At the other end of the leash

NATE

Groans and scorching heat are a better distraction than any other. Any fear is scorched from his mind by the fire that passes through him, that pours from Sunjata, so so willingly that Nate can't even feel a finger of guilt, can't feel anything. Can't feel nothing. The groans escaping around his fingers have his hand twitching, cupping, as if he could catch the sounds, keep them close, captive, wrapped up in this quiet, warm place just for them. He shifts, or, maybe Sunjata shifts, shudders, and Nate can feel it in his spine, can feel it in his gut.

There's no breath in his throat, but Nate still feels himself hitch at the burn of nails dragging up his body, tracing a line to the nape of his neck, and he shudders again, sparks and flames licking down his spine, along the fuses laid out by teasing nails moments earlier. He presses deeper, harder, trying to eke out some scrap of the light, of the flame inside Sunjata for himself, something that will stay lit even when he's alone, when this feeling fades from him. Something that will still burn. Fingers scrabble their way up Sunjata's side, seeking the same thing, seeking an entrance, a foothold, something. Seeking a place to hold, to cling to, while Nate greedily drinks his fill, no thought spared to how long, how deeply he drinks.

The streets are only empty when I need someone
There's nothing to see here, move along!