Take It With A Kiss {SE}

NATE

A snort, both mental and physical, leaves Nate as he shifts to be more comfortable, to cradle around the other as much as he himself is cradled. He doesn’t think about why it comes, doesn’t feel anything about it, though if he paused he might realize what the reaction means, might wonder why he scoffs at the idea that he could be loved more. It already feels like Sunjata loves him more than anyone ever has. It’s greedy to think about more.

There had been a more lecherous slant to Nate’s suggestion, something that gets lost in the waves of warmth and security lapping at the banks of his mind now. Honestly, it feels more intimate to talk than it does to be sexual, and he’s willing to try and lean in to it. To try and break down the last few walls he holds in place. To try and let go.

I don’t remember what I’ve already told you. The admission is oil slicked, not quite true, not quite a lie. Some things burn bright in his mind, and some are washed away in the haze of day after day without distinction, and these conversations are memories he’s more or less sacrificed in the hopes of remembering something better. Its strange, telling things to you too. He doesn’t have the words to describe strange how but he can share the feeling, the discomfort of comparing scars, when he can clearly see who’s are worse, who’s lived through more heartache. There’s guilt too, unexplained, though the reason is clear to Nate. Clear as any of this can be.

Even with the decision made to try and open up, a silence opens between them, a hesitation, a chip in Nate’s armour. You know I’ve never had anything like this before. He shifts down, squishing Sunjata tighter for a breath. Someone like you. When I was younger, I always thought... I might end up like my old man. Better looking, and fucking smarter, but... doing the same kind of shit. I thought it was... kinda cool. There’s a lot of things flowing through Nate while he speaks, a distant kind of buzzing discomfort underplaying everything, disgust, giddy hilarity, and shame. He’s not sure if he’s waiting for some kind of response, or waiting for his next words to appear in his head, but the silence begins to grow again, the blue eye still closed tight.

Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other

nobody really cared, so it never really mattered. it never really mattered, so it never really happened
what's the point in fightin' for a happy ever after? the past keep's hauntin' the future i imagine

He listens, and he does so with everything he has – connected to the attuned bond, listening for every pause and every shift, feeling every moment of hesitation as it slips through. He can tell when the admission hits that Nate’s unsure – but Sunjata doesn’t comment on it. Instead, offering a pulse of encouragement. He waits, once again, a small nod of his head beneath Nate’s when it comes to telling things to him – and Sunjata understands, having just as tough of a time opening up unless times were emotionally charged enough he let them slip.

So he grows quiet, remaining a steady and strong pillar for Nate to latch onto, a pulse of love at the admission of someone like him. There’s some pride too, that perhaps Sunjata was enough for Nate to be able to cling to. I’m honored. He purrs, though it turns into a bit of a huffing squeeze of breath as Nate tightens in on him, a squish of sorts that has amusement slipping through.

But then Nate’s continuing, and Sunjata’s mulling it over – trying to remember what his fiance’s father was like, drawing a few blanks, but feeling the way Nate’s words coat in a mix of emotions, shame, disgust, amusement… It’s a lot to take in, but Sunjata can’t stay quiet. You learn to adapt to the life you live. It’s a quiet encouragement, a tell me laced between the words. Honesty sparks within, as well as that overwhelming sense of love that seems to scream that Nate could do nothing that would make Sunjata love him less. He hopes it’s enough. What kind of shit did he do again? Another gentle prod, eyes still shut, pulsing everything he can to try and make Nate more comfortable.

SUNJATA

NATE

Yeah. You have to, don't you? Adaptation had been a hard lesson to learn, but it was as natural to him now as breathing, maybe too much so. Another layer of defence, another subconscious tick. You can never be caught off guard if you roll with every punch. Big paws stretch wide, an unconscious attempt to move hands that aren't there, to work out some of the anxiety thrumming through Nate like a plucked string. The prod does what it's meant to, gives him a direction to keep moving in, but it's the warm blanket of support that has words actually leaving him. He did whatever he came his way. Before we, there's a disconnect here, where Nate's mind tries to say we and I at the same time, a stutter that repeats every time, were born he was some kind of kingpin. Got busted for it while he was doing some military thing in another country, and managed to talk his way outta jail.

The easiest way to do this is to just talk, to try and tap into that drunken lack of a filter by letting everything out too quickly to censor, but there's still pauses, in between the rambling, still moments where he has to percolate on what should actually come next. He always said I was just like him. He never fucking liked me, no matter what I did, but I was just like him. Who does that make sense to? It's not a joke, no matter how hard he tries. Nate knows exactly the places he's lacking in, the parts that earned him revulsion and anger. They're some of the only things that are still a part of him now. You know he taught me how to box? Don't think he ever expected that one to backfire on him. That one is a joke, a harsh bark that can only barely be called a laugh following it.

