One slip of the tongue, Razor sharp, but never let it show
It's one of those Longheat days where nothing moves, the heat too oppressive. The sun sits high overhead, blinding in its glory, in its smug attempt to creep across the sky as slowly as possible, and the air is heavy with humidity and the droning calls of bugs. Most sane people are hiding away inside, waiting for the cool relief of evening, or even better, night.
Nate is not one of those people. He'd made his way to the base of Aumakua's cliffs early in the morning, the heat not bothering him, and the sun a welcome irritation for his mood. He'd shucked his clothes, standing barefoot in the burning sand with only a pair of shorts stolen from his husband, and started shadow boxing. It's still close enough to home that his paranoia sites quiet in the back of his mind, but he needs to move, needs to do something, needs to work out this awful tension.
So... shadowboxing, at least as much as he can with the sun refusing to cast any shadows from its lofty seat. It's hard to tell how long he's been there, no telltale redness kissing his shoulders, though there is a smattering of pale blisters lifting, their stinging irritation evident in the way he keeps rolling his shoulders.
He seems in the zone, but any sound will have him whipping around, suspicious eyes searching for the interruption.
Nate is not one of those people. He'd made his way to the base of Aumakua's cliffs early in the morning, the heat not bothering him, and the sun a welcome irritation for his mood. He'd shucked his clothes, standing barefoot in the burning sand with only a pair of shorts stolen from his husband, and started shadow boxing. It's still close enough to home that his paranoia sites quiet in the back of his mind, but he needs to move, needs to do something, needs to work out this awful tension.
So... shadowboxing, at least as much as he can with the sun refusing to cast any shadows from its lofty seat. It's hard to tell how long he's been there, no telltale redness kissing his shoulders, though there is a smattering of pale blisters lifting, their stinging irritation evident in the way he keeps rolling his shoulders.
He seems in the zone, but any sound will have him whipping around, suspicious eyes searching for the interruption.
NATE
