[Training] (SE) Kiss the Canvas

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

Considering he got to choose his own hours, where he spent his time, Nate is surprisingly diligent in keeping up a presence at his clinic, ready to serve whoever came through the doors, but he wasn't made of stone. There were some days he closed the door earlier, wandered around Haulani, or made his way to the places he knew Sunjata frequented. Today he'd decided on the latter, the path to the Slagveld well worn in his memory, enough that he didn't really need to focus, a jaunty tune on his lips as he went.

Despite the shared passion, the most obvious similarity between them, the promises shared in early days of their companionship, Nate had never actually boxed with his lover. There were other promises, other things he'd offered, a price of blood not yet taken, but Nate was more excited, and therefore more focused on the more sporting activity.

Sunjata wasn't immediately visible, not that that meant anything, especially not now that the upstairs had been cleaned out, so Nate made himself at home while he waited. He saunters towards the bar, making himself a drink and leaning against it while he sips, opening and closing his hand almost absently, eyes on his palm.

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

It had been incredibly slow in the boxing ring, all things considered. A few people in and out for training, but Sunjata had already cleaned up, fixed whatever bags needed to be fixed, and was simply… Bored out of his mind. So he’d slipped upstairs where they had previously cleared out a few things, working to fit the door with a specific key past the little office space that he could give to the guild members.

It’s Haai that alerts him to Nate as he fiddles with the hinge of a door, cursing something in a harsh whisper in Korofi to himself, before he abandons the project for quite possibly the best reason to. He grabs a rag to wipe off his hand from the dirt and dust that had accumulated, the cut on his hand from when they’d cleaned up the place relatively healed now with a nice pink little scar that settled along bronze skin.

“Thank the gods you’re here.” He rumbles by greeting, slipping down the stairs and stepping toward Nate to run a hand through the Ascended’s hair and place a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ve been working on that shitty door for the last hour and was going to lose my mind.” He hums with a soft chuckle, going to rest his hip along the bar as well, pulling the daggers out of his belt to not keep from pressing them into himself.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

Haai precedes Sunjata, the griffin met with a bright grin, Nate running a hand along her back when she comes close, though his eyes don't leave the stairs, waiting for the familiar, handsome face to appear. He means, for a single moment, to play coy, smile over the rim of his glass, but it's far too tempting to just press against the other man, reaching up to stroke along his jaw, a touch that lingers even when Sunjata leans back to lean against the bar. "You can't figure it out, huh?" He teases gently. "I can't be the only one good at things between us, Jata." The words come with a light laugh, Nate leaning in to press another soft kiss against the attuned's jaw.

Nate moves to lean over the bar a little more completely, his hand moving to idly run over the elaborate daggers. "It's been slow for me too." He offers, bright eyes flicking from Sunjata's face, to the blades, then back again. "Thought maybe I'd come and drum up some business for myself with you." Though, now that he's hear, he'd also be happy to just let the day drag on in his lover's company.

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

“It’s the lock.” He half whines, lips shifting into a smirk. “I wasn’t cut out for renovations, you know.” He tacks on the end with a playful wink, but leans into the gentle touch and the kiss nonetheless. But he pulls away, watching as Nate runs his fingers along the blade, his smile shifting a small amount to be a bit more serious as his steel gaze lingers on the Ascended.

He considers what Nate says, the drift of his gaze toward the blades and back again, considering it as he cocks his head a bit. “Mmm well, if you’d like we can get that part over with…” He trails off a bit, his hand nearing the blades as well, his head hovering over Nate’s shoulder a bit. “You can take it out on me after.” His voice is a soft hum, a conspirator’s raise of his brow as he nudges his head back toward the ring, a playful grin crossing his face, his free hand hoping to pull Nate toward him.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

"Well you can go back and figure it out later." Nate retorts quickly, not an ounce of pity in his voice, despite the whine. It's an easy topic he'd like to linger on, but his own actions drag them along, the blades sitting in his field of vision like an impossible to ignore reminder. He had said he'd help, and he would, though the whole situation was concerning, Sunjata giving himself over to something beyond his control so easily.

At least it was in character, he supposed.

