It Was Yours All Along

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

”Fuck man that’s rough. Can’t you do better than sleeping in a bar?” Nate shook his head as he said it, his grin twisting into something teasing. It’s supposed to be light, not completely demoralizing after all. Though there were fewer lows than sleeping in a bar, especially if it was one you owned. Especially if you couldn’t even drink. There was a time when that would be his own personal hell.

There was really no argument Nate could find for what Sunjata had laid out. Really, for a spite wedding it seemed more than fair. ”I guess that’s not what she wanted then. Don’t know what else you’d expect from a spite wedding though.” He sighed, managing to feel a little bad for Phoebe, a little bad for the both of them really. Like sure, there was desperate, but this tool settling to a whole new level. It was just sad.

It feels good when he can can coax a grin from Sunjata, and a laugh is even better. Especially when it’s coming along with an agreement to let him bite, the unmarked wrist considered quietly, by both of them. ”Would a junkie be better than a cheater?” It’s a fair question, in Nate’s opinion, at the very instant just a little more important than the matter at hand.

Important questions didn’t stop him advancing though, boxing in the taller man against the wall, taking the hand, easily offered. This is far less clinical than last time, the whole setting, and the fact that they both know what to expect now. There is something to be said about how easily Sunjata tips his head back, something that he’s not going to say. Nate returns the smile easily, hungrily, and leans in to sink his fangs into the wrist, sucking in a breath through his nose as the sensation rips through him.

Somehow it’s made better by know what’s coming. It’s just as intense the last time, but in such a casual setting it’s harder to reign himself in. Nate’s shoulder presses in against Sunjatas chest, bracing him against the wall as he drank his fill, tasting the power hiding under his skin.

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

A snort leaves him at Nate’s initial comment, shrugging indifferently. “Considering I made it, I’d almost prefer it.” He teases back. But yeah, it was full of the reminders of alcohol and his cigarettes still sit in one of the drawers behind the bar, a constant reminder but an attempt nonetheless. So instead, he focuses on what he lays out before Nate – unfortunately pulling him into the conversation at hand, in a hard spot between boss and patient, though he supposes there isn’t really much he can do about it either way.

So he shrugs in agreement briefly. “Exactly.” Because there wasn’t really anything else. It was her way only, and he’d fallen for it, given in. And for what? To make her happy? He’d already told her it wouldn’t, that marrying him wouldn’t be sunshine and roses when he drifted too far into storm clouds and vast oceans. At the comment of junkie versus cheater, Sunjata’s gaze flits from his wrist to the man before him with a slightly crooked smile. “Depends.” At the very least, if it came off as such then he’d be both, which wasn’t a look he was particularly going for.

All jokes aside, however, Sunjata agrees – back pressed against the cool, shadowed, cold wall. His head tilts back slightly, horn tapping against the stone behind him in a slight attempt to get more comfortable because at the very least he knows what’s coming. Part of him welcomes it, after the streak he’s had. And when Nate gives him a hungry smile, he’s honestly surprised at the flutter within, the expectation coming. And while Sunjata had never exactly felt that way toward his own sex, well… Nate had changed it a small amount.

But the Doctor doesn’t waste any time, grasping his wrist and biting down, and at first Sunjata can feel the warmth creep into him, seep into every bone, the fire and flame surging from his stomach with enough of a force that it causes him to groan at first. He trembles slightly under the sensation, reaching for something when Nate’s shoulder presses into his chest and pins him there against the wall. So he does the only obvious thing in this moment – he reaches for him instead, pulling him closer and not quite wanting to let go as his fingers dig into the Ascended’s shoulder, needing more.

It races and courses within him, bubbling until he’s flushed red, and he’s sure that Nate can tell the how it’s effecting him as his bite surges through him in this proximity. And he growls in his slight frustration, breath in short rasps, savoring the chill of the wall to the flame that burns inside him, boxed and blocked against the wall in a position he typically preferred to have.

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

If just talking around the bite was dipping his toes in the surf, actually biting Sunjata again was like being thrown off a moving boat, a rush of everything all at once, then a deep aching throb for more, bringing a breathless feeling to a body that doesn’t need breath. The groan only drags him deeper down, unintentional as it was, and if his mouth wasn’t full Nate might laugh, might send a teasing jab towards the other man, telling him not to enjoy it all at once.

