inej has a nightmare, and in a lapse of judgment, kaz pins her down

it doesn't go very well

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Trigger Warnings: Accidental Stabbing, Past Rape/Non-Con, Pinning down, PTSD

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2,534 Words

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Kaz was slowly slipping awake when he heard the rustle of sheets, followed by a whimper through the dark. Still half-asleep, he mumbled blearily, only aware of the fact that it was still dark, shifting closer to his lovely girl. He tangled his legs in hers and was drifting back to sleep when the sharp jab in his ribs forced him into alertness.

He had fallen asleep with her in his arms, and she was still pressed against his chest, but she was desperately trying to claw her way out. Stunned and confused, his grip loosened on instinct, and she lurched forward, her hand grasping at something in the dark. He barely caught a glimpse of the blade, before it slammed into his side.

He howled, and Inej, in her confused terror, gripped the knife tighter, twisting slightly.

Desperate, he forcefully grabbed her wrist, pulling it away, taking her knife with it. The serrated edges tore open his skin, and he grunted. He forced the pain out of his mind as she fought back, and for a moment, she fought against him, until he managed to rip the knife out of her hand and press both her hands into the bed above her head. She kicked and flailed, but he was stronger, pressing his knees onto her upper legs, near her hips.

He panted for breath, using his non-dominant hand to press her hands down, and his dominant one to press against his wound. For a moment, her hands struggled against his. But years of fighting with only his arms and upper body had made him strong and he was much bigger than her, so even in her daze, she knew it was pointless.

It took Kaz, who was woozy from the eruption in his side, an embarrassingly long time to register Inej. She had gone utterly still, unlike anything he had ever felt. She had always managed to be still, but this was something new entirely. Her eyes were wide, her face an echo of panic. She was crying silently underneath him, and that was when he realised.

Him, pressing down, a heavy man over her. And her, unable to move, under a seemingly unfamiliar man. His hands forcing her arms away from her body, her hips pressed down into the soft mattress, the small bit her legs were spread. He smelled like booze, from the drinks they had shared before bed. He had never been rough with her like he just had, so she hadn't recognised him after what he assumed to be a nightmare of the Menagerie.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He scrambled away as if burned, but Inej remained still on the bed, her terror locking her muscles in place. Gasping for breath, he forced himself up and off the bed, to the bathroom. He stumbled around blindly, grabbing a roll of bandages, and in the dark, wound them around his torso, a temporary solution to one of his many current problems.

When he returned, Inej had moved, curling herself into a ball at the corner of the bed, the corner of the bed that was shoved against two walls. Her legs were drawn close to her, her face tilted down into her knees. He could see the shake of her shoulders, the only sign of the sobs that ripped through her.

He stood in the middle of the room, frozen in regret, for a few seconds, before shaking his head. He limped over to the bedside table and lit the oil lamp there, casting the room in a gentle golden light. She barely reacted to the light, but he knew from first-hand experience that light was the best after a flashback or a nightmare.

"Kaz?" She whimpered, after a few minutes of silence in which he fought to not glue his gaze on her, to obsessively watch and note every tremor. "Is it you?"

"It's me," he said gently, coming to the opposite corner of the bed and sitting lightly there.

"Saint's I'm so," she hiccuped, "Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't﹘"

"Hey," he cut in, and she shook her head in protest to his gentle tone, her tears growing louder. " Hey, no, no, no, you don't need to apologise. It's okay. It's okay."

She shook her head, "I hurt you."

"You didn't know, it's okay. I'm not mad. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"You were," a sob broke through her again. "Your arms were around me, and I just thought...I thought I had been sold back to the Menagerie. I think for a moment, I realised it was you, then you were over me, and Saints, I didn't know what had happened. I didn't think you would ever do that."

He winced, "I wasn't thinking, at all. I was just trying to get you away from your knives. I'm so sorry, Inej. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She nodded slowly, uncurling herself just as slow. Her eyes met his, seeing the care and caution, the hand pressed against his side, the openness of his face. She lurched forward, and he caught her in his arms, pulling her up and drawing just that much closer to her.

She could hear the rough burr of his voice speaking soothing words and little hushes that barely registered. The circles his thumbs were rubbing into where they clutched her elbows were a reassuring pattern, and slowly, she felt her breaths even and her tears reside.

"Kaz..." she murmured now, the energy of the terror quickly slipping away. She was falling down in his arms, and when she tried to rise, he took over for her. His hands slipped under her arms, pulling her up, bringing her head to his shoulder. Her legs wrapped loosely around him, and ever careful she mumbled, "Is this too much?"

"Don't worry about me," he softly chided, "I'll be okay. We'll be okay. It's all going to be okay."

His arms slowly wrapped around her, and she melted into his hesitance, his warmth, the small rock of his body. The tears came again, but they were soft and simple now, quietly staining the front of his shirt. His chest rose and fell under her, his mouth shaped around words so gentle that should someone else see, they would die from shock.

Her head twisted until her lips were just brushing his neck. She could feel his breathing catch, then his head tilted back, and her eyes caught on the pale scar that cut across his neck. She brushed her lips against it, taking comfort in the pulse beating under her lips. Was this what he felt when he kissed her that first time when the only sound was the tap of water from the sink?

Her head turned away after a moment, her lips brushing the sharp jut of his collarbone. He did not react beyond another caught breath, and she was grateful, for all he did was speak slowly, his voice a strong but gentle current. He spoke the words he had always had, reassurances, soft whispers promising her safety.

It wasn't the reassurances of the men in the Menagerie, gentle on first glance but cruel whips biting into her, reminding her what she had become, the stolen firsts. That's a good girl. Good girl. You're doing so good. Good girl. Aren't you beautiful, lynx? Good girl. You did great. Always coupled with sweaty, sloppy kisses in places they had no right to, the alcohol on their breath and tongues burning into her.