The suggestion has a rough chuckle leaving Nate, his hand reaching up and back, to cup the back of Sunjata's head, pull him closer. "You know me so well." He purrs, turning to press a kiss against the other mans cheek before releasing him entirely. Nate grabs the daggers, unable to tell which is which, and offers them out, along with his empty left hand, palm offered up towards the other man.

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

“I suppose.” He rumbles, pretending as though he’s giving in, but the smirk that crosses his face gives him away. Instead, his attention follows Nate’s to the blades, watching momentarily before the back of his head is cupped and he’s pulled into the Ascended. He leans into the kiss to his cheek, settling back a small amount as a snort leaves him. “Of course I do.” He teases back, flashing a wink toward Nate before he’s handing the blades to him.

He takes them both, slipping the one used for justice away, the edge of it far shinier and less worn than the other, as he takes the blade for the blood into his left hand. “You sure about this?” He asks, taking the blade and placing it into the palm that’s outstretched, sharp edge down along his palm, his steel gaze lifting to focus on him with a tilt of his head. “If you scar, we’ll match at least.” He tries to offer some humor, opening his right palm to show the scar that lied there.

Though of course that was for a different reason. “This is… A bit like a korofi tradition, you know.” He murmurs, letting his gaze drop back toward Nate’s hand, swallowing against the sensation of thoughts it brings up.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

He might not need to breathe, might not feel pain, but there is still a part of Nate that knows how to bite of a blade will feel, that tenses, a very human tremble in his outstretched fingers. His face is all confidence though, smooth smile offered towards Sunjata. "I'm sure about it." He promises, flexing his hand up, not noticing as the blade bites into the meat of his palm with the slight motion, not yet deep enough for fluid to flow. "You'll have to make it deep to make it scar." Nate says it like he wouldn't mind that, wouldn't mind matching, electric eyes tracing along the scar on Sunjata's palm.

They shift back to the attuned's face at the mention of tradition though, one of Nate's brows quirked in quiet interest. "What's the tradition?" He asks, reaching up with his free hand to squeeze the other man's shoulder tightly.

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

Nate says he’s sure, and Sunjata nods to that, a small smile blooming along his face at the mention of making it deep enough to scar. But of course, it depends on whether Nate would want that, and so he chews on the inside of his cheek briefly as he opens his other palm to show Nate the scar that sits there. It closes, however, as soon as Nate’s attention lifts to his face, and Sunjata’s gaze flickers up toward the Ascended when his shoulder is squeezed.

“It’s a bit of a backwards royal tradition.” He offers at first, a slight tilt of his head to that. “Usually when you got married, the man would cut his palm and use his blood to draw designs along the collarbone, as if you’re making… A choker of some sort, connecting it around both sides of the neck. And you’d have to say ‘deur my bloed is jy myne van vandag af.’” His gaze remains on Nate’s, a silent question in the gaze he gives. Of course, all of it was tradition, and he'd only done it once when he'd married Phoebe because he'd promised his mother if he ever married, he'd at least keep that tradition. Not like it mattered much anyway anymore, not when the reason for the fallout of it stood before him, a lingering kiss to his cheek that Sunjata can still feel, a lingering squeeze to his shoulder that he can feel just as well.

Still, he pauses, waiting with the blade on the edge of breaking skin but still enough pressure to be acutely aware of, waiting to see what Nate has to say before he thinks about pulling the blade through.

---

deur my bloed is jy myne van vandag af. - by my blood, you are mine from this day forth.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

Nate licks his lips, leaning back to look over the attuned more completely, wondering at the hesitation, the seriousness that lingers around the other man heavily. At first, the explanation seems to be as much stalling as it is anything else, though it very quickly becomes evident that it's not just that. All at once, Nate is aware of just how heavy the blade in his palm feels, imagines he can feel the coolness of it, his own skin doing nothing to warm the metal.

"That's... an intense tradition." He begins, hand shifting, slowly, almost painfully slowly, up along the other mans shoulder, around his throat, imagining the designs the other man talked about, thumb tracing swirls absently. It's... fast, if they're going to press meaning into the gesture, if he's reading the question in Sunjata's eyes properly. Does it have to mean anything? Does he want it to? They've made promises, spoken, at least a little bit, about what they want, where they're going.

