No matter how well she ever thinks she knows him, one thing that Kaz Brekker is incapable of is failing to surprise her. Again and again, he has done or said things that she never would have expected from him. This moment is no different than countless others before it, the uncertainty strikes through her veins like lightning, the unpredictable nature of him lighting her from the inside, out.

She wonders at what point his hands, naked and porcelain under the gloves, stop being such a Saintsforsaken novelty. It’s been months and still, every time he takes off his gloves, a breath is caught in her throat.

She wishes it wasn’t such an unthinking instinct to lean into that hand at her cheek. She never wants to overwhelm him, push him too hard, too fast, but… she doesn’t coddle him, either, she knows he would hate it if she did. It’s a hard balance to strike, but she guesses she manages it pretty well.

The way he leans in is slow, though she’s not sure she could classify it as hesitant. Cautious, maybe, but there’s no doubt he wants this.

She sighs contentedly into that sweet, chaste kiss, fingers curling around the material of his shirt a little tighter as though to keep him in place. She doesn’t need fancy, she doesn’t need tricks or flare… just as long as it’s him she gets to keep.