( He points a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. )
Nah, actually, I think I'm gonna go...
( If it weren't obvious enough that he's joking by his playful tone or expression, he's completely betrayed by the skin to skin contact. Through their linked hands come that feeling of a skipped heartbeat, entirely prompted by the sudden turn into his space. It's a comma in between the buzzing feeling of pleasure and interest -- and the constant baseline beneath it all, hopefully easy to ignore, that is made up of his general discomfort at putting everything he's feeling on display like this. Mainly the whole tipping his hand about how deep this stupid crush runs. It's embarrassing, sue him, he likes to play it cool. )
It sits at the top, like a rubber duck floating over a sea of swirling conflict: attraction, intrigue, a little wariness, the same sort of cocktail Nate has roiling in his own stupid brain. Holding back maybe because it feels right to...or because it feels wrong to reach out when he asked Nate here in the first place, and Nate tries not to speculate or dig, which is a Herculean effort with a hand wrapped around his.
Respecting the connection is important; he knows Ian wouldn't drag something out of him without ensuring it was necessary or freely given. It's easier to distract from the internal struggle by swallowing the desire to pry and shifting in, not so much tentative as respectful, watching him carefully. He can feel Ian's pulse. Or maybe it's his own. ]
You're a terrible liar.
[ Nate says softly, and finally closes the distance to - carefully, hesitantly - brush his mouth against Ian's. ]
( Yeah, it works. It works, like, really well. The closer Nate shifts in, the less room there is for anything else. By the time the distance is narrowed down to an inch, almost every concern has gone... quiet. It's all occupied by that heartbeat feeling, by pre-kiss anticipation, the want-curiosity mixture he feels with every first kiss because there's a whole entire new science to discover there.
It goes quiet, Nate's lips touch, and Ian's fingers tighten around his without even a thought. He presses back with smaller restraint, chaste but buzzing no less for it.
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Nah, actually, I think I'm gonna go...
( If it weren't obvious enough that he's joking by his playful tone or expression, he's completely betrayed by the skin to skin contact. Through their linked hands come that feeling of a skipped heartbeat, entirely prompted by the sudden turn into his space. It's a comma in between the buzzing feeling of pleasure and interest -- and the constant baseline beneath it all, hopefully easy to ignore, that is made up of his general discomfort at putting everything he's feeling on display like this. Mainly the whole tipping his hand about how deep this stupid crush runs. It's embarrassing, sue him, he likes to play it cool. )
no subject
It sits at the top, like a rubber duck floating over a sea of swirling conflict: attraction, intrigue, a little wariness, the same sort of cocktail Nate has roiling in his own stupid brain. Holding back maybe because it feels right to...or because it feels wrong to reach out when he asked Nate here in the first place, and Nate tries not to speculate or dig, which is a Herculean effort with a hand wrapped around his.
Respecting the connection is important; he knows Ian wouldn't drag something out of him without ensuring it was necessary or freely given. It's easier to distract from the internal struggle by swallowing the desire to pry and shifting in, not so much tentative as respectful, watching him carefully. He can feel Ian's pulse. Or maybe it's his own. ]
You're a terrible liar.
[ Nate says softly, and finally closes the distance to - carefully, hesitantly - brush his mouth against Ian's. ]
no subject
It goes quiet, Nate's lips touch, and Ian's fingers tighten around his without even a thought. He presses back with smaller restraint, chaste but buzzing no less for it.
Alright, maybe their score is tied at Date. )