i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
Of course the paw print, so dangerously close to stitches, leaving them redder than they should, irritated. Nate knows if he could feel it, the area would be warm, angry, but the fact that he can’t don’t stop him gently settling his hand down in the hopes that the cool will be soothing. It’s only there for a moment anyway, before he’s moving, the hand swiping up Sunjata’s chest to come and rest on tattooed lines, offering a laugh in response to the shudder, the wink.
The words have been on his lips since they’d had their talk, up on the top floor of the boxing ring, and Nate really did drop them at every possible opportunity. There were a hundred moments he’d held his tongue that he had to make up for. ”I know you do.” He offers back softly, glad for the newfound ease of it in Sunjata as well. It felt right. Had felt right the first time he said it, surprising the both of them, had felt right in the ring, felt right every time he’d said it since. And, for a handful of blessed moments, it makes everything else feel right too.
But he has to step away, can’t linger in this spot forever, as he keeps learning, each time a surprise, a new, quiet disappointment. Breakfast is put together in the bowls, set on the table to wait for Sunjata, much like Nate does with his sips of coffee, and bright, watchful eyes.
Nate’s own traditions are less strict, at least when it comes to meals. The attuned comes to sit at the table, as close as Nate had hoped for, a long leg immediately lifting to rest across the other mans lap like a seatbelt. He takes a spoon instead, and gives everything in the bowl a stir, before he takes a bite with a little bit of everything in it, raising a brow towards Sunjata as he does. ”Well, it’s not poison.” He jokes, the trick of it finally coming back to him, keeping the words smooth, easy. Granted, the flavours aren’t quite as strong as he wants either, but that’s not a problem the other man will have. And with his first bite taken, Nate pauses, eyes focused on Sunjata’s fork, the all important first bite.
Not that his mood for the rest of the morning is riding on it or anything. Not that it’s obvious. He’s always this intense when he stares at the other man, sharp eyes unblinking, mouth set in a hard line. Nate does make a single, failed attempt at being more casual though, his mug raised to his lips, like he’s just taking a sip. A long, long sip.
The words have been on his lips since they’d had their talk, up on the top floor of the boxing ring, and Nate really did drop them at every possible opportunity. There were a hundred moments he’d held his tongue that he had to make up for. ”I know you do.” He offers back softly, glad for the newfound ease of it in Sunjata as well. It felt right. Had felt right the first time he said it, surprising the both of them, had felt right in the ring, felt right every time he’d said it since. And, for a handful of blessed moments, it makes everything else feel right too.
But he has to step away, can’t linger in this spot forever, as he keeps learning, each time a surprise, a new, quiet disappointment. Breakfast is put together in the bowls, set on the table to wait for Sunjata, much like Nate does with his sips of coffee, and bright, watchful eyes.
Nate’s own traditions are less strict, at least when it comes to meals. The attuned comes to sit at the table, as close as Nate had hoped for, a long leg immediately lifting to rest across the other mans lap like a seatbelt. He takes a spoon instead, and gives everything in the bowl a stir, before he takes a bite with a little bit of everything in it, raising a brow towards Sunjata as he does. ”Well, it’s not poison.” He jokes, the trick of it finally coming back to him, keeping the words smooth, easy. Granted, the flavours aren’t quite as strong as he wants either, but that’s not a problem the other man will have. And with his first bite taken, Nate pauses, eyes focused on Sunjata’s fork, the all important first bite.
Not that his mood for the rest of the morning is riding on it or anything. Not that it’s obvious. He’s always this intense when he stares at the other man, sharp eyes unblinking, mouth set in a hard line. Nate does make a single, failed attempt at being more casual though, his mug raised to his lips, like he’s just taking a sip. A long, long sip.
NATE