He can feel the tremble in Sunjata, clear as anything, and changes his grip, readjusts his hand so a cool thumb can stroke over a rabbit fast pulse. Nate tries to remember that none of this is real, it’s all brought on by the bite, when he pulls away things will be normal again.

If he had less self control Nate would stay where he was, would drink until there was nothing left. If he had more self control he could stop himself from pressing the long line of his body against the other mans, could stop himself from smirking at the sound of horns hitting stone, could stop the jolt in his body when a hand gripped at his shoulder. He can all but feel the flush crawling up the other man, can taste the desperation, and slowly, utterly unwilling, he drags himself away, Nate’s tongue flicking out as he does to stem the flow of blood before his thumb can cover the mark instead.

Nate’s entire body is a taut line, still caging Sunjata in despite the electricity now fading from his system. He didn’t move until the stillness became uncomfortable, and even then he only moved enough to meet the other mans eyes, any light in them blown away by the excited flare of his pupils. ”You’re okay.” his voice was strained, hoarse, and the words were somehow a questions and a reassurance all at once.

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

He’s not used to being in this position, used to being where Nate is, used to doing the biting and only receiving a small amount in return. But he doesn’t have the fangs like the Ascendeds do, he doesn’t have that ability of whatever it is that causes it, and it nearly immobilizes him with it as the feeling fuels him until his veins feel almost as if they’re electric in nature. Feeling Nate’s slight smirk against his wrist as Sunjata fights to not give in, to tell himself it’s professional, that it’s nothing more.

He’s failing the longer it goes on, however, gripping onto Nate and pulling him close, not knowing what he wants to do, whether he wants to explode into nothing or damn all the consequences of everything else too. He’s still wearing the ring, can almost guarantee that Phoebe can feel what’s happening – and if she is, he feels it again, coursing through him. And he’s ragged, when Nate pulls away – reluctantly, so reluctantly that Sunjata doesn’t want to let go, wants to pull him back in and keep going.

Sweat beads along his temple, from the heat both within him and of Longheat, and he opens his eyes in a complete daze – jaw clenched and panting, a rasping sound as he clutches and clings to the other man. He meets Nate’s eyes, silver to the vibrant hue of the Ascended’s, hears the hoarse sound of Nate’s own voice, and Sunjata swallows hard against it, trying to overcome it, feeling it vibrate within him again and again as the rings work both for him and against him. So much more powerful than it was before, than it had been the first time.

He doesn’t think he’s okay, and Nate’s still in his space enough that Sunjata keeps his hand on the other man’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath, legs trembling as his head leans forward to rest on Nate’s shoulder – carefully trying to avoid hitting him with the horns that poke through his hair and along his forehead. “I…” He begins, unable until he swallows hard, clutching and clinging and weak. “I think so.”

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

The tenuous string of professionalism that had been easily thrown away came back with a snap, wearing guilt into Nate’s mind for every moment he didn’t pull away entirely. There’s many more things he’s guilty of though, and he knows from experience that this will fade until he can hardly remember it, until it’s simply a buzz in the background of his mind, along with every other thing throb of guilt lurking in his mind. It’s not as if Sunjata is trying to escape from under him, or push him away, he rationalizes, conveniently ignoring the fact that Sunjata wouldn’t be able to keep himself upright without support, the bite combined with the feedback loop of the ring affecting him even more than it had before.

Nate tries hard to keep from smiling as the steely, pleasure drunk eyes meet his own, and fails miserably. He enjoys being in this position too much, enjoys being the dominant force in tha, and that is really not how he should be thinking abut this. Professional. For the good of Sunjata.

A deep breath that is entirely unnecessary is sucked in, and Nate tries to use the opportunity to clear his head, to mentally step back into what is actually supposed to be happening, instead of whatever the warmth settled into his belly and chest is saying. The head coming to rest on his shoulder is a surprise, mostly, and Nate tips his head to make room for the horns, for Sunjatas face in general. Without any real thought put into the action, he moves his had away from the now sluggish bleeding at the other mans wrist and lifts it to gently pat at his head, not quite stroking, but not quite not stroking.

