Nate
There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me
With how intensely he is staring, how focused Nate is on Sunjata, he can practically see the thoughts moving in his head, the weighing of options, the considering pros, and cons. Thinking about how he’s already caught anyway, so he might as well be caught for something good. And at the end of it, it’s as much focus as it is memory. This is the same story he’s seen played out on a dozen other mans faces, when they decide if they want to walk away, or if it’s worth spending some time with him.
This has gone so fucking far past professional it’s not even funny. He has to work with Phoebe still, has to face Sam, and yet here he is, pinning another man to the wall, silently hoping he chooses to keep digging, to keep drowning, to keep making mistakes. What else do they have if not mistakes anyway?
Their eyes meet again, properly, steel and blue, the sea and the storm above, a swirling dangerous thing that is going to devour them both. If Nate doesn’t get to it first. He leans in as Sunjata tips back, keeping the distance between them equal, until he is pulled in, until he dives in really. All the stillness was a facade, a wall put up to hide the manic energy coiling from Nate now; his hips press in, flattening more of Sunjata against the cold, unyielding wall, and his hand traces down the tattooed arm, fingers entwining as he makes to pull the wrist back up to his mouth.
In a display of self control that hasn’t been exhibited until this point, Nate stops, eyes nearly black now as the begging properly reaches him. He’s always been weak for this, stripping away everything from a man until he begs, but it’s never been as easy, or as electric as it feels right now. He doesn’t let go on the hand, but his other one comes up, cups Sunjatas jaw like a lover, then tips his head to the side, careful of the horns on the stone. Nate leans in, letting out a breath he doesn’t need just so Sunjata can feel how close he is. His lips don’t brush skin, but there is still the clear threat of teeth, the growl of want in Nate’s voice, now naked and unhidden.
There is a moment of hesitation, time enough for Sunjata to change his mind, push Nate away, or at least speak up and tell him to move somewhere else. If he doesn’t though, Nate will bite, low enough that it could still be hidden by a jacket, but obvious in every other instance. It marks a very clear distance, a very definite change in what they’re doing. It’s deliberate, not an accident.
If Sunjata does object though, he’ll happily bite again on his wrist, preluding the sting with a kiss pressed to the skin there, like he’s blessing their connection.
This has gone so fucking far past professional it’s not even funny. He has to work with Phoebe still, has to face Sam, and yet here he is, pinning another man to the wall, silently hoping he chooses to keep digging, to keep drowning, to keep making mistakes. What else do they have if not mistakes anyway?
Their eyes meet again, properly, steel and blue, the sea and the storm above, a swirling dangerous thing that is going to devour them both. If Nate doesn’t get to it first. He leans in as Sunjata tips back, keeping the distance between them equal, until he is pulled in, until he dives in really. All the stillness was a facade, a wall put up to hide the manic energy coiling from Nate now; his hips press in, flattening more of Sunjata against the cold, unyielding wall, and his hand traces down the tattooed arm, fingers entwining as he makes to pull the wrist back up to his mouth.
In a display of self control that hasn’t been exhibited until this point, Nate stops, eyes nearly black now as the begging properly reaches him. He’s always been weak for this, stripping away everything from a man until he begs, but it’s never been as easy, or as electric as it feels right now. He doesn’t let go on the hand, but his other one comes up, cups Sunjatas jaw like a lover, then tips his head to the side, careful of the horns on the stone. Nate leans in, letting out a breath he doesn’t need just so Sunjata can feel how close he is. His lips don’t brush skin, but there is still the clear threat of teeth, the growl of want in Nate’s voice, now naked and unhidden.
There is a moment of hesitation, time enough for Sunjata to change his mind, push Nate away, or at least speak up and tell him to move somewhere else. If he doesn’t though, Nate will bite, low enough that it could still be hidden by a jacket, but obvious in every other instance. It marks a very clear distance, a very definite change in what they’re doing. It’s deliberate, not an accident.
If Sunjata does object though, he’ll happily bite again on his wrist, preluding the sting with a kiss pressed to the skin there, like he’s blessing their connection.
