( They spent a really good weekend — or part of a weekend — in Hawaii. That was days and days ago. Granted, yeah, he went weeks or months without anyone but himself before they started doing this, but it's different. These last few days feel a million years longer.
Probably good there's no empathy bond. I thought about this today is one of those stupid little things that runs through him like a junior on prom night. It earns him a nip to his lower lip, a probably-definitely-inappropriate-for-the-setting southward drift of the hand down Nate's back.
It's fine. Nobody's around. Probably. Hopefully. It's over the clothes groping, if it's that big of a deal somebody needs to be building some privacy rooms.
Well, someone other than just himself.
The next parting to take a breath he mutters a deadpan, faintly frustrated: )
Think about this like six times a day and how much I hate these stupid fucking hammocks.
( You know, as frustrated as Ian ever sounds, really — barely, skewing amused even if there is very little amusement in him about thee whole affair. Seriously, fuck hammocks. )
[ The physical response to his statement startles a delighted, quiet laugh out of him, savoring the pinch and the less-than-subtle game of grabass. If there's one thing upon which Nate can rely, it's that Ian knows what he wants and tends to just go for it in cases like this. There could be innocent bystanders in proximity and Nate couldn't find it in himself to give a damn.
Well, maybe a little bit of a damn. If only because he's not wholly exhibitionistic. ]
You're a problem-solver. [ Nate says emphatically, softly, adaptable at his very core and confident in the statement he makes judging by the grin on his face. ] Work the problem.
[ He fists a handful of Ian's hair at the base of his neck, twisting, pulling back to gain access to the column of his throat. Pressing hot, sticky kisses to the underside of his jaw he contemplates the mysterious method by which people in this dragon-ship seem to get privacy when they need it.
( He returns, with as much sass as he can manage considering he's getting his hair pulled and there are lips on his neck. It's not exactly up to his usual bar for witty retorts, but who on the planet can blame him?
He feels like a fucking teenager, casting the occasional glance around for onlookers when he has the presence of mind to remember they aren't exactly private right now. If they get caught, it's gonna be real embarrassing having a less than subtle hard-on. Apparently all it takes is a little mouthing at his throat and Nate's stupid voice like six inches from his ear. )
I'm gonna work the fuck out of your problem.
( And it's not really... that bad if he nudges the back of Nate's shirt up a few inches so he can press his fingertips against skin. It's like four inches of lower back, how graphic could it really be? )
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nonscriptum) wrote2021-05-14 10:11 am
no subject
Probably good there's no empathy bond. I thought about this today is one of those stupid little things that runs through him like a junior on prom night. It earns him a nip to his lower lip, a probably-definitely-inappropriate-for-the-setting southward drift of the hand down Nate's back.
It's fine. Nobody's around. Probably. Hopefully. It's over the clothes groping, if it's that big of a deal somebody needs to be building some privacy rooms.
Well, someone other than just himself.
The next parting to take a breath he mutters a deadpan, faintly frustrated: )
Think about this like six times a day and how much I hate these stupid fucking hammocks.
( You know, as frustrated as Ian ever sounds, really — barely, skewing amused even if there is very little amusement in him about thee whole affair. Seriously, fuck hammocks. )
no subject
Well, maybe a little bit of a damn. If only because he's not wholly exhibitionistic. ]
You're a problem-solver. [ Nate says emphatically, softly, adaptable at his very core and confident in the statement he makes judging by the grin on his face. ] Work the problem.
[ He fists a handful of Ian's hair at the base of his neck, twisting, pulling back to gain access to the column of his throat. Pressing hot, sticky kisses to the underside of his jaw he contemplates the mysterious method by which people in this dragon-ship seem to get privacy when they need it.
And then, because he honestly can't help it- ]
...Six times a day, really?
no subject
( He returns, with as much sass as he can manage considering he's getting his hair pulled and there are lips on his neck. It's not exactly up to his usual bar for witty retorts, but who on the planet can blame him?
He feels like a fucking teenager, casting the occasional glance around for onlookers when he has the presence of mind to remember they aren't exactly private right now. If they get caught, it's gonna be real embarrassing having a less than subtle hard-on. Apparently all it takes is a little mouthing at his throat and Nate's stupid voice like six inches from his ear. )
I'm gonna work the fuck out of your problem.
( And it's not really... that bad if he nudges the back of Nate's shirt up a few inches so he can press his fingertips against skin. It's like four inches of lower back, how graphic could it really be? )