// i am not the only traveler who has not repaid his debt
i've been searching for a trail to follow again, take me back to the night we met //
i've been searching for a trail to follow again, take me back to the night we met //
”I didn’t think so either.” Even now, it’s a touch surprising, though Nate will be the first to admit he knows very little of the Warden. ”Neron assured me though, and I’m trusting him.” Odd phrasing, deliberately so, though Nate doesn’t stumble over this like he has other things. It stops mattering quickly though, and they tangle together into something more comfortable, Sunjata a warm soothing weight on him.
It’s a comfort he needs, as his gaze dips away, and the all too real premonition comes to mind again. Darkness helps, Nate’s throat clicking as he swallows, then speaks, hesitation dragging every word. ”We weren’t prepared enough. I... I didn’t see how, but we were split up, spread out.” A death sentence, in that deep, lonely darkness, even for an ascended. Perhaps especially for an ascended, this year. It’s not a train of though that Nate wants to linger in, but practicality forces his hand, a verbal pout tainting the silent words. I know nothing will come of it. And I think it’s a good idea. I just... don’t like it. Not that he needs to say that, the very mood dripping off just his words, when it hasn’t even happened yet.
Nate knows exactly what Sunjata is shifting to do, and yet the kiss still hits him like a train. There’s not even a feigned moment of stillness, just the ascendeds hands, possessive and firm and desperately pulling his husband closer. It’s almost manic in how quickly it comes on, how it overwhelms their bond with a wordless sense of love. Of appreciation. Of something deep and unreachable, save for moments like this one. Shifting instead of pulling away, Nate lets his lips drag across the attuned’s cheeks, his jaw, then presses a harder kiss to the spot just below his ear, and just above the ghosts of his teeth. A warmed hand swipes down along Sunjatas spine, lower than it necessarily needs to before rising again, meandering along the long arches of scar tissue and tattoo ink.
A bite seems inevitable, but it never comes, Nate slipping further and further along his husbands neck until he’s leaning up into the crook of his shoulder. Lips still tickle against tanned skin, though it’s impossible to tell if the movement is yet more kisses, or silent words. I love you. This at least, is clear, a bells chime in the sudden calm that emanates from the ascended, buzzing and doomed to be short lived. For now though, it lives, thrives.
It’s a comfort he needs, as his gaze dips away, and the all too real premonition comes to mind again. Darkness helps, Nate’s throat clicking as he swallows, then speaks, hesitation dragging every word. ”We weren’t prepared enough. I... I didn’t see how, but we were split up, spread out.” A death sentence, in that deep, lonely darkness, even for an ascended. Perhaps especially for an ascended, this year. It’s not a train of though that Nate wants to linger in, but practicality forces his hand, a verbal pout tainting the silent words. I know nothing will come of it. And I think it’s a good idea. I just... don’t like it. Not that he needs to say that, the very mood dripping off just his words, when it hasn’t even happened yet.
Nate knows exactly what Sunjata is shifting to do, and yet the kiss still hits him like a train. There’s not even a feigned moment of stillness, just the ascendeds hands, possessive and firm and desperately pulling his husband closer. It’s almost manic in how quickly it comes on, how it overwhelms their bond with a wordless sense of love. Of appreciation. Of something deep and unreachable, save for moments like this one. Shifting instead of pulling away, Nate lets his lips drag across the attuned’s cheeks, his jaw, then presses a harder kiss to the spot just below his ear, and just above the ghosts of his teeth. A warmed hand swipes down along Sunjatas spine, lower than it necessarily needs to before rising again, meandering along the long arches of scar tissue and tattoo ink.
A bite seems inevitable, but it never comes, Nate slipping further and further along his husbands neck until he’s leaning up into the crook of his shoulder. Lips still tickle against tanned skin, though it’s impossible to tell if the movement is yet more kisses, or silent words. I love you. This at least, is clear, a bells chime in the sudden calm that emanates from the ascended, buzzing and doomed to be short lived. For now though, it lives, thrives.
NATE