It might seem like he's following a strange tangent, but it's a straight line for Nate, a rope that he has to tug through everything before finally getting to the point, before finally getting some kind of emotional relief. I was excited when he finally let us in on all the shit he was doing. It was like something out of a movie, you know? A deep breath heaves out of Nate's nose, the first he's taken since they'd cuddled up together. It was the same old shit we'd been doing the whole time, running around packages, and hassling stores, and treasure hunting, but without the stupid code words. There is something building in Nate's tone, something he doesn't seem to have noticed yet. A sense of frantic urgency, like if he isn't speaking he's going to be running instead.

Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other

nobody really cared, so it never really mattered. it never really mattered, so it never really happened
what's the point in fightin' for a happy ever after? the past keep's hauntin' the future i imagine

You do have adapt, or you die. At least, such was Sunjata’s understanding of life, the reason he’s survived for so long when he wasn’t meant to. It’s a kinship with Nate that Sunjata’s unsure if he even realizes is there just yet. If even Sunjata realizes is there just yet. But he stays quiet, offering pulses here and there of encouragement to keep Nate talking, listening with everything he can – squeezing where he can with a large paw. Interjecting only occasionally, to spark some sort of understanding. I know what you mean. He offers quietly. Too similar to in the worst ways to fathers that only saw what they perceived as weakness. Too much like them in the ways they don’t want, not enough like them in the ways they do. Because while Sunjata had killed, he wasn’t a killer. Not like his father was. Empathy ran through his veins rather than the stone faced cold that ran through his father’s.

Still, the idea of Nate’s father being a kingpin does intrigue him – reminds him somewhat of the slums of Korofi, of the dealings Sunjata had often been part of once he’d been accepted. He doesn’t add into that, however, focusing on the other bits of what Nate says. There’s a pulse of a smile that crosses the bond, a twitch of his maw in a feline one as well at Nate’s harsh laugh.

And Sunjata follows the best he can, picking the lines up, trying to fill in the blanks with what he did know of his fiance’s father. Yeah. He murmurs, nestling in close, only to feel the shift in the tone, the tremor that seems to shake the Ascended through the bond that Sunjata’s unsure if it was meant to cross. He nuzzles his head in closer, rough tongue slipping out to brush at Nate’s neck. Take your time. He hums. I’m here, Nate. They weren’t back in America. They weren’t in a place where either of their fathers could come and get them. They were in a place with endless opportunities, with nothing but love between them.

SUNJATA

NATE

I remember the first time it wasn't just the same old shit. I was... seventeen? Whatever hint of emotion had been in him before faded, darkening into dread, into smouldering shame. Sunjata would accept him, would forgive him for what he'd done, but that was a step even he couldn't take yet. He called it garbage disposal. It has to be obvious what he means, what those two words actually mean, because the connection is so clear in Nate's head. Maybe it should have been the sign that he was in too deep, that this is when it became too much. Maybe it was the sign that he was destined for something better, something brighter, that it's where he tried to draw a line. I went and I picked up this guy, and I drove him to the address he gave me. He went inside, he... cleaned up, he came back out, and we left. I never told anyone. Not until now, at least, and that thought eases some of the tension in Nate, eases the next words.

It didn't happen often, but every now and then I'd go and get the same guy, take him to a different address, and wait. Just me. There's a shift, Nate trying to pull away, and stopping himself, forcing himself to stay close, to lean into Sunjata and trust him to be there. It's not the end, not quite, but the build up is important, the slow erosion of normalcy until he's sitting at the bottom of a pit with no way to get out, and the knowledge that there was no one to blame but himself. It was years later when the routine changed. This time, when the man came out, he brought some woman with him. They both got in, and she was crying, and he gave me some other address to go to. Nate's discomfort only grows, a buzzing heaviness pressing in at the edges of his mind, seeping through the bond to try and infect his fiance as well.

There's another long pause, a single blue eye opening and staring up, too distant to actually be looking at anything, but too focused to be lost entirely. There's too many details to share, every second of those few hours etched somewhere deep in his head, never to leave, so he skips to the end. I don't know what they were trying to get from her, but they didn't. Or... maybe they did, I don't know. The man, the guy I'd been driving around, he puts her in the trunk, all wrapped up like he'd done it a million times, and he tells me what to do to clean up. And I do it. There are a lot of ways Nate will try and protect himself, a lot of things he's willing to do and say to keep any blame off of himself, but this isn't something he can twist away from himself. Isn't something he feels like he can. It's something he's carried since it happened, something he's finally able to set down, even for a moment.

