You pump the blood so I can breathe, Don't let me go don't ever leave
There’s something about watching Sunjata watch him that has something growling and toothy rising up in Nate, something that has him pressing in closer, his hands and teeth a threat. He might be overwhelmed, might be more affected than he could have ever expected, but there’s still an art to this, a look that lifts his brows and tilts his head, just enough to answer the question silently.
An appreciative purr rumbles through him as Nate stands still, hands on his hips, and watches Sunjata with his intense, unblinking stare. As the belt clatters to the ground, he shifts, slipping forward slowly, but obviously, his foot nudging his husbands legs apart so Nate can continue his approach to the edge of the bed.
”Did you know,” The roughness of Nate’s voice is surprisingly genuine, considering his usual place above physical reactions, ”that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my fuckin’ hands on?” And those hands come up, hands too rough to be intentionally teasing, but still just touching, like Nate can’t quite believe the warmth of skin, or the strange difference between ink and scar and skin.
With only a moments hesitation, an utter unwillingness to stop touching, Nate leans back and rips his shirt off, unbuttons both their pants in the same quick motion, though he can’t force himself to do more than that, leaning in press his tongue into Sunjata’s mouth again. Fingers dip at his waistband, some part of him still trying weakly to free them, but most of Nate is occupied in the pure sensation of his kiss, low sighing groans muffled by the attuned’s lips.
An appreciative purr rumbles through him as Nate stands still, hands on his hips, and watches Sunjata with his intense, unblinking stare. As the belt clatters to the ground, he shifts, slipping forward slowly, but obviously, his foot nudging his husbands legs apart so Nate can continue his approach to the edge of the bed.
”Did you know,” The roughness of Nate’s voice is surprisingly genuine, considering his usual place above physical reactions, ”that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my fuckin’ hands on?” And those hands come up, hands too rough to be intentionally teasing, but still just touching, like Nate can’t quite believe the warmth of skin, or the strange difference between ink and scar and skin.
With only a moments hesitation, an utter unwillingness to stop touching, Nate leans back and rips his shirt off, unbuttons both their pants in the same quick motion, though he can’t force himself to do more than that, leaning in press his tongue into Sunjata’s mouth again. Fingers dip at his waistband, some part of him still trying weakly to free them, but most of Nate is occupied in the pure sensation of his kiss, low sighing groans muffled by the attuned’s lips.
NATE
