I like to be here when I can

NATE

The more they drift apart, their paths vastly different kinds of hell’s, the more things stay the same. It was still nicer than the monsoons here. He laughs again, managing to add some genuine warmth to the sound again, a gentle thrum emanating from him as some deep flame is rekindled. Or like what you dealt with. Floods were a much more distant threat in Nate’s upbringing. Though again, the words brush close to danger, to things he should know better than to bring up.

Pemota offers a distraction, and Nate leaps upon, focused on Sunjata’s words, on the bright ease that bounces back through the ring. That all sounds real inconvenient. Another laugh leaves Nate, his gaze not leaving his husband now, even as his hand is busy with other things. Though even he is not immune to distraction, the glass very nearly overfilled as he feigns a light hearted outrage. You mean you could have been wooing me with music? Nate manages to catch himself, setting the pitcher down as he brings the glass close and continues. Now we have to get married all over again.

Laughter is quick to grace him now, the ascended hoping it’s as contagious as he’s always been told. You did show me your cobra shift. He’d forgotten about that. Forgotten too, about the fact that eating the baby turtles had even been a thought in the other man’s mind, though the pride that the reminder comes with has a surprised bark of laughter bursting from Nate.

Nate licks his lips, hesitates, then lets the explanation, the admission drop from him, heavy and awkward, as much as he can be. I... had never really done anything like that before. Suddenly, helping Sunjata take a sip of juice is the most focus intensive task he’s ever had to do, mismatched eyes dropping to focus on the attuned’s lips, instead of holding his gaze, again. There’s a lot of things I’ve done for the first time with you.

Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

Floods. He rumbles mentally, almost as if unattached to the term, even if it was the moniker for him here now too. People have started calling me that, again. It’s a different branch, one less dragged through the darkness. I like it better than what Jigano called me. He murmurs somewhat thoughtfully, shifting a bit despite the pinching of his brows.

But he’s distracted by Pemota, steel following the starry wake as Nate’s words and feigned hurt vibrate through the bond, his eyes snapping back to his husband with a breathy snort of laughter. Weren’t we? He cuts in, sure that they were supposed to get married again, because Sunjata barely even remembers the first one. But his fingers rest on Nate’s leg now as he offers the glass, tapping a little musical crescendo along it as he takes the glass in his other hand to sip from.

After the pained sip, he settles, eyes finding Nate’s face shrouded in starlight that reflects along their skin, that glimmers in the mismatched eyes that meet his, that are so bright compared to the scar that cleaves Nate’s face. The Ascended’s eyes are focused on Sunjata’s lips, but the attuned can’t help but to keep looking, adoration clear in the steel and all thoughts of darkness and pits in the very back of his mind now.

Like what else? He asks, trying to juggle the glass so he can reach up with his free hand, to run his fingers along Nate’s collarbone, to his jaw, to run his thumb along his cheekbone and the briefest edge of the scar. You were my first for a lot of things too.

SUNJATA

NATE

The Flood isn't his preferred nickname, but it's better than most other things Sunjata could be called by others, by the public. I think Sunny suits you better. It was his though, wasn't it? Not a nickname just anyone was allowed to use. What did Jigano call you? Nate had met the Sage once, thought him a touch condescending, but ultimately harmless.

We were going to. Are going to. The ceremony they'd had is fresher in his mind, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily what he wants to remember, not when they have the option for something else, something not shrouded in a haze of illness. Past laid plans aren't going to stop his teasing though, his grin still edged with amusement. But now we have to. And I want to be courted, sonskyn. A trill of song chimes through the bond, following the notes the attuned's hand taps out.

The edge of amusement in his grin fades slightly, practicality shoving everything else aside. Nate can feel the pooling steel on him, even if he can't bring himself to meet it quite yet, moving the cup away when Sunjata finishes drinking, and setting it to the side again, out of the way. A soft noise leaves him, a hum, a rumble of thought, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips.

What else were firsts Sunjata has taken? That requires a lot more explanation, a lot more delving into painful memories and things that made parts of Nate ache, despite his best efforts to ignore them. Fingers trace along his chest, then up, a stuttered breath pulled in between lips that don't need it as the soft touch moves along his cheek, and the very edge of the scar across his face. It's a different kind of numb there, the touch fighting through a buzz of static. Nate's gaze lifts, finding the adoring steel, and he melts, tilting his head to press his lips against Sunjata's wrist. I'd never said I love you and meant it to anyone else before.

Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

I think so too. The agreement is easy, Sunjata finding warmth in the way Nate says his nickname. And he latches on, even as the next comment should bring darkness upon their easy conversation. There’s a quirk of his lip, some amusement flickering down the bond toward Nate as he recalls it. He called me Safrin’s Assassin. It comes out almost like a joke — he’s never been called upon by Safrin for anything. If anything, he’d gone to her time and time again, offering and asking, but never being asked.

Distraction comes by means of wedding receptions and courting, all things that have blossoming warmth shooting through him again instead of pain. I have a little bit already. The gifts count. He rumbles, sounding positively smug in his accented mental voice, dripping with pleasantry. But I’ll need a piano to do it all the way. This second thought comes as a rush, a bit of surprise.

He knows that while he’s asked a lot of Nate to explain, he shouldn’t keep his eyes on him. But it’s so tough to do when Sunjata wants nothing more than to lean into every touch, to focus on Nate’s face so sharply he couldn’t ever forget what it looked like in this moment. And perhaps that’s why he reaches out, dragging warm fingers along collarbones and jawlines and cheekbones, along the briefest edge of a scar that despite the brutality of it, Sunjata finds just as beautiful the same.

The words surprise him, truly surprise him, as evidenced in the shock that crosses his face, in the way his fingers twitch and pause against the Ascended’s skin, with the kiss pressed softly to his wrist — the very same wrist Nate had his first bite on him. He wonders in the sluggish mind of his if it’s poetic, but he doesn’t dwell on it, not as the smile burns through his eyes, as he decides to say fuck it against the pain in his jaw, a distant thought in the face of this.

The hand at Nate’s cheek slips into dark, long and satin hair, hoping to keep Nate still enough that he can lean in and press a kiss where his fingers had just roamed previously. It’s soft and gentle, but he charges through, pressing a longer one to Nate’s lips however sloppy and pain inducing it is. It’s worth it, despite what the heavy exhale he gives says. I love you, too. He says, his mental voice alight and bright, as if he’s saying it with enough fervor to pray to the gods and have them hear it. So much that it hurts. Whether it’s because of his jaw or the depth of how much he does, Sunjata doesn’t elaborate. Not yet, anyway.

SUNJATA

NATE

For a multitude of reasons, the answer he receives has Nate’s stomach flopping, bringing with it a curious nausea, and a sense of dread that crawls up his spine. A grin spreads over his face though, his eyes sparkling, his thoughts warm, hollow. Safrin’s assassin, huh? He laughs, shakes his head in a way that feels staged to him, feels too casual or too intentional or anything else other than honest. I’ll believe it when I see it. Another chuckle leaves him, though his mental voice grows serious with his next words. My sonskyn pas jou beter, dink jy nie?

Surprise catches Nate as well, at how quickly Sunjata’s agreed, how quickly he’s escalated to something grand and showy and unbelievably touching. That’s a tall order. Theres a beat as he casts his mind back, tries to remember if he’s seen a piano in Caido since he’s arrived. The moment overstays its welcome, Nate clicking his tongue to focus himself again. Maybe the courting can wait then. It still counts after, doesn’t it? And he laughs, properly, out loud and in his head until the sound wraps around them both, as warm as the blanket, as warm as their tangle of limbs. It’s a nice lieu, a brief respite in the swirl that they seem to pull each other into so easily.

For that moment, that hesitation, Nate is nothing to be remembered. He’s caught in the headlights, a loaded truck of memories barrelling towards him; sneaking around at the edges of town, in neighbourhoods where no one knows him; agreeing with the things his father says so casually, so easily; pretending and wishing and finally, finally just accepting it. He’s never been ashamed of himself a lie, never been afraid to step into the world face first and laugh at the consequences another lie, he’d simply... never had the chance back home. It would have happened, one day. He would have been himself, one day.

And it had, he was, here, so what reason was there to dwell in the past, to turn his thoughts back to that dark roiling pit?

He speaks, makes an admission more private, more profound than anything he’s spoken before, and softens utterly at the shock crashing over Sunjata’s face.

Nate wonders quietly, privately, if Sunjata knows just how much he’s done for him. If he knows that he’s something holy in Nate’s life, if he knows the absolution his gaze, his smile, his love brings Nate. The ascendeds lips brush over warm skin, over old scars, his eyes open, taking in everything he can. Sparkling fluid tears rim the edges of his eyes, the one that matches his husbands overflowing first.

The hand in his hair stills him, holds him in place without any effort, Nate willing to move or not move solely by his husbands whim at the moment. It’s frightening, in a way, so he doesn’t think about it, thinks about  bright steel eyes and dark hair with sun bleached gold and rough stubble and hands that he trusts to hold him and be there for him. He thinks about how Sunjata’s leaning closer, how that’s probably a bad idea, before lips press against his skin. Against the edge of jagged scar tissue. Against his lips. He doesn’t hear the noise that leaves him; almost a gasp and almost a moan; not over the words in his head, echoing over and over. Nate’s arms move, one wrapping around Sunjata’s shoulder, the other around his waist, holding him close, tight.