There's hesitation, on both sides, but Nate moves first, letting a wide grin overtake his face. Permission, given eagerly. "What are you waiting for then?"

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

There’s a huff of a laugh at that summing up of the tradition. “It is, yeah.” Sunjata agrees, straightening up his head a small amount, gaze flickering over Nate’s face as if he can try and see what exactly runs through Nate’s mind with it. “I never had the intention of getting married, though, so I never really planned on doing it. But I promised my mother if I ever did I would follow through with it.” Another slight hesitation before he feels Nate’s hand shift around his shoulder toward his throat. “It’s a shame I did it with Phoebe.” He snorts to that, though of course in the end it was just a tradition at the end of the day.

Not like it really held meaning unless they wanted it to.

Which, now he second guesses despite the easy wide grin that overtakes Nate’s face, the permission granted, some sort of anxiety swirling around in his stomach. But the permission is there, and it’s Nate’s blood after all, so if the opportunity was something Nate wanted to take up – it would be the Ascended’s drawing, the murmuring of the ridiculous phrase anyway. Regardless, Sunjata’s been stalling (is it because of the memories it dregs up? Or the fact that he doesn’t want to hurt Nate in the process?) so he takes a deep inhale, leaning a small amount into the touch at his neck, before his steel gaze drops to the blade in Nate’s hand, and he swipes down and across the Ascended’s palm, watching it fill with that clear iridescent blood that mars the blade.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

Nate nods along to the explanation the other man gives, something incredibly familiar when he says he never intended to get married. It's not new information, he doesn't think, but it hits a familiar spot, the same it would have the first time. "It is a shame you did it with Phoebe." The agreement is rough, no small amount of amusement accompanying it. Nothing that happened now could take that sham of an affair back, but, maybe this could make the memory a little more comfortable.

There's no pain when the blade digs across his hand, nothing other than the sensation of fluid spilling, of something in his mind telling him this wasn't quite right. It's easy to ignore though, to not let his eyes move away from Sunjata's face. Slowly, so there's time for the other man to pull away, to laugh this off as a joke going too far, Nate moves his hand out from under the blade, meaning to mirror the position of his other hand, to cup the attuned's jaw between them. It's not quite a full circle, not quite a choker, but none of this is quite right. "Deur my bloed..." If he were just repeating it perfectly, this would be easy, but what comes out is stumbling, trying to translate and rewrite the phrase in his head. "Is ons gebind tot die einde toe."

A pause then, Nate hesitating a moment, then leaning in to press a proper kiss against Sunjata's lips, if the other man will let him. But it's a moment of tenderness he want's to move past quickly, his hands retracting so he can look at the gash bisecting his hand. And realizing, belatedly, that it's his dominant hand.

---

Deur my bloed is ons gebind tot die einde toe - By my blood, we're bound to the end. But incredibly awkward phrasing

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

There is this moment, where Sunjata considers responding to Nate — something cheesy, along the lines of mentioning how if it weren’t for the wedding they wouldn’t be in the situation they are now. In a roundabout way, at least. But it dies on his tongue as his gut churns with the uncertainty of the seriousness in which he’s tacked onto what would have been just any normal gathering of materials in a way. Instead, he’s either blown it in second guessing what him and Nate aren’t good at talking about, or he’s gone in too fast too soon.

But gods, Nate’s been living with him for how long now? Perhaps it wasn’t so far off in the sudden reflection of quiet confessions in moonlit oceans.

He slices Nate’s palm regardless, because that’s something that needs to be done. And his gaze lifts to meet Nate’s, knowing full well the other man’s eyes haven’t left his face this whole time. He doesn’t know what to say, what kind of jest might make it lighten the suddenly very intense mood he’s painted all over the ring. But he stands still, setting the blade on the counter still dripping with the iridescent fluid while Nate’s hands lift to encompass his neck. His gaze lingers on Nate’s electric blues, his stomach warring with itself as he hears the words slip from Nate’s lips.