Bart and I left a few weeks later. Moved out of the shit hole we grew up in and got a different shit hole, a few cities over. I just kept telling him we could do better, but... he knew something had happened. I think it's the only reason he came with me. Slowly, shaky feelings begin to come back to Nate, something almost like relief bubbling up between the cracks, filling him up as tension begins to bleed away, his limbs going slack instead. We did okay for a few years. Ignored dad, got shitty little jobs and made things work. It hadn't been easy, or nice, but it was a hell of a lot better compared to what they'd been doing before, and Nate tries desperately to make that as clear as he can, to drive home the point that he'd gotten out, no matter the marks it had left on him.

Except, it hadn't lasted. Of course it hadn't. He can't quite bring himself to launch into that can of worms though, not right away, and he falls silent again, not sure how to bridge the gap. I'm sorry. It comes out automatically, more because he feels like he's spent too much time talking at Sunjata, without anything to really show for it.

Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other

nobody really cared, so it never really mattered. it never really mattered, so it never really happened
what's the point in fightin' for a happy ever after? the past keep's hauntin' the future i imagine

Encouragement floods through the bond as Sunjata listens to Nate continue. Seventeen was an age that Sunjata remembered well — it was an age that defined him in more ways than one, subtly he wonders if the same happened to Nate. The subject of a garbage disposal does make sense, but only in the way that they’d had a separate term for such a person. Sunjata always considered himself lucky he never was involved with it. Still, he can’t help the edge of worry that laces through him as Nate speaks of being the driver.

As all things, though, that can’t last. And Nate doesn’t have to go into the details for Sunjata to piece it together and realize what happened. Nor does Nate have to explain or shy away from the things he had to do. His arm and paw remains hooked around Nate, face burying itself into Nate’s neck to keep him close, to keep him from leaving even if Sunjata knew that feeling all too well too. He can feel the edges of discomfort, the way it tries to devour the bond. But instead of absorbing it, Sunjata pushes on with his own. Support, for his fiancé, for being boys thrown to the wolves and expected to deal with it as if it were any other normal day.

He doesn’t blame Nate for doing it. What else could he do? Say no? Face whatever consequence for denying it? Perhaps even being the person ‘cleaned up’? No, there’s no blame. There’s understanding that flickers through the oily shame of the bond — a tether for Nate to latch onto while he continues. It isn’t until Nate apologizes that Sunjata squeezes his lover in close, a humming sound slipping from his throat. Don’t be. His voice is soft, gentle, soothing as he begins. You did what you had to do to survive. It’s fucked up, yeah, but that’s not entirely on you, Nate. You managed the best you could. Comes the low rumble.

That’s what anyone tries to do. You survived it. Still, he leaves it open ended, bond swirling with the confidence of that, regardless of how bad it got. Nate survived. He leaves his comment open ended enough for Nate to continue if he wants to, or to switch the subject for a moment to try and gather his bearings. Sunjata doesn’t know which would make it easier.

SUNJATA

NATE

Nate is caught, stuck fast between a rock and a hard place, vulnerability like this still a relatively new feeling to him. To have knowingly put himself in this place goes against everything he knows, but he’s been breaking old habits, unlearning old defences since he came here. Since he met Sunjata. Gods know there’s no way he’d be able to do this without his fiancés support. Without this bond, an open channel where all of his discomfort can be assuaged by understanding, by comfort, by love, he’d have fallen silent long ago, lapsed back into humour and misdirection.

I chose it though. If I hadn’t fucking wanted to be a part of all of it, I never would have gotten that deep. Sharing hasn’t removed the load, the regret, the self loathing, but it’s made the load a little lighter, a little easier to hold. The only reason I survived it is because I came here though. When Bart got sick, I needed money, and I needed connections, and I made a lot of deals with people I shouldn’t have. If he were speaking out loud, these words would blur together, Nate trying to get through it quickly, not wanting to linger, but wanting everything out.

His head shifts, presses in against Sunjata’s shoulder. It feels like forever since he’s been able to be held, even if this is made awkward by the shape they’re in. Nate wants to keep sharing, but he’s coming to a point where’s he’s picked too much at a scar, where the edges are starting to come up and overwhelm him. Automatically, his mind grasps at the closest subject, reaching out and back to land on the most obvious.

I’d never be able to have someone like you back there. A short huff leaves Nate, claws dipping out just to grasp at the other, like he’ll disappear if he’s not held onto. I’d never be able to trust anyone like this.

Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other

nobody really cared, so it never really mattered. it never really mattered, so it never really happened
what's the point in fightin' for a happy ever after? the past keep's hauntin' the future i imagine

He listens and listens, letting the feelings Nate has roll over the bond between them, letting himself focus on the good that comes out of it regardless. Despite Nate having done those things, to Sunjata he’s still good, knows right from wrong, knows that it isn’t something that should be praised or paraded. It’s the difference, too, between himself and his own father. And it makes Sunjata love Nate all that much more – because they’d both done fucked up things, both knew at their core that it was wrong, still regretted it to this day.

