You pump the blood so I can breathe, Don't let me go don't ever leave
Amusement and appreciation both stroke some deep part of the ascended’s ego, his body loosening that much more, his face splitting around a wide grin. Don’t like other people touchin’ my stuff. Nate hums petulantly, rolling a shoulder. While Sunjata might not be stuff, he most certainly is Nate’s. They have the rings, they have the scars over scars, they have the home, all to prove it. Bet they wish they were me though, eh?
Hands drop again, squeezing and contorting the attuned’s checks while Nate just smiles up at him. ’M the only one lucky enough for you. I’m the only fucking person here who deserves you. A knife edge comes out of nowhere, Nate teetering again, the struggle obvious in the way he has to try out his grin more than once before it settles, obvious in the calculating edge to his eyes, the way he tilts his head back and looks so effortlessly effortless that it can’t possible be real.
There is nothing more distractingly soothing than the whisper of Sunjata’s hands on his skin. Nate can’t help but shudder in the face of it, his body latching on to every slight sensation and amplifying it, a sweet echoing chime that chased nearly everything else out of his mind. He wants to stay like this forever, want to live out their last two years locked in this closeness, but he can’t turn down the chance to tease.
Fuck yeah, moan for me. The sharp edge of a demand curls around the thought, though it’s clear by the way he pauses that Nate had not meant to actually broadcast it. He grins, huffing out a short bark of laughter when he does, and surges back up to recapture the attuned’s lips, smashing them together so hard he tastes the iron tang of blood and the greasy sweetness of fluid mixing on their tongues. Somethin’ like that. Nate rumbles, dragging his husbands head to the side and parting them again. You’re the one who’s gonna be doing’ the ridin’ though, cowboy. As if to demonstrate, he rolls his hips up, electric hands appearing and wrapping around Sunjata’s hips just in time to hold him in place. You think you can handle me, prinses?
Hands drop again, squeezing and contorting the attuned’s checks while Nate just smiles up at him. ’M the only one lucky enough for you. I’m the only fucking person here who deserves you. A knife edge comes out of nowhere, Nate teetering again, the struggle obvious in the way he has to try out his grin more than once before it settles, obvious in the calculating edge to his eyes, the way he tilts his head back and looks so effortlessly effortless that it can’t possible be real.
There is nothing more distractingly soothing than the whisper of Sunjata’s hands on his skin. Nate can’t help but shudder in the face of it, his body latching on to every slight sensation and amplifying it, a sweet echoing chime that chased nearly everything else out of his mind. He wants to stay like this forever, want to live out their last two years locked in this closeness, but he can’t turn down the chance to tease.
Fuck yeah, moan for me. The sharp edge of a demand curls around the thought, though it’s clear by the way he pauses that Nate had not meant to actually broadcast it. He grins, huffing out a short bark of laughter when he does, and surges back up to recapture the attuned’s lips, smashing them together so hard he tastes the iron tang of blood and the greasy sweetness of fluid mixing on their tongues. Somethin’ like that. Nate rumbles, dragging his husbands head to the side and parting them again. You’re the one who’s gonna be doing’ the ridin’ though, cowboy. As if to demonstrate, he rolls his hips up, electric hands appearing and wrapping around Sunjata’s hips just in time to hold him in place. You think you can handle me, prinses?
NATE
