[ It's all he needs to rolls his eyes, get his shit together, and meander over at a leisurely pace intended to emphasize how much of a pain in the ass he intends on being. Nate knocks thrice. ]
[ Does it look like he has ten minutes? Cain doesn't bother answering, especially when he's in A Mood already, and even if the knock is a little too pretentious for his liking, he's casual about opening the door and leaning into the jamb with his arms crossed over a naked chest. At least he's wearing pants, though they're thin and loose at the hips—a clear indicator that he's wearing nothing underneath. ]
You could have made it in five. [ Someone better be nice if he wants to come in. ]
[ He says like he didn't walk over here, pausing briefly to smell the metaphorical roses. (Nate also paused to scribble something down in the aforementioned sketchbook that's tucked away in his ever-present bag, but his distractibility isn't something he wants pointed out at this express juncture.)
His crooked smile slants for the genuinely apologetic, leaning against the door frame and keeping eye contact above the belt with great effort. ]
[ If he doesn't want it pointed out, he should probably never do it anywhere within Cain's vicinity, but all he does is roll his eyes in response, watching that smile with partial interest. Then, he's reaching out to fist his shirt and haul him inside, door shutting with Nate's weight as Cain shoves him into it. The pleasantries are over, and he wants what he'd come here for. ]
Make it up to me.
[ Not a request, the words thick as he crowds into the other's space and slides a hand into his hair to give it a testing tug. Nothing overtly rough, not yet. ]
[ This is a little more up his alley: fingers wringing bruises into skin, fists curled tight in jersey-knit, the sly edge to an otherwise sharp smile. He isn't surprised when he's pulled inside, even less so when his head thumps the door with the force of a pointed shove and Cain boxes him in. The bag on Nate's shoulder slides to the floor and he thumbs over bare hips, grinning.
He shouldn't needle with such a solid grip on his hair, but never let it be said that Nathan Drake doesn't love to push buttons. ]
[ If it wasn't like this, he might grow bored. Cain loves a challenge, and this right here, wearing too many clothes, is exactly what he wants. His fingers dig into that hair until his knuckles whiten, taking a moment to decide if he wants to kiss that smirk off his face or toss him outside. Want wins out in the end, giving a sharper jerk so Nate's head snaps back, and then, Cain is on him, teeth tearing at his earlobe. ]
Now.
[ Patience isn't a game he's good at playing, but he certainly isn't going to lose to a brat, the slight curl of his tongue the only reprieve he offers until Nate gives him what he's owed. ]
[ The hand tightens and for a split-second Nate thinks he might end up outside the room on his ass, but Cain caves with a jagged lucidity that nearly winds him. They're close, practically flush and damp, hot air coils over the side of his throat, pouring into his ear, teeth too goddamn sharp. The blunt nails of Nate's thumbs dig into Cain's hips and he hisses, eyes half-lidded.
He's familiar enough with the song and dance, the rapport that bounces back as deadly and quick as a jai alai pilota, but Nate isn't opposed to acquiescing provided he has the means to do so. ]
Little hard to suck your dick all the way up here, jefe.
[ The soft precursor of pain is enough to elicit a different sound from him, a sharp growl that fades with a scrape of teeth along Nate's jaw. ]
Stop making excuses. [ Murmured right against his mouth, but Cain draws away before giving him the satisfaction of anything resembling a kiss. ] I didn't tell you to come here for that, but if it shuts you up –
[ There's a sharp grin, releasing his hold on him to shift that grip to the hands at his hips, and Cain hooks their hands together, pulling at the loose fabric of his pants so they slip down with the motion to pool at bare feet. His lack of shame is evident by the way he guides Nate's palm to his thigh, leaving it there as if to say he can do what he wants with it, and anyway, he's only partially hard from their brief encounter; so he has his work cut out for him if he intends to get on his knees. ]
[ He points out, leaning in and just missing Cain's mouth with no small amount of irritation. Based on the tone of the texting and the texter in question, he assumed something rough and ready, because he hasn't yet known Cain to invite someone over to just hang out.
Either way, it's not the plan anymore: with a little assistance at least one of them is gloriously bare, and Nate sort of regrets it's not him. He squeezes the muscle under his hand and smiles around the lip he's biting, a poor example of someone hiding their enthusiasm. ]
We still got time for you to give me a lesson.
