// ready or not here i come
did i take you from the bats in the woods? //
did i take you from the bats in the woods? //
There's no argument, no raising of voices. Only the tightening of Nate’s arms around him that he presses himself further into, the quiet low buzz of the attuned bond between them as he tries his best to say the words on his mind, incapable until his face is buried, until he’s sure that Nate won’t leave. And if there isn’t? Would it be something Nate would understand? That for the Old Gods to win and Sunjata tied to Safrin that she might hold her part of the bargain, that she might make it so he doesn’t lose the other half of his soul?
He sucks in a sharp breath, nuzzling his face further in, breathing in the scent of Nate to calm his racing heartbeat that thunders and stutters with the conversation, paired with the vast emptiness he feels inside that he tries to mask over with physical touch.
The question stills him into that predatory stillness again, the Attuned pausing before he manages to get a grip on himself to pull away just a fraction, to lift his head up to scan the uneven curls of Nate’s hair, his hands resting at Nate’s hips where his fingertips dig in for a comforting pressure. If the old gods lose and I’m just accepted again… He trails off, working his jaw. What harm would there be if the Voice had won anyway? It had taken centuries for the next war to start. Then yes. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wanted to be with Nate forever, to have him forever. And Sunjata wants every potential option to ensure that.
If it means becoming a demigod? So be it.
He doesn’t understand the words his husband says, but he does know the smell of rain, the electricity that sparks, and Sunjata opens up a bit more to let Nate through, to let himself be felt like a comforting warm blanket — because they both know it’s far more likely that Sunjata imagined himself having to bury Nate — it’s why he was in such a mess with Safrin in the first place.
And besides, they’ve already buried more than enough.
He presses forward and keeps his eyes shut tight, forehead to forehead, one hand rising to tangle in dark curls and cup the back of his husband’s head. “I love you.” He says instead, paired with a familiar tot die einde.
He sucks in a sharp breath, nuzzling his face further in, breathing in the scent of Nate to calm his racing heartbeat that thunders and stutters with the conversation, paired with the vast emptiness he feels inside that he tries to mask over with physical touch.
The question stills him into that predatory stillness again, the Attuned pausing before he manages to get a grip on himself to pull away just a fraction, to lift his head up to scan the uneven curls of Nate’s hair, his hands resting at Nate’s hips where his fingertips dig in for a comforting pressure. If the old gods lose and I’m just accepted again… He trails off, working his jaw. What harm would there be if the Voice had won anyway? It had taken centuries for the next war to start. Then yes. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wanted to be with Nate forever, to have him forever. And Sunjata wants every potential option to ensure that.
If it means becoming a demigod? So be it.
He doesn’t understand the words his husband says, but he does know the smell of rain, the electricity that sparks, and Sunjata opens up a bit more to let Nate through, to let himself be felt like a comforting warm blanket — because they both know it’s far more likely that Sunjata imagined himself having to bury Nate — it’s why he was in such a mess with Safrin in the first place.
And besides, they’ve already buried more than enough.
He presses forward and keeps his eyes shut tight, forehead to forehead, one hand rising to tangle in dark curls and cup the back of his husband’s head. “I love you.” He says instead, paired with a familiar tot die einde.
// i'll show you no harm, i know you mean well
but we're up to no good //
but we're up to no good //
SUNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
