NATE
The tragic flaw of charming men
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
is exactly as it seems,
too much grease,
can break down a machine.
The sting of Sam pulling away, as well as the loss of mind numbing pleasure, helped Nate to remember where he was. In Sams messy kitchen, in some fucked up world, with nothing. There was a gentle hand holding a cloth to his wrist, and a buzz of equally soft words beating against him while Nate stares at Sam. At his lips. At the stain of red that he knew was from blood. Somehow that made it better.
Nate didn’t answer, didn’t notice Sam crossing his legs or wiping his wrist. Green eyes met his, and Nate surged forward, taking his chance to cling to something. He had been pushed away the first time, and he didn’t think this would be any different, but he needed it.
A groan pressed out of him as he swiped his tongue across Sams lips, the coppery taste of his own blood almost sweet when it came off the other man. Maybe he was delirious. Or desperate. He could think of an excuse after. But as long as he wasn’t pushed away, he was going to take more, lift his hands and cradle Sams head close.