[ Nate quips, fingertips sliding over his skin and taking careful, deliberate hold of his cock. ]
[ Rough and ready would have had Cain pinning Nate to the door face-first so he could fuck him through it, but he wants something else from him right now that has no real definition. As if he would care if it did, eyes closing for the briefest second to enjoy the way he grips his dick: no preamble, no pretenses. Then, he's moving around it to hook his fingers into the front of Nate's pants, popping the button free without so much as taking his eyes off his face.
It's sudden, his desire to want to ruin it and make a mess of it. ]
Told you I don't write papers, [ he jeers, using the edge of a finger to slowly nudge down his fly and purposely drag the tip of his thumb over the shape of Nate's cock. ] Get me hard, and I'll think about showing you something. [ There's a hint of his accent in those words, difficult to hide the excitement when he's not thinking about it. And it's punctuated with Cain stepping forward to curl his arm around the other man's neck, giving into the temptation to kiss him with his hand halfway down his pants. ]
[ It's satisfying to see something in Cain catch, to break that need to push if only for an instant. It won't be enough, of course - he's too good at maintaining himself and some terrifying excuse for composure to break - and Nate is prepared for that. He thinks he is, even when that dark gaze levels at him and clever fingers unfasten his fly.
A quick inhale at the sparse contact and Nate squeezes his handful, his other palm slipping around to the base of Cain's spine, pressing into his back. ]
Better do more than think-
[ -is all Nate manages before their mouths meet. It's as barbed as most of their conversations, teeth and tongue in the narrow space between them while he makes a play for the terra firma he's lacked since he got dragged in here. Nate works him coolly, not so slow as to earn a bite but paced in time with the thick, panted air. ]
[ He finds it's a poor excuse to keep him quiet, but it's a nice distraction nonetheless, tearing into Nate's lower lip with a sharp bite before sliding over it with his tongue. Cain kisses him deep and filthy, coaxing him forward only to breathe hotly against his chin, the side of his neck. And when he groans, it's soft but heady, rolling his hips into the drag of that hand that's hardly more than enough for him. If he'd wanted a tease, he would have edged himself hours before this (and quite possibly have sent Nate photographic evidence of it too). ]
Better do more than jerk me off. [ Growled low in the space between their mouths, and Cain licks once at the curve of Nate's bottom lip. ] On your knees until I say you can get up.
[ Which instigates another grasp for his hair, Cain's stance shifting so that his legs are spread a little more evenly to keep him upright and fight the urge to fuck his mouth. Truthfully, it's not a position he finds himself in often with Nate, not when he'd rather keep him quiet by pressing his face something softer, but it's a good way to test each other, to test whatever this thing is between them. And he certainly won't take no for an answer. ]
[ Cain's teeth dig into him and hook him like a trout, reeling him in, giving him the barest taste of consolation in the tongue that laves the same spot. He returns the gesture, snapping with a soft click and savoring the hotdamp of his breathing against his jaw, the flavor of impatience and a low, heavy sound in his throat. He teases because it's his only leverage until the hand in his hair twists and Nate grunts, buckling and already wanting more of his mouth.
He's too needy and knows it, the transparency of it glaring like a goddamn neon sign, and when they shift to make space for what's to come Nate sinks to his knees without complaint. They hit the ground hard and he barely feels it, palms skimming down Cain's thighs. ]
Bossy.
[ It lacks conviction, little more than conversational fluff he gets to say against the seam of Cain's hip before he takes him in hand again - much harder now - and drags his tongue along the length of his cock. ]
[ There's a soft snort in response to the word, but otherwise, he simply stands and appreciates the heat of his mouth.
At first, he just feels it. Red hot, the tease of his tongue something he'd be annoyed by if he didn't know what came after, and only then, after he's had his fill of that, does he look down. His fingers are still in his hair, currently doing little else but holding him in place as he works, but his thumb strokes over the curve of his cheek, along to the corner of his mouth so that he pushes it in right alongside his own cock. It's like this he guides him, letting Nate set the pace before simply tipping his head back and curling his fingers even tighter into Nate's hair. ]
Don't make me come, or you're fucking yourself later.
[ Speaking of bossy... Cain groans low in his throat to punctuate the point he's trying to make, rocking his hips with every intention of seeing just how much he can take before he has to stop. ]
[ Nate doesn't stretch it out any longer than he has to, eager in his own right to do more than a few half-assed drags of his tongue. His hands slip around the backs of Cain's thighs, tightening for stability and he catches movement from above, a slow, lazy glance down at him. Nate maintains eye contact until it's taken from him, the weight heavy on his tongue as he begins to move.