And really? It’s probably the best version of that tradition he’s heard. Something of him, but something of Nate too. He remains silent while Nate stumbles slightly over the words, a softer almost boyish smile crossing his face, enough that it crinkles the corner of his eyes a small amount, not moving despite feeling the slick iridescent liquid along his tattoos, shimmering in the low light of inside the boxing ring. “To the end.” He agrees, voice rough and a deep rumble, an awkward sort of laugh slipping from him. But he leans into the kiss regardless, however chaste it may be, before Nate’s looking down at his palm and Sunjata has to take a moment to reel in what exactly was happening now.

Feels to him like it changes everything and yet… and yet —

He moves to take a bit of the training that Nate’s taught him, taking a bandage and wrapping it over the cut to try and stop the bleeding, a glint to his eye as he lifts Nate’s hand to his lips in a soft kiss just as the Ascended had done for him upstairs in this very place, before a characteristic rogue smirk crosses his face, right hand lifting to tangle in Nate’s hair. “Hope you don’t plan on writing much until you heal. Still, that payback is yours to take.” He offers with a raise of his brow, his own left palm opening up beneath Nate’s.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA

with heaven on my mind, and hell, well i believe

It is a long jump from come home to me to bastardized marriage traditions, a realization that is terrifying to Nate, and yet that feels right. Really, it only has to mean as much as they want it to, could mean nothing at all, though he knows, as soon as steel eyes meet his again, that that's not the case here. Regardless of what they say later, if anything at all. A smile invades Nate's face, wide and genuine, crinkling his eyes with the force of it. He might never hear and I love you, but as long as there are moments like this, he'll never need it.

Having someone else wrap him up is a little foreign to Nate, despite how nice it feels to be taken care of. It's a shift, only a breath away from heavy tradition, from declarations, and yet it feels so distant, a million miles away. He tries to summon a breath of irreverence, the edge of a smirk, but the only thing he can muster is a terribly soft gaze, his head tilting to lean against the hand tangling in his hair.

Sunjata's words seem to break whatever spell he's under, a tongue darting out to wet Nate's lips as he looks at his hand again, with a raised brow and a more critical eye. He tries to clench it closed, fingers slow to respond despite the lack of pain, both from the bandage itself, and from something deeper that he can feel twinging. "I'll be lucky if I can even take that payback." Comes the soft complaint, his wounded hand lifting, curled into it's poor attempt at a fist, and bumping gently against the attuned's jaw. "Unless you want to do a handicap match up?"

in the stage lights, come down, breaking over me

NATE

we must always be willing to be more savage to the angels

rip up their flesh and reveal them to be nothing

There would come a time, when Sunjata lets it slip – when he gets over the pang of worries in his chest and his stomach when the thought comes to mind. It takes him time, unless someone else gives him the thought to do it before it gets too late – but the thing with Nate is that… The Ascended knows despite Sunjata’s reluctance to actually say those three little words. Nate knew, and that really was all he could ask for.

He’s trying, and it’s noticed, and it means a surprising amount to him.

Either way, he tangles his fingers into the raven hair of the doctor, a soft smile crossing his face that matches the soft look to Nate’s gaze as he leans into the touch. And he realizes he could stay like this all day, really, if he wanted to. But he disrupts the moment with his words, offering some sort of repent for what he’s done. So his hand remains, thumb going to stroke against Nate’s temple briefly at the soft complaint, a light snort leaving him when Nate’s ‘fist’ bumps him in the jaw. “I find that hard to believe.” He chuckles lightly, shaking his head a small amount.

“But... So long as you fix my wounded pride after you kick my ass with the handicap… I guess I could.” He teases lightly, his soft smile edging toward more of that smirk, grabbing onto more of those bandages for the wrappings for his hands and Nate’s other. “You’ve yet to test it out with me anyway.” Especially after he’d helped set it up. So he tugs Nate along toward the sandy boxing ring, dipping below the ropes to slip into the ring, already moving to tie up his hands and trying to decide how exactly to keep himself from using his own dominant hand. “No left hands, then?” He asks, tying up his right hand and peering up at Nate without moving his head, a rogue smirk crossing his face.

how willing you must be to kill angels

and how willing they must be to let you do it

SUNJATA