The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

Kors tried to quicken his pace so that he no longer heard the chatter of the lower ones and exploded at their stupidity.

Entering the room, he saw that Nik was still lying in bed. He looked disheveled and sleepy, like he had just woken up, and lay back relaxed against the pillows. A fat black-and-white tomcat sat on his chest, and Nik petted him. Seeing Kors enter, Nik immediately got up and sat on the bed higher, smiled gently and a little embarrassedly:

“Hi…”

At the same time, he continued to stroke and hug the cat, and he purred loudly to him.

Kors froze.

“N…Nik.”

And some tension on Nik’s face immediately appeared.

“Nik! Are you out of your mind?! Why did you bring the cat to bed?”

“He came himself,” Nik justified himself somehow uncertainly.

“And you are glad to let a dirty animal into your bed! You are totally abnormal! Gods, what for do I have it?!”

“He’s not dirty…”

“He is full of fleas!”

“He has no fleas!”

But Kors confidently approached the bed, and, taking the cat by the scruff of the neck, removed it from Nik’s chest. The cat hung in his arms, not resisting. Kors went to the open window, and, swinging a little, threw the cat out the window.

“What are you doing?!” Nik jumped out of bed and rushed to the window. He leaned over the window sill, looking down. Luckily, a spreading tree cushioned the fall of the black-and-white tomcat. Clinging to the branches covered with dense foliage, he springed from them, falling down gradually, and as a result, deftly landed under the tree on all four paws. Shaking himself off, the cat imposingly and slowly, as if nothing had happened, headed towards the sheds, only slightly twitching his black tail with displeasure.

“Get away from the window,” Kors said.

Nik obeyed, looking confused.

And Kors brought a basin from the adjacent room, and, placing it on the table, poured some water into it. He brought soap as well.

“Come to me,” he called Nik.

Nik came over.

“Put your hands in the water.”

Nik obeyed. Kors took the soap and lathered his hands with soap himself. He rubbed his hands and washed his hands carefully, like Nik was a small child, and hesilently stood and let him do it.

“The last thing would be to catch some kind of lichen!” Kors rinsed his hands with water from a pitcher. He saw that the bandages that covered Nik’s arms from the wrist to the elbow were wet at the bottom, and began to unwrap them.

Kors wanted to see what was wrong with his veins. Nik didn’t stop him, and Kors unwound the strips of fabric. The backside of Nik’s wrists was covered in dents, years of drug use had left their marks, but in principle everything was in order. There were no rotting or bleeding wounds, everything looked healed, and Kors breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking at Nik, he straightened his hair, carefully peering into his face:

“Have you washed your face today? Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Not yet…”

Kors caressed his cheek with his fingers, still rejoicing at the absence of a scar, and let him go.

Nik returned to the bed and sat down. With his head of white hair, with a gentle, beautiful and distant face, he sat on the bed and did nothing, really like a doll, and Kors again felt the languor. He “heard” that Nick enjoyed being “his boy”. And in spite of everything, Kors also liked to look after him as if he were his own son. And even though they were Demons inside, it didn’t matter anymore. After all, Nik again accepted the care of his father. He treated the scar himself, and Kors was pleased, but Kors wanted to comb his hair, trim his bangs, dress him nicely so that Nik looked exactly the way he wanted. For now, Kors has come to terms with his pierced nose, hoping to decorate his face in his own way in the future. And all because he completely abandoned the idea of introducing Nik into the circle of true blacks, and wanted to change and decorate his appearance only for himself.

Kors unfastened his weapons and took off all the straps, took off his overcoat, richly decorated with plaques, a long leather jacket, remaining in a white shirt. He looked at Nik with a heavy look.

“Nik?”

Nik immediately raised his head and looked at him. Kors very much doubted that Nik could look, rather, he simply raised his head to hail, because his regrown bangs, as usual, obscured his eyes, covering the entire upper part of his face. Kors saw only white fluffy hair, rings sticking out in the nostrils, the tip of the nose with a ring with a black bead hanging under it, and beautifully contoured, slightly plump and unbearably seductive lips.

“Shall we take a bath together?” Kors suggested breathlessly, already languishing.

“Okay,” Nik agreed.

“Then tell Verniy to bring more warm water.”

Waiting for Ver to heat the water, Kors sat down at the table and poured himself some wine.

“Finally, I will wash you,” he said, “how long have I wanted to do this!”