He smells fucking fantastic, tastes more so, salt and sweat and detergent in a heady, rich cocktail. It's good enough that he isn't perturbed by the threat of not getting his, humming quietly and enjoying every twitch under the skin beneath his fingers, in his mouth. The rough clutching of his hair keeps him grounded enough not to lose himself in repetitive motion and he forces deeper, until he can hardly breathe, until his head swims and he can feel a slick trail of saliva roll over his chin and down his neck, leaching into the collar of his shirt. ]
[ He takes him deep, without warning, and Cain knows he could come like this, press his hips forward to force himself into his throat and make him choke. Or maybe he'd pull out just before and do it across his face, coat that surprisingly talented mouth and smear it into his lips when they kiss. It's a thought, something he can't overthink because both hands are settling atop Nate's head, holding him there as he gives a testing push forward. Just to see, curiosity a dangerous thing when he's with someone who wants it just as badly as he does, and Cain's teeth dig into his lip when he slides just a bit deeper, another satisfied moan echoing through the room.
But... as good as it is, he can think of a thousand things better, and Cain forcefully withdraws after a moment, letting his fingers take the place of his cock to wipe up some of that saliva even as his other hand curls tight in that now-damp collar to force him to his feet. He kisses him as he stands, guiding them to the nearest flat surface that isn't the floor; unfortunately, it happens to be the semi-uncomfortable sofa. ]
[ Cain is close, and Nate is painfully hard. He could come down his throat and Nate would take it, would have to, slick and salty and dripping as he pulled away, or make a mess of his face just for the Hell of it. Those hips cant deeper and he tries to relax, feeling the tension creep into his desperate, pleading gag reflex as he suppresses it just to see how much he can take. Every sound Cain makes vibrates down into him and ripples across his skin and it's more satisfying than he can describe, to know what he can do.
But he pulls away. Pulls out. Pulls him to his feet with smeared, swollen lips and a quiet gasp into Cain's mouth and Nate's desire to lay hands on again is cut short. He stumbles, still lightheaded, to the sofa and feels the backs of his calves bump too-firm, slightly scratchy cushions - tired of being led by the convenient leash that is his much-abused tee Nate hastily peels it off, flinging it somewhere behind him as he reaches for Cain again.
When he falls back it's graceless, inelegant, and typical for him, most of his efforts driving toward pulling Cain along while he has the ability. Demanding, he curls a hand around that nape, into thick hair.
He almost says something smart and thinks better of it, groaning into another kiss. ]
[ It's frustrating to get them both situated in a way that's comfortable, and Cain's cursing at the fact Nate still has his pants on. How is he supposed to touch him like this, to get him to beg for it? He improvises at least, refusing to give Nate an inch of space as they sprawl out onto the couch, Cain's knees boxing him in as they kiss. It's messy, too much spit and the easy slide of their mouths, but he can taste a little of himself on Nate's tongue, teeth dragging over the tip before sucking hard and further ruining any chance for conversation.
They don't need to talk. There's no point.
Cain exhales sharply through his nose, hands sliding between them and exceedingly rougher than he should be with the material of Nate's pants. He grunts when he tugs at them, feeling it catch slightly but soon give, and then, his fingers are sliding in to give his dick a squeeze, jerking him without mercy as his lips drag over his jaw and to the tender underside of his chin so when he bites he knows there will be a mark. He does it against his collarbone too, watching the way he pinks with a satisfying smirk, and just as quickly as it had started, his hand slides all the way to the base of his cock and squeezes. ]
You wanna come like this? [ His fingers tighten, breath heavy as he kisses the question into his mouth. ]
[ He falls sideways and with a desperate measure only somewhat hindered by the way that Cain crushes him into the sofa, Nate kicks his shoes off as greedy hands make a play for his jeans again. Teeth click in jarring bumps and he pants against an equally wet mouth, all slick, feral grins and a ravenous sort of hunger he didn't know he had until this started. He helps with his pants as much as he can, working them down his hips just as a hot, rough hand wraps around his dick.
