Just Another Random British Girl

Tension crept across the muscles in his back, bright eyes heavy with fatigue; he dragged himself back to the Slat, craving nothing more than rest and relaxation, preferably between the legs of his lover. The job had been tedious and gruelling, punishing for every crow – mistakes came easily to all of them, but Kaz scolded himself, believing it was his fault so many things went awry. He wasn’t focused, his mind wandered on an entirely different plane – lost in thoughts of what it would feel like to peel the clothes off his lover. It had been both a blessing and a curse to ask her to wear that dress. That white dress. The dress that hugged her form, pulling and embracing every one of her curves. The ivory dress that complimenting her ebony skin perfectly. He couldn’t help but let his eyes deviate from the locks he was tasked to pick.

Kaz was tempted to scour the streets of Ketterdam in search for a painter, a sculptor, anything that would allow him to capture the picture of his lover in that dress. But he knew nothing, no one would be able to encapsulate her beauty, the sheer sensuality of the thin fabric that caressed her skin. He thought she belonged in a temple; the very picture of some ancient deity, made to bring men to their knees, made to be worshipped. And Kaz had every intention of doing so.

The second they returned to their shared room, their sanctuary away from the prying eyes of the Barrel, Kaz’s hands found the material of her chalky dress, allowing himself to indulge in the sight one last time before he met the bare flesh of her shoulder. He took pleasure in the sight of his pale fingers pressed against her dark skin, pawing and squeezing every inch of her. His name fell from her lips like a prayer as his mouth followed in the wake of his hands. Wet, open-mouthed kisses met her body as the dress was gradually peeled from her form.

“Someone’s eager.” Kaz’s lover giggled as she was ushered towards the bed. “Is there shame in wanting to worship a living Saint?” He muttered against her lips after placing a tender kiss to them. “My, my,” She teased, “ I never took Dirtyhands for a religious man,” He lightly nipped her hip with his teeth, scolding her for her taunts. “You wanted to worship me? Then worship.” At her command, she spread her legs, presenting her already-dripping core to her lover. He stared like a man starved, fingers digging into the sable flesh of her thighs.

“Fuck,” He whimpered into her slit as he licked a long stripe from her entrance to her bug, revelling in the sharp gasp that escaped her throat. The moans and whimpers that left her only spurred Kaz on further, grasping her by the apex of her legs and tugging her body closer to his further. Tongue diving deeper, dark eyelashes fluttered shut as his hips rutted against the sheets below him; he found his own pleasure through worshipping his goddess. All the stress from the day languidly vanished, replaced by desire, a burning lust for his lover. From the moment he saw her in that white dress, Kaz knew he yearned for nothing more than to escape back to the Slat with her, to find peace between her thighs. His wish had been granted, by the Saints or perhaps the deity squirming under the work of his tongue. Bliss washed over the pair, both of them finding serenity within one another’s pleasure.

Yet after so many years of harsh monikers being spat at him, Kaz craved a softer touch; it was no lie he enjoyed the trepidation he’d spread across the city he called home, but he could not keep up that façade for every minute of every day. It was not often the Bastard of the Barrel was brought to his knees, let alone willingly. But when the sun sunk below the horizon of Kerch, Kaz’s turbulent thoughts, once filled with the hunger and desperation for power, thoughts that conjured the titles people gave him, simmered to a more carnal desire. The desire to please. If anyone knew of what Dirtyhands himself did behind closed doors, they’d ridicule him, mock him, laugh in his face, tear down every brick Kaz had so carefully placed over the years. But there was one person who was aware of his behaviour when the sun went down, one who was not so certain people would have such a cynical opinion on him. Me.

It had taken years to conjure the trust that now bonded us together, years to overcome the water that would threaten to drown him if he were to come into contact with another person. Kaz was reluctant at first, stubborn and too full of pride to allow me past his walls, but I never pushed him. Gradually, he let his mask slip, and the praises that left my lips as he did so only encouraged the process further. Kaz Brekker was a man many relied on in their day to day lives and it was clear to me that the responsibility of such a task was wearing him down. I knew he needed to relax, to let go, to give someone else control for even just a moment. What I did not know was how willingly he accepted this, how greedily he ate up my praises, how eager he was to please.

“Please,” A whimper had snapped me from my momentary daydream, attention brought back to the man in front of me. So obediently on his knees, hands resting on his thighs, his purely concentrated on my every move, trying to deduce what I was going to do next. “Please,” Kaz begged again, his dark lashes brushed his cheeks as his closed his eyes, his head dipped forward, tendrils of raven hair falling onto his face. “Touch me,” Shame washed over him as he spoke, but desperation had a far more powerful hold on the man.

I hummed in response, debating whether to give into his request immediately or drag out this teasing well into the night. My fingers came to meet his face, the tips trailing across the sharp lines of his jaw. He pushed into my touch, craving more, wishing that my hands would work their way lower towards his lap where his hands so obediently resided. I obliged, tracing my fingers down his pale skin, across the scars the adorned his toned body. The muscle beneath them twitched, acknowledging my touch, encouraging me to continue.

“You’re doing so well for me, so obedient,” I praised him, crouching so I was level with his own hooded eyes. Leaning close to him, my lips trailed his ear before muttering, “Such a good boy,”

A whimper escaped his throat, eyes slipping shut once again; I caught his hand as he tried to grip his aching cock which had been leaking since I entered the room. “Let me help you with that,” My lips sunk to his appendage, mouth engulfing his length. Moans and profanities left the man beneath me, his hands twitched by his sides, unsure if he was allowed to touch me or not. His hips bucked lightly, encouraging my mouth to take him deeper, to reward him for being so good for me.

