i don't know where home is, but i suppose it's anywhere i go that's any good at all
Nate watches and waits, expecting a smirk, a low rumble of a laugh. Not the brow rising, the searching, like there’s a question he hasn’t answered yet. Perhaps... perhaps this isn’t something they have in common, which is actually a little more exciting, a chance for another first, to ride out something that could be very fun with the other man. And maybe, if Nate can’t partake in anything himself, he can live through Sunjata, can lean into the lowered inhibitions and loose tongue that comes with inebriation of any kind.
Thumbs soothe over cheeks again, like touch alone can chase away the flush that’s settled under tanned skin. It feels a little bit like there’s something here he’s missing, something about the embarrassment spreading through Sunjata seeming like more than just that. But Nate presses on, because he’ll never know what’s wrong if he doesn’t. ”I’ve got... a few things I’ve been holding onto. If you wanted to try something a little different.” Things rescued, only barely, from Sams home, and things confiscated from Delphine, though he doesn’t trust whatever she’d had as far as he could throw it (and he should, into the ocean, where no one can find them again).
”If you want.” The words are offered softly, Nate pressing every ounce of soothing gentleness he can into them. Really, he’s asking what’s wrong, because there’s something, digging at Sunjata like a splinter, like an old wound not healed properly, and he wants to help. Perhaps it’s not healthy, to step back so quickly into the role of a caretaker after his spiral, his breaking apart, but it’s all Nate really knows after a lifetime of being okay. And he’s steady enough to offer this support, to lean in and press their noses together, eyes locked on the other maN.
Thumbs soothe over cheeks again, like touch alone can chase away the flush that’s settled under tanned skin. It feels a little bit like there’s something here he’s missing, something about the embarrassment spreading through Sunjata seeming like more than just that. But Nate presses on, because he’ll never know what’s wrong if he doesn’t. ”I’ve got... a few things I’ve been holding onto. If you wanted to try something a little different.” Things rescued, only barely, from Sams home, and things confiscated from Delphine, though he doesn’t trust whatever she’d had as far as he could throw it (and he should, into the ocean, where no one can find them again).
”If you want.” The words are offered softly, Nate pressing every ounce of soothing gentleness he can into them. Really, he’s asking what’s wrong, because there’s something, digging at Sunjata like a splinter, like an old wound not healed properly, and he wants to help. Perhaps it’s not healthy, to step back so quickly into the role of a caretaker after his spiral, his breaking apart, but it’s all Nate really knows after a lifetime of being okay. And he’s steady enough to offer this support, to lean in and press their noses together, eyes locked on the other maN.
NATE
