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Any otkazat'sya sleeping with a grisha probably discovered a few interesting things along the way. Nikolai Lantsov, however, was not sleeping with a grisha. He was sleeping with three grishas.
He discovered a lot of interesting things along the way.
His favourite one, by a long shot, was how literal the concept of afterglow was for them.
Nobody made afterglow as literal as Alina did, of course. She was quite a sight, lying between Zoya’s legs, cheek pressed to her sternum, glowing . It was nothing too harsh, just a gentle halo emanating from her skin, barely enough to cast a light on the rest of them, slightly warm. Her eyes were closed in contentment and he suspected she fell asleep already. She often was the first one to doze off. She said it was because they were just that good, Aleksander said it was a consequence of having spent most of her life suppressing her powers and stunting her physical growth. Nikolai preferred Alina’s explanation, but he knew which one was most likely to be right.
Her white hair was sticking up in absurd places but it wasn’t an effect of her own power. It was definitely a direct result of having her face pressed against Zoya’s bare skin, which always seemed to be crackling with faint and destinationless energy when she was content. Nikolai would know, she was carding her fingers through his thick blond curls, and, every now and then, her fingers would brush against his forehead and send little sparks of electricity running along his skin. It tickled, prickled sometimes, and made him smile lazily every time.
From where he was, tucked against Zoya’s side, Nikolai could only see Aleksander’s hand. The shadow summoner was pressed against his back but his arm was flung over his waist, effectively trapping him in the middle of them all. His fingers lazily trailed over Alina’s glowing back, thin wisps of shadows twirling around them. Aleksander could look as impassive as he wanted no matter what happened just before, Nikolai knew. He had centuries to hone his control on his powers and make sure they never slipped out of his iron grip on them. And yet, and yet , he always chose to let them see this, the way slender black ribbons would follow the length of his clever fingers and escape to disappear in the crooks and gaps between their entangled bodies.
“What are you smiling for, sobachka ?” Zoya remarked, hand trailing down his face to trace the upturned curve of his lips.
He mindlessly licked the spot where her static tickled him and felt Aleksander shift behind him, looking up.
“It’s a free country,” he retorted, smile only widening.
He felt Aleksander’s lips press against the crook of his neck, his hand leaving Alina’s back to follow the curve of Nikolai’s waist and hip instead. Zoya tilted his chin up so their lips could meet and his eyes fluttered shut.
Why would he not be smiling?