Shadows filtered in through the bare-thread blinds of Kaz’s bedroom, danced over his pale skin as our bodies intertwined with each other; Kaz’s desperate whimpers the only sound that resided between us. I retracted my touch from him, a whine stumbling from his thin lips. My mouth returned to his cock, placing a featherlight kiss on his tip as I whispered, “Such a good boy for me.”

As protocol demanded of us, the other Crows and I had split into pairs in order to escape from the scene of the crime. And, of course, I had to end up with the Bastard of the Barrel himself. It was his fault the job had gone amiss; he had miscalculated how long it would take his deft fingers to pry into the lock of the safe. Ever skilful with his hands, we trusted him blindly. But we were swarmed by Dime Lions before Kaz could bypass the lock, much to everyone’s chagrin. Frustration still clouded my mind as I glared at my boss; his head lent against the damp stone wall of the alley, chest heaving with deep breaths. My eyes followed the sharp lines of his jaw, the shadows that covered us accentuating them. His tongue slipped past the barrier of his thin lips to moisten them before he allowed his eyes a moments rest, a great sigh escaping from his broad chest.

I was desperate to know what was raging through his head; perhaps he shared in my anger at the failure of a job, or maybe he held no remorse at all, merely considering the next job he’d send us on. My theories were soon discarded however, as I saw him move a singular gloved hand to his stomach, his breaths still deep but more controlled. Despite the fact that Kaz and I would often bicker and bite at one another, I was one of his most trusted compatriots; and I knew what most did not. The truth about his childhood, the demons that threatened to drag him into the depths of the water where his brother resided, the bile that promised to rise from his throat if he were to come into contact with another human being.

I pushed my back harder against the alley wall, trying to distance myself from my boss in a desperate attempt to provide him with some relief. Either my effort went unnoticed, or he didn’t care, for the next words that came from his mouth were, “Stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.” I was quick to respond, pressing myself further against the wall in another futile attempt to widen the space between us. “Then what are you doing?” His eyes were back on me, scanning me; ice following every slight movement of my face, every twitch of my lips, searching for the truth as if it were about to appear written on my forehead. “Checking for injuries,” I simply replied, my talents as not only a Grisha, but a healer, had been put to use countless times after jobs had gone astray. Or Jesper had ended up pissing off some poor soul that ended in a bar fight neither wanted. He merely hummed as a response before his eyes went back to the opening of the alley, scouting for Dime Lions again.

The sun had begun to set on Ketterdam, more and more people filtered onto the streets; laughter, smells of cigarette smoke and cheap alcohol had started to float among the airwaves. Night was falling, the streets growing more crowded by the second, filled with inhabitants desperate for some form of sin. “We should move.” I suggested, fidgeting with my hands. Discomfort still lurked between us, “We can’t risk moving, not yet. We need to stay low,” He ran a hand through his dark hair, the strands slipping through his fingers as they found their place against his forehead. Kaz shifted on his feet, and I could see he was trying to think of his next move, planning a way for us to escape from the alley without being cornered by the Lions.  

“Come here.” He muttered; words barely eligible over the sounds of various forms of pleasure that had crowded the streets of Ketterdam. “Excuse me?” To say I was shocked at his declaration would have been an understatement. The man in front of me nodded towards the opening of the alley, directing my attention to couples that had chosen that space to indulge in one another. Hands wandered against bodies, mouths collided with mouths, “If the Dime Lions come looking for us here, all they’ll find is people enjoying each other.” He had taken a step closer to me, no longer leaning his back against the dame alley wall. “But Kaz...” I tried to protest, thinking of the demons that were lurking behind his cold eyes.

He reached a gloved hand towards mine and pulled it towards him, more specifically his stomach. “Try.” I knew what he meant; we had mentioned it in passing before but had never got the chance to try it. I had proposed the idea that perhaps my abilities as a Corporalki could ease the nausea that filled him every time he came into contact with someone else. My eyes slipped shut as my fingers flexed, trying to find the pain that lurked within him; his hand remained wrapped around my wrist, pushing my fingers harder against himself. Even through the multiple layers of clothing, I could feel his muscles taut and tensing under my touch.

A whimper of relief left Kaz’s thin lips as he threw his head back once more, “Fuck.” It was working. I looked at the man in front of me as I continued to work at his pain. His eyes found me, “Kiss me.” He whispered. Unsure of whether the sudden urge for intimacy was to keep up the rouse of a couple, or if it came as a result of his new-found relief, I obliged his request.

Tentatively, I let my lips find his. Another moan came from Kaz, this time more guttural and primal. His hips pushed into mine, my back hitting the wall of the alley. His gloved fingers slid around my waist as the once-gentle kiss deepened. Our teeth collided, tongues dancing, hips grinding into one another. The surprise that filled my mind at his request had slowly begun to sink away, instead replaced by another feeling. One of hunger, of lust, for the Bastard of the Barrel, the very same Bastard who refused to come within an inch of another human being if he had the choice. The very same Bastard whose mouth was connected to mine, whose hands wondered the softer parts of my body, aimlessly grabbing and squeezing at the flesh. He was a man starved; a tortured man who had finally found relief, and was desperate to work out the frustrations that had amassed within his body.