( God only knows how long he'd drag it out, maybe not much longer, jury's out. He likes the build-up, he likes the game, he likes everything he's getting from Nate and knowing exactly what that is when it happens. He fucking loves the back and forth of heat that just keeps sending pulses of feeling through him, so odds are it'd be at least a little longer.
And then Nate goes and says that, and wraps a hand around him, and his brain short circuits with an audible click coming from the back of his throat. Just a pointless, meaningless; )
Kk-
( Quickly followed by a sharp flood of breath rushing out of his lungs.
Congratulations, you win, all thoughts of teasing are immediately gone. It feels so good it's kind of sharp, and Nate's rewarded for his decision with Ian finally ducking in to catch his lips in a real and proper kiss. )
[ That's satisfying. That sound of arrested breath, like it catches too short, too fast in his lungs, and Ian exhales in a way that softens the connection. Nate wanted something cushioned by time and care and this is not that, it's sharp and fun and honestly- a little bit too much like the Aerie in a way that would feel disingenuous if he wasn't so horny.
He's grinning when Ian finally kisses him, teeth knocking and slanting awkwardly and Nate laughs into his mouth, not out of the thrill of catching him out so effectively but because he feels the same jab of want, like a stitch in his side. A good hurt.
Muscle memory sinks in again and he he squeezes gently, rolling his thumb, adding a little much-needed friction to see what kind of sounds he can wring out of him. A conversation, rather than a competition. ]
( See, and that's the goal, isn't it? Nate's horny, things are staying light, they're not bogged down by the neurotic mess that is Ian's internal monologue, and nobody gets hurt. Nate laughs, and it feels like direct affirmation that he's doing this right. It's satisfying the way fixing something is satisfying.
He pulses heavy and hard in Nate's hand, and he channels the feeling into a shaky exhale he mutes down to something just audible enough to show that it's right, that it's good. Muffled but encouraging. He pulls away from Nate's mouth to tuck that sound into his neck, the stretch of skin between shoulder and ear. In the Aerie, he cataloged all the things that could pull a reaction out of Nate. He's got a route mapped out in his head, a course from this point to the end point with three or four branches splitting off as potential deviations.
All of it starts with warm, open-mouthed kissing along his neck, down his throat. Easy, guaranteed, not even a question, the correct answer. He's had an excellently practiced technique even before the Aerie's experience helping him nail down what Nate likes -- he knows the right combination of gentle suction, of softly passing lips, of slightly harder teeth. A well-choreographed dance, an almost exact science based on a dozen previous partners and modified to fit the unique element that is Nate's preferences. )
[ Nate's grin widens at the small, stunted sound that escapes Ian before he decides to shift and duck his head, keeping busy. It's warm and softly scratchy, something that makes him hum pleasantly, careful nipping that has his eyes lidding. For all intents and purposes it's what he likes, pretty much to a T, enough pressure and proximity to ratchet things higher, but that's the problem.
It's perfect.
...and there it is again. A kind of static, like a mental block, or a curtain he doesn't entirely know how to push aside. Experiencing it firsthand is really weird and distracting knowing how it felt to have an open connection, to see and sense everything Ian did, to breathe him in fully. The fuzzy vaseline lens of an old movie, rainwater pelting a window.
Very suddenly Nate tenses, which is perhaps not the best thing a guy can do when handling someone else's dick but he does it all the same. Brow furrowed he opens his mouth, closes it, can't stay fucking silent- ]
( He gets a split-second of warning through the bond. That weird sudden awareness that Nate feels, passing straight through his skin into Ian's. That's the only reason he isn't outright startled when Nate freezes up, but there's no fully fending off the little slip of confusion and tiny flit of nerves that he smooths over quickly with that static blanket. )
Um.
( Sorry, give him a second, there's a hand around his dick and he was kind of mapping out a voyage in his brain that involved a lot of nudity. It takes him a second to switch gears. )
Filing... my taxes?
( Breathy-amused, coupled with a kind of pointed look down between their bodies for a second.
[ Nate says without thinking, because he doesn't know how else to describe it. Ian feels wrong, shuttered and masked in a way that's difficult for Nate to articulate. He relinquishes his otherwise steady grip to rest the same hand on Ian's chest, over his ribcage, searching his face with an abrupt confusion.