He swears under his breath, chin tipping up and easy as Cain blazes a trail down his pulse and Nate arches for more. Asshole. He knows the weak spots, what makes Nate squirm and this is no exception. The attention has his fingers fumbling in their haphazard mapping of Cain's chest and Nate makes a soft sound - almost plaintive, almost petulant - at the temptation, nails digging into warm flesh, the whine pouring into Cain's mouth. ]
No-
[ It's disjointed and breaks off at the edges, something Nate defines more acutely in the way he pulls at Cain's lip with his teeth, scraping pink lines down his front. ]
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toastysocks) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2019-11-01 05:07 pm
3
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[ Little Shit Mode Activated ]
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but i could draw you a picture
[ two can play that game. ]
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just get here and i'll show you
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okay, jesus, hold your horses
give me 10 minutes
[ It's all he needs to rolls his eyes, get his shit together, and meander over at a leisurely pace intended to emphasize how much of a pain in the ass he intends on being. Nate knocks thrice. ]
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You could have made it in five. [ Someone better be nice if he wants to come in. ]
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[ He says like he didn't walk over here, pausing briefly to smell the metaphorical roses. (Nate also paused to scribble something down in the aforementioned sketchbook that's tucked away in his ever-present bag, but his distractibility isn't something he wants pointed out at this express juncture.)
His crooked smile slants for the genuinely apologetic, leaning against the door frame and keeping eye contact above the belt with great effort. ]
Sorry.
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Make it up to me.
[ Not a request, the words thick as he crowds into the other's space and slides a hand into his hair to give it a testing tug. Nothing overtly rough, not yet. ]
sorry for him
He shouldn't needle with such a solid grip on his hair, but never let it be said that Nathan Drake doesn't love to push buttons. ]
What's the magic word?
we are all sorry
Now.
[ Patience isn't a game he's good at playing, but he certainly isn't going to lose to a brat, the slight curl of his tongue the only reprieve he offers until Nate gives him what he's owed. ]
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He's familiar enough with the song and dance, the rapport that bounces back as deadly and quick as a jai alai pilota, but Nate isn't opposed to acquiescing provided he has the means to do so. ]
Little hard to suck your dick all the way up here, jefe.
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Stop making excuses. [ Murmured right against his mouth, but Cain draws away before giving him the satisfaction of anything resembling a kiss. ] I didn't tell you to come here for that, but if it shuts you up –
[ There's a sharp grin, releasing his hold on him to shift that grip to the hands at his hips, and Cain hooks their hands together, pulling at the loose fabric of his pants so they slip down with the motion to pool at bare feet. His lack of shame is evident by the way he guides Nate's palm to his thigh, leaving it there as if to say he can do what he wants with it, and anyway, he's only partially hard from their brief encounter; so he has his work cut out for him if he intends to get on his knees. ]
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[ He points out, leaning in and just missing Cain's mouth with no small amount of irritation. Based on the tone of the texting and the texter in question, he assumed something rough and ready, because he hasn't yet known Cain to invite someone over to just hang out.
Either way, it's not the plan anymore: with a little assistance at least one of them is gloriously bare, and Nate sort of regrets it's not him. He squeezes the muscle under his hand and smiles around the lip he's biting, a poor example of someone hiding their enthusiasm. ]
We still got time for you to give me a lesson.
[ Nate quips, fingertips sliding over his skin and taking careful, deliberate hold of his cock. ]
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It's sudden, his desire to want to ruin it and make a mess of it. ]
Told you I don't write papers, [ he jeers, using the edge of a finger to slowly nudge down his fly and purposely drag the tip of his thumb over the shape of Nate's cock. ] Get me hard, and I'll think about showing you something. [ There's a hint of his accent in those words, difficult to hide the excitement when he's not thinking about it. And it's punctuated with Cain stepping forward to curl his arm around the other man's neck, giving into the temptation to kiss him with his hand halfway down his pants. ]
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A quick inhale at the sparse contact and Nate squeezes his handful, his other palm slipping around to the base of Cain's spine, pressing into his back. ]
Better do more than think-
[ -is all Nate manages before their mouths meet. It's as barbed as most of their conversations, teeth and tongue in the narrow space between them while he makes a play for the terra firma he's lacked since he got dragged in here. Nate works him coolly, not so slow as to earn a bite but paced in time with the thick, panted air. ]
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Better do more than jerk me off. [ Growled low in the space between their mouths, and Cain licks once at the curve of Nate's bottom lip. ] On your knees until I say you can get up.
[ Which instigates another grasp for his hair, Cain's stance shifting so that his legs are spread a little more evenly to keep him upright and fight the urge to fuck his mouth. Truthfully, it's not a position he finds himself in often with Nate, not when he'd rather keep him quiet by pressing his face something softer, but it's a good way to test each other, to test whatever this thing is between them. And he certainly won't take no for an answer. ]
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He's too needy and knows it, the transparency of it glaring like a goddamn neon sign, and when they shift to make space for what's to come Nate sinks to his knees without complaint. They hit the ground hard and he barely feels it, palms skimming down Cain's thighs. ]
Bossy.