”You are okay.” Nate tries to reassure him, remembering belatedly the entire damn point of the exercise and trying to remember what he’d actually tasted in Sunjatas blood, beyond the electric pleasure. Nothing concerning enough to stand out, if nothing else, though that was an unreliable measurement. ”Everything is... on track, about how I expected.” There is still a hoarse rasp in his voice, Nate hates how it sounds in his ears, but at least he’s not panting, and having his words staccato out because of that. ”Just keep breathing.”

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

It rattles through him, vibrating and buoyant against the rebound, so much so that while Nate might be struggling to come to grips with it with the possible guilt, well, Sunjata hasn’t realized it yet. And he struggles with it, catching his already short breaths the best he can, head finding Nate’s shoulder, thankful when the man tilts his head away to not get hit with it. He’s not sure he can stand just yet, not sure he can do anything other than let it wave over him until it’s done, feeling the pat of his head as it’s easier to take his small gasps for breath.

Nate’s reassurance does work to get his mind sluggishly trying to shift into a different direction, and he latches on like it’s a lifeboat, still unable to pull his head away from the other man. A shaky breath is inhaled, a slight nod is attempted to be given. But at least he was on track, hadn’t fucked it over completely, and for that there’s some semblance of relief as he catches his breath again, trying to do as he’s told despite the echoing hoarseness of Nate’s voice in his ear.

And when he finally does manage to catch his breath, a deep husky breathless chuckle leaves him at the intensity of what just occurred, how absolutely screwed he’s going to be, breath hot against Nate’s throat. And with it, he manages to hoarsely respond. “I’m gonna be so fucked, Nate.” His voice is deeper with his accent, thicker and harder to understand, but he manages to pull away from Nate enough to lean back against the wall, horns clicking against the stone as he tries to soak up the cold of it, to soothe the flame burning within him still.

He shuts his eyes tight, lips parted with still a bit of a partial pant. “What do I do?” He doesn’t know if he should go home and face the music already, or to avoid it – though by avoiding it, it’d make it look far worse than it already likely did. He reaches up with the hand that hadn’t had its wrist bit, running it and ruffling through his hair, before he finally looks at the Ascended, slate eyes still filled with lust, but there’s shadows behind them too.

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

Nate is quiet, after his reassurances, giving Sunjata the chance to both catch his breath, to get his head back on his shoulders properly. The hand on Sunjatas hair keeps moving, giving him something solid to latch onto, if somehow the rest of Nate wasn’t quite enough. When the nod finally comes, he lets out a short breath, instead of the soft, crooning ’Good job.’ that he wants to.

It’s... not ironic, but irritating, and utterly unfortunate that despite everything that had just happened, it’s the breath on his skin that finally manages to pull some half indecent noise from Nate, though it is just a deep rumble in his chest, almost a purr. He’d been doing so well. The words that come along with the breath immediately dash the feeling though, being the guilt back to the forefront of his mind tenfold. There is a regretful lean to his eyebrows as Sunjata pulls back, and Nate lets the hand that had been in his hair fall to his shoulder instead, still offering support, still making this less than what it needs to be, less than professional.

All Nate can do is nod in response though, glad for the moment that the other mans eyes are closed, that he can’t see the shadow of guilt that crosses over Nate’s face. That deepens with the question that comes next, because Nate knows what he wants to say, what he’s already said. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, so you might as well enjoy it, right? It feels selfish, even if he’s hovering on this precipice just as much as Sunjata is, he at least has the chance to hide it. He doesn’t have his crime immediately and intensely passed over to Sam.

”What do you want to-“ Nate has to swallow his words, swallow in general when Sunyatas eyes open again, a stormy sea of lust and guilt and Nate has never actually seen either of those things so clearly in another person before. He goes very still again, as he stares into Sunyatas eyes, his own blue ones a bottomless well of hunger, slaked but not sated, and he has to swallow before he can try again. ”What do you want?” There is something, lurking just behind and under the words, some promise, some strange offer, a sense that whatever Sunjata says, Nate will do what he can to make it happen. Every step of this conversation just stretches out the tightrope they’re walking on, making it harder, pushing the end, safety, further and further away. It’s dizzying, being so high, being so ready to fall he’s almost wishing for it.

