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.
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
How bad I wanna call it quits
