spend or squirrel away- however you like.”
“You won’t be my master.” Kaz spits, tugging at his restraints. “I have noticed that you’re insane. I’m not much for morals, but your past is a lot longer than most peoples, and the past has a way of coming back to kick the shit out of you. Thanks, but no thanks. Would you let me out now?”
The Darkling smiles. Patience is one of his virtues. He lets his shadows almost engulf the room, and Kaz shrinks into his seat. Alek leans over him, noses at his temple and breathe him in. He doesn’t smell like Ketterdamn anymore. He smells like something primal. Something like survival. “I like you, Mr Brekker.” The Darkling purrs, and the shadows lap at Kaz’s feet. “I rarely like people. It’s a marvel for me.”
Dryly: “I’m flattered.”
“I know all about your history with Pekka Rollins.”
Kaz stiffens. Aleksander can feel it.
He smiles. “That’s right. I know what he did to your brother, and I protect my own. I would make him pay any way you like. I could kill him with the cut, have him tortured, starved, or given to you: to do with what you wish. Are you not a man consumed with vengeance? Do you not want to right that terrible wrong?”
Kaz’s breathing is shallow. He’s such a bundle of torment that the Darkling can resist it no longer. He drags his lips across that sharp jaw and he feels Kaz turn to stone beneath his touch.
There’s a long, laboured moment.
“You like me.” Kaz murmurs, whisper-quiet. Realisation dawning. The beauty of comprehension, of being understood at last.
“Every inch of you.”
“To serve you would be to…”
“Does it offend your sensibilities?”
“I…”
Aleksander rests his hand on Kaz’s good leg. Inches up his thigh. It’s quivering beneath his touch. When he touches Kaz there, it’s hard.
“Well,” Alek smiles, pressing more firmly. “You like me too.” It's a pleasant, and very welcome, surprise.
Kaz doesn’t reply. His teeth are grit together, his hips moving in the chair.
Alek takes his time. Feels the length of the conman through his trousers before he dips his hand underneath the waistband. A small sound escapes Kaz then, a gorgeous little whimper, and Alek grasps him more firmly, works into a rhytm. He nips at Kaz’s ear. “You don’t want to be my little crow?”
Kaz growls at that, a precious attack dog, and the Darkling laughs. Works him faster. A little tighter. Then Kaz says: “Is it negotiable?”
The Darkling laughs, pauses, in surprise. “Do you have a counter-offer?”
He’s still holding Kaz in his hand. Can feel the wetness on his palm, and he toys with the head with his fingertips, watching his crow jump and moan. “I-I do. A sort of retainer. I’ll come when you bid, complete the task as you instruct, and then go on my way. Autonomy when I’m not needed.”
“Ah, and how can I trust that you’ll come when I call?”
“I’m not a fool.” Kaz scoffs. “A blind man could see how far your power extends now that you command the fold.”
Just hearing the words is glorious. Aleksander commands the fold. How lovely. After so long… “Well,” he purrs, “If my power is so apparent, why would I take your deal?”
“Because,” Kaz grunts, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure beginning to crest. Aleksander could watch it for hours. “You like me.”
The Darkling smiles. “Well,” he murmurs, “you have me there.”
He drinks it all in. The way Kaz arches his back, screws shut his eyes, and wets his lips as he finishes. Beautiful little crow. Alek itches with desire. He wants more. He wants all of him.
Kaz’s eyes open, flashes of silver, and they can read him. They can see the wavering. They can see that Alek isn’t sure he can give Brekker even an inch of freedom.
“I can make it worth your while.” Kaz breathes, a man with a plan always, and he tilts his face up into the little remaining light: an invitation.
Alek leans down to kiss him, and Kaz kisses him back. Hungry. Eager. The Darkling groans in surprise, pushing harder, and Kaz opens up to him- not only letting him take, but oh, giving-
Kaz pulls away suddenly, out of breath, and says: “I will always come when you call, and I will serve you better if I have some freedom.”
Alek unbinds Kaz's hands, cups his jaw and kisses him again. He thinks. He mulls it over. He sighs. “Alright, my crow. I will grant you that.”
And he kisses him again.