It takes him a second to pick up on it. Like the time he bandaged Stephen's wounds, stitched him up, and Stephen managed to block off a whole part of himself despite the contact. A wall. Except there it was defined, here it's hazy and full of multitudes rather than a solid barrier.
The effect is avoidance and the instant he defines it recognition streaks across his face like lightning and he looks at Ian in newfound bafflement. ]
It's like jerking off an elevator music cover of The Girl From Ipanema.
( There's a creeping vine of discomfort that starts crawling across his chest when Nate starts searching his face. The low, subconscious notion that he knows what Nate's talking about, he's just trying really hard not to acknowledge it.
And then there's that witty analogy, and a flare of offense-defensiveness-amusementbecauseokayshutupbutstill. )
What is it with you and The Girl From Ipanema?
( Because that's the part he should be fixated on. His own hands drop down a little - not away, just retracting so only his fingertips remain, lightly pressed to either of Nate's sides. )
Why does it feel like that's the fourth time that's come up?
[ He didn't mean to put Ian on the defensive but did so without even thinking about it. Of course saying something like that is going to raise someone's hackles, it was stupid and lacked perspective and is probably a little selfish in the sense that it's asking for more than what someone is already giving.
Nate's scrutiny softens and he is rapidly becoming aware of how embarrassing it is for him to have noticed in the first place. ]
I'm sorry, it- it just feels weird when you're- it's like there's something in the way.
[ Was it the wrong call? Should he just put on his hideous sparkly jeans and get the fuck out? Jesus. The anxiety at stopping begins to bleed into his face. ]
I liked what you were doing, but you feel like- I don't know, like you're. Somewhere else.
( Honestly, almost any other reaction might have him doubling down. Accusation, interrogation, he'd probably be retreating even harder into himself.
But no, he's feeling anxiety rolling off of Nate in waves -- it's enough to tug on the guilty strings of his heart, which in turn cracks the door for some of his own anxiety to echo back. )
No, I'm not- it's not... like that.
( He puffs out an exhale. Pulls one hand away to scrub over his beard and then push wet strands of hair back away from his face. )
I'm here, I'm just... trying not to be... too... here. I mean, like- mentally. Wait, no, that's not... I don't mean that how it sounds.
[ Hey, do you want to tell me? Elena would ask, and Nate would either shy away or lean in. Yes or no. It's easy, there are no expectations, and he's had this conversation more times than he can count but never from this side. It was always the other way around, always Nate building walls and watching people from on top of them.
He can't push. He gets it, but he can't push. Knowing how that dissociation feels from the other person's perspective hurts and sucks and he honestly can't believe how many people he knows let him get away with it for as long as he did.
So Nate lightens contact, to avoid taking something he isn't expressly offered. He nods quietly and for a moment the only sound is the spray of the shower while he focuses on Ian's scars. ]
( They have a lot of scars between them to talk about.
He feels like a fucking asshole. Drops his hands the rest of the way away, not necessarily because he wants to cut Nate out so much as it's just unconscious instinct to try and reel himself in when he's feeling any one thing too strongly. Guilt, in this case. Self-directed frustration at doing exactly the thing he was trying to avoid doing.
Fuck. )
Ah... ( A beat, while he considers how to answer that question. ) The Aerie. Maybe.
( That might not even be the right answer, it's more complicated. Harder to articulate, and he follows it up with barely a second in between tracks. )
Look, I'm sorry. I am, I'm not... I'm not checked out, or... like, thinking of England. I'm just trying to stay-- the version that doesn't overthink things into the fucking ground and accidentally kill the whole thing. Which... ironically... accidentally killed the whole thing, so it's not you, it's-- oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm not even gonna finish that sentence. This, right now, see, this is... a really compelling example of my point, I think.
[ He doesn't reach out again even if he wants it, because mainlining contact and emotion like that is kind of fucked when you're working through some stuff and Nate knows better than to break that kind of boundary no matter how much he wants to hold somebody. It's a long, long moment before he gets an answer to his question and when it comes, it's about what he expected. Nate has struggled with the same thing, rectifying another him, another them, another life. ]
Hey, hey, it's okay.