I love you too. Nate says his with the same kind of desperation, the same edge of a prayer, though there are no gods on his mind, nothing beyond the man in his arms and in his heart. So much it scares me sometimes.

Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

He doesn’t notice, too far gone mentally at the moment to spy the shift in Nate, the awkwardness that might hide behind the bright laugh, the bright smile. And as Korofi is said back to him, mentally, Sunjata can’t help the crinkling of his eyes with the smile he wishes to give. It’s much better. Because in the end, he was Nate’s. Gods be damned. He’d always pick him unless something forced his hand otherwise. He consistently hopes and prays it won’t, that he’d keep his mind through it all.

Not become some assassin in the night, least of all to the person that means the most to him.

It’s a good thing I’m tall, then, huh? The joke is offered easily, the switch in his tone reverting back to a cross between the ease of Torchline and less of the Korofi nobility that had overtaken him – Nate’s own words infiltrating his.  No, no, no. I mean… It does count after. But… I can find one before. For you. I want to. He’s jumbling his thoughts together, moving too fast for his mind to keep track of as he projects them.

Perhaps the feel of ivory keys beneath his calloused fingers might spark some… Peace. Something else to focus on. And perhaps the idea of a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a glass of whiskey above the keys, playing music just for Nate sparks some inner happiness he wasn’t sure he could reach again. Perhaps it’s what he needs to ground himself.

Nothing of that holds a candle to the warmth that blossoms in his chest, that pours like a flood down the bond to the other man, to wrap around those sore parts of his past and fill them with happiness that can’t be rubbed away. A happiness that blossoms and blooms, just as Nate had done for Sunjata in those darkest moments – the light to guide him out.

So he pushes and pushes that warmth through, leaning forward through the pain that they both know is a terrible idea but not willing to, not wanting to stop. The sound that colors the air from his husband is met with more warmth, more love, a smothered blanket of life to look forward to, to drown out the sadness and sorrows, of what could come and what was coming.

They’re stronger than that. They’re stronger than everything that wants to take them apart. He knows this. It’s his mantra, it’s his prayer.

Star-crossed lovers, as it were. Sunjata would move them if he could. He’d give everything. And after everything he’s done in life, it’s the least he could do to repent, to show any semblance of what a gift Nate has been to him, has brought him, has shown him.

It scares me too, skatjie. He murmurs, pulling away just enough that he can peer into the Ascended’s face, to loosen his hand in his hair to rest along his neck. I’d do it all over. Again and again. He adds on, breathlessly, his other hand coming up to push back the Ascended’s dark hair from his face, to wipe away the tears that may have fallen. Because it got me you. He's sure he's said this before, but something about it seems like it might mean more in the moment. And what could it really hurt, repeating the thoughts in his mind, the love in his heart?

SUNJATA

NATE

As long as he can summon a smile to Sunjata’s eyes, Nate can keep moving forward, can ignore the writhing inside of him and put that grin on his face. He can even start to believe it. He presses the mental equivalent of a kiss; a firm, trembling warmth; through the bond and shifts, pressing them closer together in a dozen different imperceptibly minute ways.

He’s not even the one on drugs, and the joke still manages to catch Nate off guard, his brows pulling together like he’s not entirely sure what Sunjata means. A bubble of laughter hits him out of nowhere, uncontrollable for a single moment of pure reaction. Gods, he can’t even muster a response. And there’s a snap, a shift back in Sunjata, his voice, all at once familiar again, all at once back in this moment fully with him. I’m not going to stop you if you want to. Nate’s trying to be supportive, encouraging. Trying to not let his voice shake with the enormity of the gesture, the soft edges of it crashing into him more effectively than any sharp implement could ever.

It swirls together into a storm, pressing and pounding against the inside of his skull, his ribs. His own inadequacies, his regrets and shame, growing into something that threatens to blow him away completely. That he would let blow him away, as if he had no other options.  

At the eye of the storm, he has a chance, an opportunity. Nate feels it, knows he has to make a choice. Knows he can sink deeper, that the option is always there, that it’s just so much more apparent, more tempting right now. Or... he can cling to something, to the hand offered out.

He’s left enough bruises on Sunjata for one day, but it doesn’t stop his hands from twisting into his husbands clothes so hard shake, doesn’t stop him from becoming a desperate, fervent thing, no matter the pin he knows it causes. He’s selfish, and cracked, and Sunjata is offering him a hand, a step up into something better.

