sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine
Nate nods his understanding, something wry entering his grin now. Another sentiment he’s deeply familiar with. How long had he waited to even see the Voice? When he’d first ascended? How angry had he been? How resistant to her words, her touch, to anything to do with her at all? And now look at him.
He doesn’t get the chance to put any of that good humour to words though, doesn’t get to share the reassurances he can. Anger is all consuming, burning away the pretence of polite conversation to focus solely on this slight. Nate seethes and roils, a storm growing in his chest, threatening to spill out of his mouth if not for Sunjata. If not for the fact that his words mean far less in this than his husbands do. It’s only when he’s asked something directly, when his name is called, that his unblinking stare is snapped away from Maea. ”Incubus is exactly it.” He growls, unbidden memories of a spiral, of tears that he hadn’t known how to deal with at the time rising up.
An apology colours the air, and Nate stands suddenly as it does, grabbing Sunjata’s empty glass and stalking back towards the small kitchenette to refill it with an unhealthy amount of whatevers been left open. Harder to explode if he’s focused on something else. Except, his plan doesn’t exactly work, silence stretching out for as long as he’s gone, only broken when he returns, and presses the full glass into Sunjata’s hand. Nate doesn’t sit again, hovering so close to his husband that their knees touch instead.
A hand moves to squeeze the attuned’s shoulder when he finally works through enough to force out words, fingers brushing against the constellations of scars littered over bronze skin. ”If that’s the truth,” Nate’s voice is thick, accented, and sneering, his teeth gnashing around every word, ”then she fucked you over.” If it wasn’t Maea’s intention, a fact he doesn’t necessarily know if he trusts, considering what he’s been told of arguments and jealousy, it still didn’t change anything. Meddling fingers, sticking in where they have absolutely no business is a kinder tale to believe than an intentional knife in the heart, but it doesn’t heal the hurt, does it?
He doesn’t get the chance to put any of that good humour to words though, doesn’t get to share the reassurances he can. Anger is all consuming, burning away the pretence of polite conversation to focus solely on this slight. Nate seethes and roils, a storm growing in his chest, threatening to spill out of his mouth if not for Sunjata. If not for the fact that his words mean far less in this than his husbands do. It’s only when he’s asked something directly, when his name is called, that his unblinking stare is snapped away from Maea. ”Incubus is exactly it.” He growls, unbidden memories of a spiral, of tears that he hadn’t known how to deal with at the time rising up.
An apology colours the air, and Nate stands suddenly as it does, grabbing Sunjata’s empty glass and stalking back towards the small kitchenette to refill it with an unhealthy amount of whatevers been left open. Harder to explode if he’s focused on something else. Except, his plan doesn’t exactly work, silence stretching out for as long as he’s gone, only broken when he returns, and presses the full glass into Sunjata’s hand. Nate doesn’t sit again, hovering so close to his husband that their knees touch instead.
A hand moves to squeeze the attuned’s shoulder when he finally works through enough to force out words, fingers brushing against the constellations of scars littered over bronze skin. ”If that’s the truth,” Nate’s voice is thick, accented, and sneering, his teeth gnashing around every word, ”then she fucked you over.” If it wasn’t Maea’s intention, a fact he doesn’t necessarily know if he trusts, considering what he’s been told of arguments and jealousy, it still didn’t change anything. Meddling fingers, sticking in where they have absolutely no business is a kinder tale to believe than an intentional knife in the heart, but it doesn’t heal the hurt, does it?
i couldn't get the boy to kill me
but i wore his jacket for the longest time
NATE