[ He rushes to reassure him, and it is okay, though Nate wonders how much expectation of the Aerie played into Ian asking him out, deciding to take him on a date, working through intimacy for the sake of trying to acquire something he has once. ]
I guess I...uh. I get it, with the- we had a thing, and it was easy. [ Easy to think about and reflect on. Nate's hands fidget at his sides and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth to worry it with his teeth. ] ..I guess I wanna make sure you're not trying to recreate what was there. A lot of that was me, but...some of it wasn't. I'm different. We're different.
( It's calmer, quieter, but confident. He shifts, backing out of Nate's space - not to leave but to pivot, pressing his back against the wall and curling his hands around the rail. Shoulder to shoulder instead of chest to chest, so he can breathe out and rest his head against the tile while he fumbles through articulation. )
I know we're different, I've been... kind of keeping that in my head this whole time, trying not to like... I don't know, like cheat on a test? It's not-- that, that I'm trying to be. It's not... who we were that I'm...
( Why the fuck is it so hard to explain this, why doesn't the English language have better terminology for referring to your alternate universe life? )
I'm just-- trying to be who I was because I wasn't a neurotic fucking mess there. Here, I'm pretty sure as soon as we start, I'm gonna... I don't know, feel feelings and freak myself out about feeling feelings, and then feel bad that you can feel me freaking out about feeling feelings, and then wind up feeling feelings about that...
( A breath, an almost-laugh except there's no humor, just kind of a long-suffering self-mockery. )
And I just... really wanted to have sex with you in the shower.
[ He's been worried since they started this whole thing that he won't meet the expectations that the other Nate met, that he won't measure up to the man he was in another life under completely different circumstances. How would it translate, and how would Ian consider him? Did he want Nate, or that Nate? It soothes some of his original concerns to know they're being treated as separate entities but the core issue is...something else entirely.
It isn't a conclusion Nate would come to on his own, either, but it hits close to home in its familiarity. The fear of being vulnerable is a constant in his own life and he nods along in understanding, huffing a little laugh at the capstone statement. ]
That doesn't have to be off the table.
[ As much of a boner killer as he apparently is, since he just had to point out the issues, had to bring them up. Nate watches Ian in the periphery, wondering whether this is a conversation better relegated to after a shower. Maybe it's better to rip the Band-Aid off. ]
I know there are parts you don't want me to see, and I- I really get that. There's a lot I don't want you to see, either, but we're probably gonna feel feelings every time we touch each other.
( He muses somewhat dryly, that touch of self-directed mockery still lingering around the tiny smile that takes over his mouth momentarily.
Nate's not wrong, obviously - he's felt something for Nate just about every time they've had skin to skin contact, but things can feel a little different when you're holding hands compared to when you're having sex with someone. When his heart and his dick are working at the same time, he's got a pretty decent suspicion just how significant his feelings are going to seem. That freaks him out, and it also freaks him out that Nate's going to have a full access pass to see it, and it also freaks him out that Nate's gonna see him freaking himself out about it.
But.
It's not like he can avoid it forever, and it isn't fair to Nate that he lock himself down like this every time. It's also probably not... healthy.
He scrubs a hand over his face again, then gently pushes away from the shower wall. )
Okay, can I just-- can I try again, and you not... Like, if it gets weird for you, just say so, and if I end up running out of my own apartment fully nude midway through, don't take it personally?
[ It's not healthy, and they're probably going to go through forty-odd iterations of this exact conversation based on who panics first in what scenario in the near future, but Hell, it's a lot better than immediately jumping out of the nearest window. ]
I'll do my best.
[ He laughs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and cognizant of the fact that Ian will be able to read his own conflict loud and clear. Nate was married for years, is aware of his shortcomings and past, and is more so aware of how much he still keeps from Ian.