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

He’s falling and falling, and the fire within him keeps burning to where he can’t quite see where lines are drawn, where professionalism ends and saying damn the consequences and going further. But they’re both in relationships, Nate hasn’t made a move, Sunjata’s never been with a man aside from the time with Loren but Lusea has been between them that night. And Phoebe? Well, she certainly already knows. And as the list begins to depart, filter through his mind, latching and hanging on as he internally rages with himself, he doesn’t know the answer to Nate’s question.

He’s fucked. Absolutely and completely fucked. And he could either complete it, finish off what the midwife, his wife, already thinks has happened — or he could end it here. End it here and have some sort of dignity left, despite having told Phoebe before they married that it was a possibility. But he was trying —

— Did it matter? Nobody else was around to see them, to see how far it did and didn’t go. And either way it doesn’t end well for him.

It comes down to whether he wants to keep getting seen, keep getting an idea of where his illness sits within him. Whether Phoebe lets him and if he caves her to like he always does, like he not necessarily should. He meets Nate’s gaze, sees that predatory stillness within him, their closeness, his own heaving chest. Sees in Nate’s bright eyes the hunger that Sunjata knows all too well, familiar and gods how he aches. But he can’t, he can’t walk just yet with the tremble to his legs, boxed in by the Ascended, wanting nothing more than to pull the man into him again, begging for another bite.

He can’t help the shadow of pain that cuts through his dazed silver eyes as he pants with his back against the wall, and when he leans back, digs his grave further, damns everything. And with a breathy growl, he decides, saying fuck it internally as he reaches for Nate to pull the other man in — body begging for a release. “Please.” His breath hitches. “Again.” He’s never been on this side of it, too much in control, too much of a dominator before. He’s never been the one to beg for it — but gods how he wants it.

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

With how intensely he is staring, how focused Nate is on Sunjata, he can practically see the thoughts moving in his head, the weighing of options, the considering pros, and cons. Thinking about how he’s already caught anyway, so he might as well be caught for something good. And at the end of it, it’s as much focus as it is memory. This is the same story he’s seen played out on a dozen other mans faces, when they decide if they want to walk away, or if it’s worth spending some time with him.

This has gone so fucking far past professional it’s not even funny. He has to work with Phoebe still, has to face Sam, and yet here he is, pinning another man to the wall, silently hoping he chooses to keep digging, to keep drowning, to keep making mistakes. What else do they have if not mistakes anyway?

Their eyes meet again, properly, steel and blue, the sea and the storm above, a swirling dangerous thing that is going to devour them both. If Nate doesn’t get to it first. He leans in as Sunjata tips back, keeping the distance between them equal, until he is pulled in, until he dives in really. All the stillness was a facade, a wall put up to hide the manic energy coiling from Nate now; his hips press in, flattening more of Sunjata against the cold, unyielding wall, and his hand traces down the tattooed arm, fingers entwining as he makes to pull the wrist back up to his mouth.

In a display of self control that hasn’t been exhibited until this point, Nate stops, eyes nearly black now as the begging properly reaches him. He’s always been weak for this, stripping away everything from a man until he begs, but it’s never been as easy, or as electric as it feels right now. He doesn’t let go on the hand, but his other one comes up, cups Sunjatas jaw like a lover, then tips his head to the side, careful of the horns on the stone. Nate leans in, letting out a breath he doesn’t need just so Sunjata can feel how close he is. His lips don’t brush skin, but there is still the clear threat of teeth, the growl of want in Nate’s voice, now naked and unhidden.

There is a moment of hesitation, time enough for Sunjata to change his mind, push Nate away, or at least speak up and tell him to move somewhere else. If he doesn’t though, Nate will bite, low enough that it could still be hidden by a jacket, but obvious in every other instance. It marks a very clear distance, a very definite change in what they’re doing. It’s deliberate, not an accident.

If Sunjata does object though, he’ll happily bite again on his wrist, preluding the sting with a kiss pressed to the skin there, like he’s blessing their connection.

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

He pulls the Ascended in, breaking and shattering with his flimsy resolve, especially as Nate presses him further up against the stone wall behind him. He can feel Nate’s hips against him, feel the absence of what Sunjata so clearly has written all over. Goosebumps rise and fall in the wake of Nate’s touch, a quiet hum leaving his throat somewhat akin to a growl. And with it, his offer, his choice, damning himself further.