[ It lacks conviction, little more than conversational fluff he gets to say against the seam of Cain's hip before he takes him in hand again - much harder now - and drags his tongue along the length of his cock. ]
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At first, he just feels it. Red hot, the tease of his tongue something he'd be annoyed by if he didn't know what came after, and only then, after he's had his fill of that, does he look down. His fingers are still in his hair, currently doing little else but holding him in place as he works, but his thumb strokes over the curve of his cheek, along to the corner of his mouth so that he pushes it in right alongside his own cock. It's like this he guides him, letting Nate set the pace before simply tipping his head back and curling his fingers even tighter into Nate's hair. ]
Don't make me come, or you're fucking yourself later.
[ Speaking of bossy... Cain groans low in his throat to punctuate the point he's trying to make, rocking his hips with every intention of seeing just how much he can take before he has to stop. ]
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He smells fucking fantastic, tastes more so, salt and sweat and detergent in a heady, rich cocktail. It's good enough that he isn't perturbed by the threat of not getting his, humming quietly and enjoying every twitch under the skin beneath his fingers, in his mouth. The rough clutching of his hair keeps him grounded enough not to lose himself in repetitive motion and he forces deeper, until he can hardly breathe, until his head swims and he can feel a slick trail of saliva roll over his chin and down his neck, leaching into the collar of his shirt. ]
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[ He takes him deep, without warning, and Cain knows he could come like this, press his hips forward to force himself into his throat and make him choke. Or maybe he'd pull out just before and do it across his face, coat that surprisingly talented mouth and smear it into his lips when they kiss. It's a thought, something he can't overthink because both hands are settling atop Nate's head, holding him there as he gives a testing push forward. Just to see, curiosity a dangerous thing when he's with someone who wants it just as badly as he does, and Cain's teeth dig into his lip when he slides just a bit deeper, another satisfied moan echoing through the room.
But... as good as it is, he can think of a thousand things better, and Cain forcefully withdraws after a moment, letting his fingers take the place of his cock to wipe up some of that saliva even as his other hand curls tight in that now-damp collar to force him to his feet. He kisses him as he stands, guiding them to the nearest flat surface that isn't the floor; unfortunately, it happens to be the semi-uncomfortable sofa. ]
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But he pulls away. Pulls out. Pulls him to his feet with smeared, swollen lips and a quiet gasp into Cain's mouth and Nate's desire to lay hands on again is cut short. He stumbles, still lightheaded, to the sofa and feels the backs of his calves bump too-firm, slightly scratchy cushions - tired of being led by the convenient leash that is his much-abused tee Nate hastily peels it off, flinging it somewhere behind him as he reaches for Cain again.
When he falls back it's graceless, inelegant, and typical for him, most of his efforts driving toward pulling Cain along while he has the ability. Demanding, he curls a hand around that nape, into thick hair.
He almost says something smart and thinks better of it, groaning into another kiss. ]
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They don't need to talk. There's no point.
Cain exhales sharply through his nose, hands sliding between them and exceedingly rougher than he should be with the material of Nate's pants. He grunts when he tugs at them, feeling it catch slightly but soon give, and then, his fingers are sliding in to give his dick a squeeze, jerking him without mercy as his lips drag over his jaw and to the tender underside of his chin so when he bites he knows there will be a mark. He does it against his collarbone too, watching the way he pinks with a satisfying smirk, and just as quickly as it had started, his hand slides all the way to the base of his cock and squeezes. ]
You wanna come like this? [ His fingers tighten, breath heavy as he kisses the question into his mouth. ]
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He swears under his breath, chin tipping up and easy as Cain blazes a trail down his pulse and Nate arches for more. Asshole. He knows the weak spots, what makes Nate squirm and this is no exception. The attention has his fingers fumbling in their haphazard mapping of Cain's chest and Nate makes a soft sound - almost plaintive, almost petulant - at the temptation, nails digging into warm flesh, the whine pouring into Cain's mouth. ]
No-
[ It's disjointed and breaks off at the edges, something Nate defines more acutely in the way he pulls at Cain's lip with his teeth, scraping pink lines down his front. ]
I wanna come with you in me.
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