Nate tips his head back against the tiles to watch him, the last of the color on Ian's shoulder slipping away down the drain. ]
( A conversational assurance, entirely too casual. )
It's like this whole Tahitian Rain vibe, it really helps me keep my chakras balanced, keeps everything zen. Plus I've kind of been hyping this up in my head now and if we spend the rest of it just like... scrubbing off paint it might get awkward. Throw off the whole thing. We'd have to make small-talk, and nothing kills the mood faster than talking about your niece's quinceañera while you towel off. I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna keep talking until you throw me out of my own bathroom, so can I just--
( Here, let him reinitiated contact. Just... to bite the bullet. He wraps his fingers gently around Nate's bicep, and there it is - the flood of nervousness and the quiet unshakable desire to do it right, the not completely cooled spark of want that's quieter now than it was two or three minutes ago, and a general muffled uncertainty.
Help him... figure out how to pick back up again, or shut it down, or... he just needs a little boost here, is all. He's overthinking it. )
[ God, he is so...fucking cute about this. A little neurotic, but still cute. It's charming in its own way, in spite of the fact that Ian only just recently admitted that he was simultaneously trying to be present and also trying not to be, that he keeps chattering like a nervous parrot about things that don't matter because they're just words intended to fill the silence.
It stuns back into exactly that when Ian finally reaches for him and the sensation of that mild fear, the concern, ripples through him like a warm tide. He's a tangle of the same kind of messy thoughts that swirled incessantly in Nate's head the night he came over to admit that trying anything with him would be complicated, that patience was going to have to be the watchword.
It's not a stretch to extend the same courtesy here.
You're adorable.
[ He says softly, barely teasing, turning his palm up so his fingertips skim Ian's elbow as he cranes back in. ]
( It helps, actually, surprisingly. More than he thought it would. Not the whole bearing his ridiculous internal mess of conflict part, but feeling what Nate's feeling instead. It gives him something to anchor to, something to focus on, a tether to keep himself from spiraling out any farther. He can huff out an incredulous breath, put up a front of mock-offense they both know he doesn't feel. )
That is not... what I was hoping to hear while we were naked in the shower together.
( Which is to say, it's a million times better than get out of the shower, asshole, so he'll take it. He leans in, swaying into the pull that comes with the touch. When they're close enough to bump noses this time, it isn't teasing that has him hesitating there. It's a slower, softer, more tentative kind of uncertainty. A flipped switch, from I know exactly how to do this to am I doing this right?
When he does touch down this time, it's chaste. Probably underwhelming, he thinks, but whatever. He needs to find his sea legs and figure out how to be real. )
[ He says indulgently, sporting half a grin as Ian works through his poor excuse for indignation. What follows isn't at all like before, no sharp technique cutting in through practice and repetition: it's feeling out new territory, like learning an instrument or acquiring a skill. More of a question and answer session than a lecture, moving in kind.
It's sweet, and soft, and hedging probably out of a concern of stretching too far and taking too much on the repeat. Nate's free hand finds Ian's and pulls it to his side and one of many old scars, vulnerabilities ripe for exploring, and what pulses across surprises even him.
I trust you.
It isn't easily given, he can feel himself wanting to recoil, to pull it back, but doesn't. The strain is there even as that same hand slips back up Ian's bicep to the side of his neck, trying to be welcoming. Trying to be open. Ian isn't the only one who struggles with it. ]
( He gladly accepts the invitation, the kiss going slower while half his attention shifts to the tips of his fingers. They travel along the shapes of a few scars, brushing along those lines just the same as they explore the rise and fall of muscle — which he has in abundance, Jesus Christ. Whichever of those rainbow gods creates genes should be taking notes.
A few are familiar. A few are different, and that gentle pull of curiosity about their origin story gets once again tucked away for a later time — he's already killed the mood once, he doesn't want to commit double homicide. It's forgotten almost immediately anyway with that deliberate push of feeling.
I trust you.
It pulls an audible exhale through his nose, exactly in time with a flood of warmth of his own. Hits him in the heart and the pelvis simultaneously and for the life of him he can't explain why.
Feeling Nate experience that same struggle against the impulse to pull back is... really fucking reassuring, actually. It brushes him with cool and comforting relief; he feels less bad about feeling it himself, knowing he's not the only one. That he doesn't have to explain or justify it, because the person he's with gets it. When he deepens the kiss, when he tries to coax lips apart, it's with a weird sense of gratitude. As much appreciation as there is warmth.
