[ His hands have stopped moving, at least, and for that Nate is eternally grateful, but the expression on Ian's face gives him cause for concern. He's delighted, pinched with his teeth in his lip in anticipation, that look of sheer and unbridled glee that Nate loves fiercely for all the devastation it tends to wreak. Up to something, and not of a mind to hide it. ]
Oh?
[ The palm around Ian's wrist shifts, thumb rubbing against his pulse as if trying to determine his tell, his motives. A fruitless effort when he's as predictably unpredictable as they come. ]
no subject
Oh?
[ The palm around Ian's wrist shifts, thumb rubbing against his pulse as if trying to determine his tell, his motives. A fruitless effort when he's as predictably unpredictable as they come. ]
What's that?