There’s a low hum that slips from his throat as Nate presses in against his shoulder again and Sunjata’s arm tightens around Nate, paws clutching his fiancé close. Even if the only reason you survived it is because you came here, you still survived. He murmurs softly, a small nod granted to the mention of deals made with terrible people. He’s been there before too.

The low huff that leaves Nate has Sunjata’s love pulsing further, a stronger shift to the attention granted back tot heir relationship. I wouldn’t either. Comes the quiet agreement, the nuzzle of his head against Nate’s, keeping him as close as physically as possible. You know… When I told you about my escape from Korofi after my father killed Luci… I wasn’t entirely honest. He begins, wondering if the subject shift might be a balm to Nate’s already shattering emotions, hoping that the strength of his words and mind might be enough to bring some level of okay to them both. A burden he’d carried for quite some time. It was… A couple of months after Luci died and father had picked the engagement for Saartjie and I. There was a ball to be held, a celebration for it. Saar was to marry Graasvoel, Melita’s dad, and I was to marry a woman named Sybella from the… how do I put it. He pauses, whiskers twitching with thought, though there’s that similar oiliness that coats his end of the bond as well. The witchcraftish county. Anyway. They were staying there with us, because it was to be announced officially the merging of our houses. But security was low. And after everything, we needed to get out. Gaal was the one that got me and Luci captured, I wasn’t going to let Saar marry him. A rumble of annoyance, a hiss of a growl slipping from his throat with that before he nestles in closer to Nate.

There was an altercation that happened the night we tried to leave and Saar and I were in our common room and Sybella and Gaal showed up, gloating and proud. I… Couldn’t think of any other way. He too, saves Nate from the details, but the discomfort is clear in his end of the bond. I killed Sybella that night. Thought I killed Gaal too. And Saar and I ran. Made it to Dorobo as quick as we could. I had a bounty on my head from my father and Luci’s. There’s a pause of silence, unsure how to continue before his ears are wavering. I only survived because I came here, too. I only have someone like you because I came here, too.

SUNJATA

NATE

You're right. I know you're right. A soft noise rumbles out of Nate, tension beginning to drain from his body as he tries to centre himself here in this moment, and not in memories and regrets. It seems so unreal sometimes. Like a second chance I don't deserve.

It is a balm to have the focus shift, from Nate to them to Sunjata, though already the beginning does not leave Nate confident about the tone of this memory, the information left unsaid in the previous retelling. In an instant, enough of Nate is cobbled together into something whole enough to send the same support, the same warm, mental embrace that had been extended to him. It's so much easier in this role, so much easier to be the mirror, reflecting all the things he sees of Sunjata back, not a monster, no matter what other horrors he might have gone through.

From the very beginning, a twist of worry quirks in Nate's stomach, the direction they were headed in clear, knowing everything he knows of the other man's history, but he needs to hear it. It's the least he can do, when he's being trusted with the memory. Still, the humour that so easily defends him rises up, trying to shield Sunjata from his own memories the same way it does Nate. Witchcraftish? It comes out like a gentle tease, trying to soothe away the oiliness. It's the only thing that leave shim though, any other thoughts kept silence, except for the sympathy, the quiet horror and sadness that rise in Nate hearing about what his fiance has had to live through, has had to do, in the name of survival.

Nate isn't sure what to say exactly, how to respond to the confession except with a wave of sympathy, a mental wince that comes from seeing yet deeper scars. Something about Sunjata's last sentence sparks something in Nate's memory though, words he hasn't thought about in years. When I was young, He knows it's not a related beginning to anything, but Nate knows his words will be listened to, regardless of how they start, where he ends up meandering, I spent summers with my grandparents. My mum insisted on it. I spent more time with my nonnina, but every so often me and Bart traded, and I spent the day with my nonno instead. He's the one who taught me how to fish, and he always had talks about... how to be a good man. The words pause for a moment, the memories more melancholy than he expected, too much of Nate scraped raw to be able to really skim past it the way he usually would. One of the things he always told me was 'the suffering is the reward', and... I think I just figured out what he meant. Nate rises, as much as he can, and presses his forehead against Sunjata's. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for what we went through. I wouldn't have you. It seems poetic to let the conversation drift quiet there, to let disturbed things rest again, and enjoy the rest of the afternoon as they'd initially planned: quietly napping together, warm and close and deeply in love.

Moments like these are what Nate lives for, the scraps of good, made so much better by the work that has gone into earning them. These are what are going to live on in his mind, instead of the sadness.

~Done

Let’s admit, without apology,
what we do to each other