Nate’s eyes are wide and staring when the attuned pulls back, desperately focused. He doesn’t react to the words, but the hand slipping out of his hair has him swallowing, eyes dipping in an almost blink. The other one, that lifts to wipe away a thin trail of fluid, manages to pull a soft huff of breath from him. It is a sentiment that’s been shared before, but this time, it’s the one that breaks him, his teeth clenching and his chest heaving breathlessly.

How is he supposed to respond? By trying to pull Sunjata close again, trying to press his face in along the uninjured side? By letting his mind fall away, distant and confused and elated and terrified, without any order? Nate does both, overwhelmed and panicked and trying to keep a hold of himself, of the situation. The first words that leave him, that he musters are a joke, or at least an attempt at one. I was supposed to be making you feel better.

It’s ironic really, that out of everything love is what broke his back, that cracked him into this state. Nate would laugh about it, if he could think about it at all right now.

Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits

// and if i was the only thing you couldn't bear to lose,
i'd set fire to the wood, just so you wouldn't have to bury me too //

I want to. He says with just as much amusement, a rumble of laughter vibrating through the bond toward his husband, his hands running along soft skin, over muscle, over shoulders and in dark hair as Nate’s hands curl into his clothes, hard enough that it distracts Sunjata a fraction, but not entirely. His gaze follows them, however, along the edge of the hands fisted into fabric, following along tattoos and rising and rising until he can scan Nate’s face again.

He spies that strong stare, of two toned eyes — a mix of him and a mix of electric blues with a scar that separates them, dark in the night and the moonlight filtering in. His hand slips out of Nate’s hair, to wipe away a shimmering tear, a breath inside him hitching as he moves to try and rub his thumb along the Ascended’s sharp jawline, trying to soothe the tension, the clenching. He wants to help, to smooth it over, not realizing that it’s his words and admission that brings such a state to Nate, a whirlwind of emotions neither of them are good at expressing.

Until Sunjata’s quite inebriated, at least.

He’s pulled in and he goes willingly, sighing softly into the face that’s buried against his uninjured side, Sunjata’s arms moving to wrap around Nate tightly and tangle them up with one another, never wanting to let go. You do a very good job at it. He hums, sending all that warmth back toward Nate, a bright light among the darkness of everything. He ends up resting his cheek along Nate’s shoulder, trying not to jostle too much because of the pain — pain that is distant right now with the flood of feelings between them.

I don’t think I would be here if it weren’t for you. Dangerous territory again and yet all Sunjata can feel is warmth and relief. And in a complete shift of everything, because his mind is shifting around completely, he huffs a quiet laugh against Nate’s skin. You’re really soft. As if to explain it more, he nuzzles his head in more, burying it into soft raven hair, arms tightening a fraction more as he shuts his eyes.

SUNJATA

NATE

Usually, when he gets to points like this, something in him shuts down, some defence mechanism. A voice in his screaming at him to stand up straight, to not show weakness, to not fucking cry, or he’d get something worth crying over. That doesn’t happen now though. Nate just cracks, threatening to break inwardly, held up only by the tight clench of his hands in Sunjata’s clothes. By the hands that run up his arms to his face, wiping away a tear and rubbing comfort into his tight jaw.

His husbands hands on him are enough to loosen his tight grip, hands smoothing against Sunjata’s skin instead and holding him close. There’s still a tightness in Nate’s arms, a silent assurance that he will not actually be letting go anytime soon.

A huff leaves him, Nate working his jaw and releasing a tremble now that there aren’t hands there to feel it. Warmth washes through the bond, love without condition, without exception, infecting Nate’s tone with no small measure of shaky joy. Good. I wanna do a good job taking care of you. He all but stumbles though his own accent, through a thick lump in his through that should have no bearing at all on the silent words. I don’t think I’d want to be here without you.

Another shift, this one the easiest to follow after, the kindest to step into so far. Soft enough to fall asleep on? Nate hums softly through the bond. He is still a fragile, cracking thing, but part of holding Sunjata is Sunjata holding him back, holding him together. There’s just enough sense left in his mind to not sag and lean in too heavily against his husband. I’ll be here the whole time. As if in agreement, Haai snuggles closer as well, and even Pemota lends her warm weight to their pile.

It’s the perfect place to fall asleep, and even Nate finds himself drifting in a way he so often doesn’t, somehow more at peace than he’s been for a while. He’s glad to enjoy it, while it lasts.

Done~

Deep down, it hurts to know
How bad I wanna call it quits