...also, maybe a slightly different version of curiosity. Listen, man, he's not gonna run on facts and numbers, but he still wants to research reactions and catalog responses. That's just his brain. )
[ It's odd, how soothing it is to know that someone else feels just as terrifically anxious as you. There isn't even the usual "I understand" or meaningful audible exchange of words on the subject, just an understanding and appreciation that reflects back at him, an echo without reduction that curls into the far reaches of his limbs and resonates in him like the swirling sound of a singing bowl. A thrumming sensation that fills his head.
Ian's fingers skim his chest, his stomach, all potent curiosity and plucking discordant strings that make him shiver. They're both working at this, they're both trying, they're both a little afraid.
There's an obvious risk to it, in showing his hand once more. A risk to letting him see the jagged edges, maybe even cut himself on them. The rags and bones of the person he still sometimes finds himself trying not to be, compared to the person he is.
But it doesn't take a whole lot of prompting for Nate to open his mouth, to gently fist a handful of Ian's hair, to thumb at the hollow at the base of his skull. He presses in no less eagerly but with a sudden, deep desire to learn again, to commit new information to memory and yeah, he might hum delightedly against Ian's lips knowing full well that Ian is doing the same damn thing. Tit for tat.
Speaking of which- Nate's underutilized hand feels up Ian's chest in return, fingertips dragging his collarbone as he experimentally scrapes his teeth over a lip. ]
( It's... a little overwhelming, to be honest — this combination of feeling and feeling. The shivering pleasure he's getting from the fist in his hair battling for his attention with the more emotional conversation happening beneath the skin. It's a back and forth on a different level, and even more than the uptick in pressure and pace it's the feeling Nate's got that shoots through him. A matching eagerness, a near-identical curiosity and the pressing desire to learn. It just... fits.
It's appealing as all fuck, actually. Breath rushes audibly and quickly through his nose, driven out of his lungs by a sparking heat riding deep and low in him. Any flagging from that awkward conversation is immediately gone, and his fingertips dig in maybe just a little too hard where he's hanging onto Nate's sides.
Can't really crowd him any further into the wall, but it might seem a little like he's trying.
Unbidden, a thought flits in. Stupid, absurd, completely out of place with the rest of him falling down the rabbit hole, but all the same it's just strong enough to get him to pull back an inch and mutter incredulously: )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
And then Nate goes and says that, and wraps a hand around him, and his brain short circuits with an audible click coming from the back of his throat. Just a pointless, meaningless; )
Kk-
( Quickly followed by a sharp flood of breath rushing out of his lungs.
Congratulations, you win, all thoughts of teasing are immediately gone. It feels so good it's kind of sharp, and Nate's rewarded for his decision with Ian finally ducking in to catch his lips in a real and proper kiss. )
no subject
He's grinning when Ian finally kisses him, teeth knocking and slanting awkwardly and Nate laughs into his mouth, not out of the thrill of catching him out so effectively but because he feels the same jab of want, like a stitch in his side. A good hurt.
Muscle memory sinks in again and he he squeezes gently, rolling his thumb, adding a little much-needed friction to see what kind of sounds he can wring out of him. A conversation, rather than a competition. ]
no subject
He pulses heavy and hard in Nate's hand, and he channels the feeling into a shaky exhale he mutes down to something just audible enough to show that it's right, that it's good. Muffled but encouraging. He pulls away from Nate's mouth to tuck that sound into his neck, the stretch of skin between shoulder and ear. In the Aerie, he cataloged all the things that could pull a reaction out of Nate. He's got a route mapped out in his head, a course from this point to the end point with three or four branches splitting off as potential deviations.
All of it starts with warm, open-mouthed kissing along his neck, down his throat. Easy, guaranteed, not even a question, the correct answer. He's had an excellently practiced technique even before the Aerie's experience helping him nail down what Nate likes -- he knows the right combination of gentle suction, of softly passing lips, of slightly harder teeth. A well-choreographed dance, an almost exact science based on a dozen previous partners and modified to fit the unique element that is Nate's preferences. )
no subject
It's perfect.
...and there it is again. A kind of static, like a mental block, or a curtain he doesn't entirely know how to push aside. Experiencing it firsthand is really weird and distracting knowing how it felt to have an open connection, to see and sense everything Ian did, to breathe him in fully. The fuzzy vaseline lens of an old movie, rainwater pelting a window.