His arm is held, and internally Sunjata is disappointed at that — wanting the bite to land on his neck, anywhere else far more intimate than his wrist or arm, wondering if the position made any sort of difference. But he begs, then, unlike him in so many ways. His stomach flutters when Nate’s hand reaches up to cup his jaw, lightning within that touch, and Sunjata is claw beneath it.

His head tilts with it, horns scraping against stone, a breath against his neck and the threat of teeth and Sunjata can’t help the shudder that slips through his body. The growl from the Ascended only adds to it, driving his senses mad with the hesitation that follows. “Now.” He’s not sure if it comes out as a whine or a demand, but Nate’s teeth find his neck, beneath where the collar of a jacket would be, and the feeling swarms him again, fingers digging into Nate to pull him closer, to vibrate and tremble beneath the pressure applied, body moving on his own accord. Another breathy growl leaves his lips, a groan at the sensation — that same rebound bouncing to Phoebe and back to him that electrifies and spins him from within, as though he’s a taught bowstring and both Phoebe and Nate are playing him unintentionally.

His hips grind into Nate’s, pressing himself back into him, as the Ascended’s teeth leave his neck in favor for his wrist again, and Sunjatas head tilts back against the stone again, body aching and torso arching, panting through deep gasps as it overwhelms him again and again until Sunjata can’t quite distinguish what’s happening — too blinded by lust and the bite and the bounce back of that same painfully aching feeling low in his stomach.

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

If his mouth wasn’t so occupied, Nate would laugh, loud and brash and soaring, but all he can manage is a hum, a growl that reverberates through his whole chest and into the man under him, so willing, so desperate, so over stimulated. This is Nate’s favourite place to hold people, and it had been so so easy, it was so so easy. The demand - because of course Sunjata is the demanding type, of course - earns the attuned a fluttering stroke of fingers along his jaw, down the opposite side of his neck, and then lower still, Nate’s fist gripping the strap of the thin tank top cover Sunjatas chest.

When he shifts to the wrist, less intimate, less satisfying, there is a moment where guilt has a chance to surge in, the elation of the bite fading quickly, but coming back just as quickly as he pushes past it, eyes moving to drink in the look on Sunjatas face while he has this distance. Nate shifts, feeling the arch of his back and the insistent press of his hips, and slips his own leg between the other mans, giving him something to press against, some pressure to help relieve what’s coiling in his stomach.

Nate releases the wrist his teeth are sunk into, his hand finding a better spot cradling the sharp curve of the hips beneath him. He presses down like he’s trying to pin Sunjata against the wall, trying to keep him still and desperate, despite the offered relief of his thigh. He wants to pull back again, go back to the much more satisfying spot that is the willing throat, but he is just as reluctant to pull himself away as before, if not more so at this point. He has dived headfirst into something he should not have even touched, and now all Nate wants is to see it through, see the attuned man undone beneath him, scratch the itch that burns in his throat and chest and gut.

With another growl, another low moan, Nate shifts again, letting himself return to Sunjatas throat, tongue preceding teeth. They are chest to chest, and he is unyielding, unwilling to give the other an inch against him when it’s so much better to have him squirm, caught between a rock and a hard place. He rubs hard circles against Sunjatas hip with his thumb, flicks his tongue where he can, trying anything to coax more groans from him, as handsy and desperate as a teenager again, moving quickly to squeeze as much enjoyment from this before he, they, are caught.

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

Nate’s touch is cool, smooth, nothing at all like the blazing inferno that thrives within him. He doesn’t know where to even begin, thoughts adrift in the wind for the flurry of sensations he gets, the overwhelming surge again and again as Nate continues to bite. A breathy moan is granted as the Ascended shifts his leg between Sunjata’s — some relief, some though he tries to take advantage of it, giving into the temptation given.

Nate releases his wrist, hands pinning and digging into his hip, and Sunjata feels himself shoved back into the wall completely at Nate’s mercy, horns thumping into the stone behind him. Burning and burning in an endless cycle that he wants nothing more than to see the end of. And he’s pinned, giving in and letting the hand that had pulled Nate to him, fist into his shirt, the other aiming for the Ascended’s dark hair as the man nears his neck again.

