SUNJATA
look who's digging their own grave
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
this is what they all say; you'll drink yourself to death
It’s a promise sealed with a kiss, one that Sunjata doesn’t want to break out of but has to when his lungs heave. He lays back, hands stuck to his husband as long as he can, even as his hands are moved, as he feels the cool fingertips on his wrists, pressure applied along his skin that has goosebumps rising in their wake. He sucks down a breath, one he doesn’t hold, trying his best to even out his breath even though each and every touch Nate offers seems to offer more and more promises.
Truthfully, if Nate wanted to tear him apart and rebuild him himself, Sunjata wouldn’t be opposed. If he wanted to carve his name into each and every bone in his body, Sunjata would leap at the opportunity. Yet for his heart? His heart has always pumped in a rhythm just for him. But his hands are released, Sunjata swallowing hard as he peers at Nate through a half lidded gaze, the pressure applied to the horn keeping him still enough, not wanting to ruin this moment with that rebellious streak that burns through him.
“Longheat was hot.” Sunjata complains, a small whine, a crooked smile that’s toothy and sharp, one that grows softer as Nate speaks again, as his husbands words wash over him and a sudden flush of not just attraction, lust, and adoration covers his skin, but one of bashfulness – his gaze breaking from his husband’s vibrant blues to glance at the shadowed ceiling, the hand in raven curls pushing further in, tangling and tugging as he goes. “Please.” He trails off, about to make some kind of snarky comment, only to be cut off when the words continue.
His gaze flickers back toward his husband’s face now, scanning him with something softer, something more open. “If I’m your sun, you’re my supernova.” He breathes, his breath evened out, something gentler crossing his face until Nate’s words hit him and he barks an actual laugh – hushing himself quickly as he tugs Nate’s hair a bit more, raises that scarred eyebrow. “What’re you waiting for then?” It comes out as a purr, a shift into more of that playfulness, relief that his husband’s back.
Truthfully, if Nate wanted to tear him apart and rebuild him himself, Sunjata wouldn’t be opposed. If he wanted to carve his name into each and every bone in his body, Sunjata would leap at the opportunity. Yet for his heart? His heart has always pumped in a rhythm just for him. But his hands are released, Sunjata swallowing hard as he peers at Nate through a half lidded gaze, the pressure applied to the horn keeping him still enough, not wanting to ruin this moment with that rebellious streak that burns through him.
“Longheat was hot.” Sunjata complains, a small whine, a crooked smile that’s toothy and sharp, one that grows softer as Nate speaks again, as his husbands words wash over him and a sudden flush of not just attraction, lust, and adoration covers his skin, but one of bashfulness – his gaze breaking from his husband’s vibrant blues to glance at the shadowed ceiling, the hand in raven curls pushing further in, tangling and tugging as he goes. “Please.” He trails off, about to make some kind of snarky comment, only to be cut off when the words continue.
His gaze flickers back toward his husband’s face now, scanning him with something softer, something more open. “If I’m your sun, you’re my supernova.” He breathes, his breath evened out, something gentler crossing his face until Nate’s words hit him and he barks an actual laugh – hushing himself quickly as he tugs Nate’s hair a bit more, raises that scarred eyebrow. “What’re you waiting for then?” It comes out as a purr, a shift into more of that playfulness, relief that his husband’s back.
look who makes their own bed, lies right down within it
and what will you have left?
and what will you have left?
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.