Very suddenly Nate tenses, which is perhaps not the best thing a guy can do when handling someone else's dick but he does it all the same. Brow furrowed he opens his mouth, closes it, can't stay fucking silent- ]
What are you doing?
no subject
Um.
( Sorry, give him a second, there's a hand around his dick and he was kind of mapping out a voyage in his brain that involved a lot of nudity. It takes him a second to switch gears. )
Filing... my taxes?
( Breathy-amused, coupled with a kind of pointed look down between their bodies for a second.
What does it look like he's doing, man? )
no subject
[ Nate says without thinking, because he doesn't know how else to describe it. Ian feels wrong, shuttered and masked in a way that's difficult for Nate to articulate. He relinquishes his otherwise steady grip to rest the same hand on Ian's chest, over his ribcage, searching his face with an abrupt confusion.
It takes him a second to pick up on it. Like the time he bandaged Stephen's wounds, stitched him up, and Stephen managed to block off a whole part of himself despite the contact. A wall. Except there it was defined, here it's hazy and full of multitudes rather than a solid barrier.
The effect is avoidance and the instant he defines it recognition streaks across his face like lightning and he looks at Ian in newfound bafflement. ]
It's like jerking off an elevator music cover of The Girl From Ipanema.
no subject
And then there's that witty analogy, and a flare of offense-defensiveness-amusementbecauseokayshutupbutstill. )
What is it with you and The Girl From Ipanema?
( Because that's the part he should be fixated on. His own hands drop down a little - not away, just retracting so only his fingertips remain, lightly pressed to either of Nate's sides. )
Why does it feel like that's the fourth time that's come up?
( He's... hedging. Obviously. )
no subject
Nate's scrutiny softens and he is rapidly becoming aware of how embarrassing it is for him to have noticed in the first place. ]
I'm sorry, it- it just feels weird when you're- it's like there's something in the way.
[ Was it the wrong call? Should he just put on his hideous sparkly jeans and get the fuck out? Jesus. The anxiety at stopping begins to bleed into his face. ]
I liked what you were doing, but you feel like- I don't know, like you're. Somewhere else.
no subject
But no, he's feeling anxiety rolling off of Nate in waves -- it's enough to tug on the guilty strings of his heart, which in turn cracks the door for some of his own anxiety to echo back. )
No, I'm not- it's not... like that.
( He puffs out an exhale. Pulls one hand away to scrub over his beard and then push wet strands of hair back away from his face. )
I'm here, I'm just... trying not to be... too... here. I mean, like- mentally. Wait, no, that's not... I don't mean that how it sounds.
( Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Nailing it. )
no subject
He can't push. He gets it, but he can't push. Knowing how that dissociation feels from the other person's perspective hurts and sucks and he honestly can't believe how many people he knows let him get away with it for as long as he did.
So Nate lightens contact, to avoid taking something he isn't expressly offered. He nods quietly and for a moment the only sound is the spray of the shower while he focuses on Ian's scars. ]
...Where were you?
no subject
He feels like a fucking asshole. Drops his hands the rest of the way away, not necessarily because he wants to cut Nate out so much as it's just unconscious instinct to try and reel himself in when he's feeling any one thing too strongly. Guilt, in this case. Self-directed frustration at doing exactly the thing he was trying to avoid doing.
Fuck. )
Ah... ( A beat, while he considers how to answer that question. ) The Aerie. Maybe.
( That might not even be the right answer, it's more complicated. Harder to articulate, and he follows it up with barely a second in between tracks. )
Look, I'm sorry. I am, I'm not... I'm not checked out, or... like, thinking of England. I'm just trying to stay-- the version that doesn't overthink things into the fucking ground and accidentally kill the whole thing. Which... ironically... accidentally killed the whole thing, so it's not you, it's-- oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm not even gonna finish that sentence. This, right now, see, this is... a really compelling example of my point, I think.
no subject
Hey, hey, it's okay.