Which of course, this time it’s far more intimate than before, and Sunjata buckles against the wall, held up by Nate’s applied pressure and insistence that he remains where he is. And while Nate doesn’t need to breathe, Sunjata does and his breath is ragged, hitching, chest thundering against Nate’s as it courses through him and he can’t quite tell if he’s dying or if it’s just too much for him to understand, to comprehend.

Nate doesn’t have to work very hard to get Sunjata’s vocals, however, and he gives in with the handsy touches, the tongue at his throat, the teeth in his neck, and he practically hums with vibration and electricity with all of it. It doesn’t take long for him to completely shatter, the release of the coil within him taught, released in far more intensity than he’d ever experienced before. He can acutely hear the growl of a groan tear from his throat that echoes against the walls, hips rocking against Nate, gasping for a breath of cool air in the stuffy Ruins they’re in, desperately letting it rack through him, grasping and reaching for anything cool to relax, to adjust, to realize what’s happened.

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire

Nate

There's a shadow just behind me
Shrouding every step I take
Making every promise empty
Pointing every finger at me

Nate knows, logically, that this is getting very close to too much, from a purely medical standpoint. He’s already taken too much blood, already pushed this too far. Logic has absolutely no bearing on the beast he is at the moment though, driven by instinct, by a hunger feeling than flesh and blood, fed by Sunjata, the way he moans and grinds and pulls at Nate. The hand in his hair pulls a real growl from his throat, rougher than any he’s let loose so far, and only makes the rest of him grow rougher as well, pressing against Sunjata like he’s trying to force him into the wall, like he’s trying to absorb him.

He can feel the point where the attuned man begins to buckle, where it’s all Nate holding the both of them up, and there is a thrill of perverse joy that flares in him at that. Being strong enough to do it, and getting Sunjata to the point where it is necessary. It takes longer than he expects for their storm to reach a fever point, and yet it feels like no time at all. Nate knows when to pull back, when to stop taking and give support again, though his face stays pressed to the other mans throat for a moment, lips soothing the two bite marks there. It won’t do anything for him, but it will for Sunjata, he hopes.

Honestly, he still isn’t sure how much of this is actual attraction, and how much of it is to do with the bite. He isn’t sure how much to hope for one side or the other at this point either.

This really isn’t the time for thinking though, not when he has a whole other person to support, to soothe after the furious tension between them finally released. The hands at Sunjatas shoulders and hips are gentler now, still holding him up but not pressing him back. Nate leans back, encouraging the attuned to lean over onto him so he’s not so stifled, and so Nate can look at him, his eyes unfocused from residual pleasure, but his face deeply satisfied. He doesn’t say anything, not until the other man has a chance to catch his breath, to figure out how to put himself back together.

SUNJATA

isn't it funny?
how the cold numbs everything but grief?

The pressure is both a relief and a release. It’s not very often that Sunjata is the one to be supported, but he welcomes it when Nate presses him into the wall more fully, already feeling the bruises begin to redden along the points of his shoulder blades, along his spine. But he buckles, gives in, and when he does and stops fighting it, he can feel Nate remove his teeth, soothing the second bite at his neck. And he reaches, grappling for anything that’s cool to the touch to soothe the fire beneath his skin.

He pants when Nate pulls away a fraction, finally finding it within him to stand more fully supported on his own, but his hands have found Nate’s shoulders, his head ducked slightly and his eyes shut tight as he regains some form of composure. He’s light headed, heart thundering in his neck, vibrating and he can feel the muscles of his arms tense with the sensation. He can’t quite recall how long they’d been there for, not can he count how many bites he’s endured, but he lifts his horned head a bit ragged — seeking out the vibrant blues of Nate’s eyes, seeing the satisfied look that mimics one on his own.

Only then does the realization sink in and he inhaled as deep as he can, pulling his hands away from Nate, still somewhat blocked in, satisfied smirk fading from his lips ever so slightly. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know about Samuel, doesn’t know much about Nate other than he was an Outlander. But he does know the man works for his soon to be exwife, and things were about to get so severely complicated. “I shouldn’t…” He trails off, voice deeply hoarse and dry and breathless, lost for words.

if we could light up the room with pain,
we'd be such a glorious fire