- NATE -
Got my own monster
Nobody but me
Nobody but me
The single, cheeky response he gets from Sunjata pulls a light laugh from the ascended, the tease of the words far outweighing any sting they might have if said seriously. Teeth, just the dull ones, nip at his ear, soothed by a brush of lips before Nate leans back, focuses on every breath, every tremble as he moves his hand, as he shifts his hips. This isn't so different from the space he normally stays in, from the control he usually insists on. There's still a sense of control, a sense of leading things, if only by the virtue of being the one between the two of them who has experience.
The feeling doesn't quite change as he lowers himself onto Sunjata's cock, but it does shift, starts to feel less like control and more like something else. A performance, for the other man, to be reflected back to him again. A strange feeling of giving, where it had never felt like that before. Nate blinks, his eyes focusing again, though they are still hazy, a buzzing between his ears keeping his usual intense focus away, and stares into the storm, the hunger that he knows so well, that he's never wanted to be devoured by before. The hand he'd pulled away rose again, moving in to cup Sunjata's jaw now, Nate's fingers spreading just enough that he can feel the thundering pulse.
Claws in his hip pull a rumbling groan from Nate's lips, his back arching just the slightest with it. Every part of him felt raw, what sensation he had left stretched thin throughout him, just waiting for the touch to pull something he couldn't stop from him. What sends him spiraling over the precipice, has him giving up the last handful of true control he clung to so jealously wasn't a touch, or the feeling of a pulse. It was the words, forced out and trembling. There is a moment where Nate's expression is impossible to read, where his eyes close slowly, and he seems to pause as if taking another breath. Then he is surging forward, shifting his hips up, lips crashing against Sunjata so hard Nate is certain he would taste blood, if he could taste. The attuned has to know, just from the reaction to them, that the words mean something more to Nate than what was on the surface.
Nate is glad for the claws in his hips as he tries to move, tries to find a rhythm. They give him something to press up towards, help him on the shifting sand beneath them. Maybe they should have planned this better. He has to break the kiss for a moment, so he can try to find a smoother way to move, so he can lean in closer against Sunjata, and all it really does is open his mouth for a soft, barely audible litany of "Fuck."
The feeling doesn't quite change as he lowers himself onto Sunjata's cock, but it does shift, starts to feel less like control and more like something else. A performance, for the other man, to be reflected back to him again. A strange feeling of giving, where it had never felt like that before. Nate blinks, his eyes focusing again, though they are still hazy, a buzzing between his ears keeping his usual intense focus away, and stares into the storm, the hunger that he knows so well, that he's never wanted to be devoured by before. The hand he'd pulled away rose again, moving in to cup Sunjata's jaw now, Nate's fingers spreading just enough that he can feel the thundering pulse.
Claws in his hip pull a rumbling groan from Nate's lips, his back arching just the slightest with it. Every part of him felt raw, what sensation he had left stretched thin throughout him, just waiting for the touch to pull something he couldn't stop from him. What sends him spiraling over the precipice, has him giving up the last handful of true control he clung to so jealously wasn't a touch, or the feeling of a pulse. It was the words, forced out and trembling. There is a moment where Nate's expression is impossible to read, where his eyes close slowly, and he seems to pause as if taking another breath. Then he is surging forward, shifting his hips up, lips crashing against Sunjata so hard Nate is certain he would taste blood, if he could taste. The attuned has to know, just from the reaction to them, that the words mean something more to Nate than what was on the surface.
Nate is glad for the claws in his hips as he tries to move, tries to find a rhythm. They give him something to press up towards, help him on the shifting sand beneath them. Maybe they should have planned this better. He has to break the kiss for a moment, so he can try to find a smoother way to move, so he can lean in closer against Sunjata, and all it really does is open his mouth for a soft, barely audible litany of "Fuck."
I would never call him enemy
He's the bad god I need
He's the bad god I need