[ He rushes to reassure him, and it is okay, though Nate wonders how much expectation of the Aerie played into Ian asking him out, deciding to take him on a date, working through intimacy for the sake of trying to acquire something he has once. ]
I guess I...uh. I get it, with the- we had a thing, and it was easy. [ Easy to think about and reflect on. Nate's hands fidget at his sides and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth to worry it with his teeth. ] ..I guess I wanna make sure you're not trying to recreate what was there. A lot of that was me, but...some of it wasn't. I'm different. We're different.
no subject
( It's calmer, quieter, but confident. He shifts, backing out of Nate's space - not to leave but to pivot, pressing his back against the wall and curling his hands around the rail. Shoulder to shoulder instead of chest to chest, so he can breathe out and rest his head against the tile while he fumbles through articulation. )
I know we're different, I've been... kind of keeping that in my head this whole time, trying not to like... I don't know, like cheat on a test? It's not-- that, that I'm trying to be. It's not... who we were that I'm...
( Why the fuck is it so hard to explain this, why doesn't the English language have better terminology for referring to your alternate universe life? )
I'm just-- trying to be who I was because I wasn't a neurotic fucking mess there. Here, I'm pretty sure as soon as we start, I'm gonna... I don't know, feel feelings and freak myself out about feeling feelings, and then feel bad that you can feel me freaking out about feeling feelings, and then wind up feeling feelings about that...
( A breath, an almost-laugh except there's no humor, just kind of a long-suffering self-mockery. )
And I just... really wanted to have sex with you in the shower.
no subject
It isn't a conclusion Nate would come to on his own, either, but it hits close to home in its familiarity. The fear of being vulnerable is a constant in his own life and he nods along in understanding, huffing a little laugh at the capstone statement. ]
That doesn't have to be off the table.
[ As much of a boner killer as he apparently is, since he just had to point out the issues, had to bring them up. Nate watches Ian in the periphery, wondering whether this is a conversation better relegated to after a shower. Maybe it's better to rip the Band-Aid off. ]
I know there are parts you don't want me to see, and I- I really get that. There's a lot I don't want you to see, either, but we're probably gonna feel feelings every time we touch each other.
no subject
( He muses somewhat dryly, that touch of self-directed mockery still lingering around the tiny smile that takes over his mouth momentarily.
Nate's not wrong, obviously - he's felt something for Nate just about every time they've had skin to skin contact, but things can feel a little different when you're holding hands compared to when you're having sex with someone. When his heart and his dick are working at the same time, he's got a pretty decent suspicion just how significant his feelings are going to seem. That freaks him out, and it also freaks him out that Nate's going to have a full access pass to see it, and it also freaks him out that Nate's gonna see him freaking himself out about it.
But.
It's not like he can avoid it forever, and it isn't fair to Nate that he lock himself down like this every time. It's also probably not... healthy.
He scrubs a hand over his face again, then gently pushes away from the shower wall. )
Okay, can I just-- can I try again, and you not... Like, if it gets weird for you, just say so, and if I end up running out of my own apartment fully nude midway through, don't take it personally?
no subject
I'll do my best.
[ He laughs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and cognizant of the fact that Ian will be able to read his own conflict loud and clear. Nate was married for years, is aware of his shortcomings and past, and is more so aware of how much he still keeps from Ian.
Nate tips his head back against the tiles to watch him, the last of the color on Ian's shoulder slipping away down the drain. ]
We also don't have to be in the shower.
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( A conversational assurance, entirely too casual. )
It's like this whole Tahitian Rain vibe, it really helps me keep my chakras balanced, keeps everything zen. Plus I've kind of been hyping this up in my head now and if we spend the rest of it just like... scrubbing off paint it might get awkward. Throw off the whole thing. We'd have to make small-talk, and nothing kills the mood faster than talking about your niece's quinceañera while you towel off. I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna keep talking until you throw me out of my own bathroom, so can I just--
( Here, let him reinitiated contact. Just... to bite the bullet. He wraps his fingers gently around Nate's bicep, and there it is - the flood of nervousness and the quiet unshakable desire to do it right, the not completely cooled spark of want that's quieter now than it was two or three minutes ago, and a general muffled uncertainty.