Kaz seldom kissed her, but they were careful, conscious, giving more than they took when he did. Clavicle, when he needed to be reminded of life. Lips when life was good. Scarred wrist when the words wouldn't come. Knuckles in greeting. Belly in the silly moments, his lips like feathers, her laugh twinkling in her ears.

And only once, the smooth space between her sharp shoulder blades, on a night where the emotions of her saying she loved him clogged his throat, and the need for release brought his lips to the skin. She felt as though she had been struck by lightning, then. Maybe...

She left his arms with little hardship, laying back onto the bed. Her back was to him. It would be so easy, to ask him to. To feel that spark once more, to feel his silent reply. I love you too . But she feared the slightest kiss would send her back, that they would be forced back to how this had all started. Her hand gripped the sheet, as he sat farther up the bed so he sat next to her.

"What are you thinking about?" He prodded softly.

Lightning. Your lips against my skin. What I would do to make this all go away, to feel like I had been struck by your lightning, just once more. "Go fix your wound," she replied instead, the thoughts sending an embarrassing heat through her.

He hummed, and for a moment, she could feel him hesitate. His hand hovered over the side of her face, and if this was the Menagerie, he would have grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him, before starting. Men liked those under them to look at their eyes, hated closed eyes.

But instead, he brushed the hair that had fallen over her face away and then left her alone on their bed, her back to the room. She could hear him in the bathroom, hear him hiss as he cleaned the wound. She could hear his ragged breathing as he stitched the wound close, could almost feel the tears that must have pricked in his eyes.

His footsteps approached, but he stopped right at the edge of the bed. When he spoke, his voice had gone jagged from the pain, the repressed cries of agony, "May I?"

She nodded, steeling herself as he sat on the bed, his full weight dipping the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, working through the lingering fear and memories, her white knuckle grip on the blankets pulling them to her. She sensed his hand around her, and then it was over the fist.

His thumb ran over the tense tendons, the rough leather new. He had donned his gloves. The rough feeling eased her hand, until it lay flat, covered by his hand. His thumb found itself in the sensitive space between her thumb and forefinger, and she felt the smallest thrill of electricity shoot through her.

"Your nightgown is falling down," he murmured gently. She paused, suddenly aware of the fabric that had ridden down her shoulders. Her front was covered, but her back was open to him. His hand trailed up her arm, coming to rest on the strap.

"May I?" he said. For a moment, Inej thought he would tug it down without even waiting, and that he would become what she feared. Her muscles tensed under his fingers, as the leather slid under the strap. But he was tugging it up, repeating his question, "May I?"

"Yes," By all Saints, yes. His fingers moved slowly as if he could tell what the brush of him did to her, hovering over her shoulders for a noticeable pause. Then he surprised her by running his fingers down, over the curve of her shoulderblade. She could feel his curious eyes on him, could guess the expression on his face. He was looking at her and his hands running down her in childlike curiosity, trying to learn everything and anything.

Her breath caught when his finger brushed by that sacred spot he had kissed. He paused, his thumb drifting just a bit to the side. Her eyes were closed, her rippling muscles relaxed. Her mouth was twisted into a little smile.

He brushed his finger over the spot, trying to learn. She smiled more, a pleased breath escaping her. Don't stop, she wanted to scream. "Go on."

"I kissed you here, once, didn't I?" He asked. She could hear something in his voice, something indescribable. The closest word was amusement or pleasure, but this wasn't either of those things in whole.

"Yes," she breathed, "You did."

He hummed, the brushes a little more purposeful, a little bit more like touches. She found herself melting under it, the feeling batting away the dark memories, soothing her. She felt her fear dissipate, and found she wanted to try, to try and feel electric, to try and push past the fear. Kaz was a master at trying to do just that, and he was right there to guide her.

"Do it...do it again, Kaz. Kiss me there." Her voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Are you sure?" He breathed, coming closer.

"I want to try and work through my fear. Like you do. I just want to try."

He was silent for a long moment, but when he spoke she could hear his smile, "Okay, we can do that," he shifted, "Focus on me."

"You say that like its easy to not focus on you, you thief," she teased, but she did what he said, and found herself keenly aware of how close he was, the hot breath running down her spine.

"But I'm your thief," he said back, and she could sense his lips, a mere brush away from her. For a long moment, he waited there, his hot breath on her skin, his hands tethered on her sides. She waited with baited breaths.

Then they were there, and her head tilted back in pleasure. This wasn't just a single bolt of lightning, it was the whole storm, drowning out the memories, and beginning the steps to replacing them. Her heart soared in victory.

His lips lingered there for a long moment, before slowly brushing up, and across her shoulder blades. She hummed along, and his hand on her waist, came back to her hand on the blankets, clutching it tightly.

His mouth moved against her skin. He was mouthing something, a strange but pleasurable feeling. But then she heard what he was saying, and she froze. "I love you." Over and over again, her heart swelled with every repetition. The world felt so good.

He kissed his way up to the shell of her ear, and she almost expected him to whisper those words to her, but he said something instead. "I'm sorry," his hand had returned to her side, and he was rubbing it lightly, "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" She breathed.

"Everything. I hate seeing you scared because I feel like...it makes me feel like I failed. You can protect yourself, but I want to protect you when you can't. Like you protect me from stray hands and large crowds, I want to protect you from terror. If you're scared," his head dipped down and he kissed her shoulder, "That means I have failed. And we both know how much I hate to fail."

"Thank you," she breathed, and he settled a bit closer. They had fallen asleep like this, and she found herself praying that when they woke again, history wouldn't repeat itself.

"Of course," he murmured, right as the oil lamp went out.