Help him... figure out how to pick back up again, or shut it down, or... he just needs a little boost here, is all. He's overthinking it. )
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It stuns back into exactly that when Ian finally reaches for him and the sensation of that mild fear, the concern, ripples through him like a warm tide. He's a tangle of the same kind of messy thoughts that swirled incessantly in Nate's head the night he came over to admit that trying anything with him would be complicated, that patience was going to have to be the watchword.
It's not a stretch to extend the same courtesy here.
You're adorable.
[ He says softly, barely teasing, turning his palm up so his fingertips skim Ian's elbow as he cranes back in. ]
You know that?
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That is not... what I was hoping to hear while we were naked in the shower together.
( Which is to say, it's a million times better than get out of the shower, asshole, so he'll take it. He leans in, swaying into the pull that comes with the touch. When they're close enough to bump noses this time, it isn't teasing that has him hesitating there. It's a slower, softer, more tentative kind of uncertainty. A flipped switch, from I know exactly how to do this to am I doing this right?
When he does touch down this time, it's chaste. Probably underwhelming, he thinks, but whatever. He needs to find his sea legs and figure out how to be real. )
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[ He says indulgently, sporting half a grin as Ian works through his poor excuse for indignation. What follows isn't at all like before, no sharp technique cutting in through practice and repetition: it's feeling out new territory, like learning an instrument or acquiring a skill. More of a question and answer session than a lecture, moving in kind.
It's sweet, and soft, and hedging probably out of a concern of stretching too far and taking too much on the repeat. Nate's free hand finds Ian's and pulls it to his side and one of many old scars, vulnerabilities ripe for exploring, and what pulses across surprises even him.
It isn't easily given, he can feel himself wanting to recoil, to pull it back, but doesn't. The strain is there even as that same hand slips back up Ian's bicep to the side of his neck, trying to be welcoming. Trying to be open. Ian isn't the only one who struggles with it. ]
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A few are familiar. A few are different, and that gentle pull of curiosity about their origin story gets once again tucked away for a later time — he's already killed the mood once, he doesn't want to commit double homicide. It's forgotten almost immediately anyway with that deliberate push of feeling.
I trust you.
It pulls an audible exhale through his nose, exactly in time with a flood of warmth of his own. Hits him in the heart and the pelvis simultaneously and for the life of him he can't explain why.
Feeling Nate experience that same struggle against the impulse to pull back is... really fucking reassuring, actually. It brushes him with cool and comforting relief; he feels less bad about feeling it himself, knowing he's not the only one. That he doesn't have to explain or justify it, because the person he's with gets it. When he deepens the kiss, when he tries to coax lips apart, it's with a weird sense of gratitude. As much appreciation as there is warmth.
...also, maybe a slightly different version of curiosity. Listen, man, he's not gonna run on facts and numbers, but he still wants to research reactions and catalog responses. That's just his brain. )
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Ian's fingers skim his chest, his stomach, all potent curiosity and plucking discordant strings that make him shiver. They're both working at this, they're both trying, they're both a little afraid.
There's an obvious risk to it, in showing his hand once more. A risk to letting him see the jagged edges, maybe even cut himself on them. The rags and bones of the person he still sometimes finds himself trying not to be, compared to the person he is.
But it doesn't take a whole lot of prompting for Nate to open his mouth, to gently fist a handful of Ian's hair, to thumb at the hollow at the base of his skull. He presses in no less eagerly but with a sudden, deep desire to learn again, to commit new information to memory and yeah, he might hum delightedly against Ian's lips knowing full well that Ian is doing the same damn thing. Tit for tat.
Speaking of which- Nate's underutilized hand feels up Ian's chest in return, fingertips dragging his collarbone as he experimentally scrapes his teeth over a lip. ]
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It's appealing as all fuck, actually. Breath rushes audibly and quickly through his nose, driven out of his lungs by a sparking heat riding deep and low in him. Any flagging from that awkward conversation is immediately gone, and his fingertips dig in maybe just a little too hard where he's hanging onto Nate's sides.
Can't really crowd him any further into the wall, but it might seem a little like he's trying.
Unbidden, a thought flits in. Stupid, absurd, completely out of place with the rest of him falling down the rabbit hole, but all the same it's just strong enough to get him to pull back an inch and mutter incredulously: )
Girl From Ipanema.
( You asshole. )