A bottle of rum. [Will]

Following a Nal'lyeo, Will and Nate find a new point of obsession.

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An inland sea created by Ivak's cataclismic fury during the Valterrian, the Suvan Sea is a major trade route and the foremost hub for piracy in Mizahar. [lore]

A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Nathaniel Blacktide on October 29th, 2011, 5:03 am

The water was his mother. It was his lover, his sister, his brother. The embrace of cool waters always soothed Nathaniel, always helped him find balance in a topsy turvy world, helped him sort heads from tails when his own temper had left him blinded by the red of his fury. And so it was now, then the inferno that always swelled up around him when Will kissed him that way threatened to consume him. Nate could be thoughtful, clever, especially bright, sometimes even logical. He could also be stubborn, blindly determined, willfully obstinate, and even simple minded. There were times when all the things he was thinking and the things he was feeling amounted to too much, and he felt like a fish on dry land - gasping for cool waters, for something that made sense. Sometimes he simply couldn't, and in those moments he often sought to escape.

It was no different on this night, with Will beneath him in the sandy beach. His thoughts were already muddled by the substances he'd consumed. His emotions were stoked to a heated glow by the teasing, the provocation, and the rejection of the Svefra wench who still did not have a name. And now there was Will, forcing him to feel the things he was in no mood to accept. He couldn't deny his cousin, no matter how much he might wish to. He simply wasn't capable. Those cool, sandy fingers against his flesh were enough to ignite him, whether he willed it or not.

And so he had ran. From the damned beach where she was still dancing, probably playing her game with other boys while he and Will duked it out in the sand. He ran from the sweet mouth, the familiar hands of his most intimate lover, his best friend. He ran until the waters about his shins made such impossible and then he dove headlong into the inky blackness of the water. Never did the world make more sense than when that cool weight was upon him, all around him. He swam without giving pause, without hesitation - burning the drugs from his veins through exertion and effort, burning the conflict from his mind through the communion with the waters he had grown up in, the waters which had nursed him to life like a mother.

By the time he reached the small craft he shared with Will, Nate was far less divided. That wasn't to say he was calm, placated, or even remotely close to pleasant again. Instead, it was as if the confusing blur between thought and emotion had been purged in his swim. Everything was neatly compartmentalized now, so that he could clearly see which piece of his turmoil was caused by the raven haired tease he would find again someday. That piece was carefully stowed away, as was the miscellaneous emotion that related to anything other than Will.

Nate was still upset with him, though anger was probably too edgy of a word. He was discontent, frustrated, weary. For once he had asked Will to leave him alone. He had never asked for that before, not so plainly. Not really. And if he had, he didn't mean it. He'd never meant it before. And somehow it had been too much to ask, and Will had implanted himself directly in the center of it - so that they had both lost out.

Dripping, Nate shrugged out of his scant clothing. Will would only be a moment behind him, but he acted as if he didn't care. He went about the business of wringing salty water from his trousers, and lay them out where they might dry. If Will boarded as he went around his little domestic ritual, he paid him absolutely no heed, even if every stiff muscle in his body would indicate that however upset he might feel, he certainly hadn't so quickly forgotten the kiss they had shared only moments before in the sand. Will could bring his lean Svefra frame to life like no one else and as Nate stood, tending to his laundry, it might have been almost comical to observe from the profile perspective.
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A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Will Blacktide on October 29th, 2011, 10:38 pm

Will’s body slipped into the sea as easily as if he was falling into his own bed. He had no fear for Nate delving into that cool, stygian water – neither did he fear swimming out away from shore and into the darkness of the night himself. He knew where Nate was headed, and he knew his cousin would find their boat as easily as the Avikki could. Nate swam like a fish, and so did Will. Laviku’s gift to their race buoyed them in the wildest waves and held them to the truest course. So, as he swam steadily, despite the intoxicants still very much at work in his bloodstream, Will had plenty of time and mental energy to think about exactly what he meant to say, and do, when he reached the Marlin – when he reached Nate.

He didn’t have to hear his cousin’s equally steady strokes in front of him to know that’s where Nate was going. It was their refuge, of sorts. And it was clear that Nate, by jumping into the surf, was done with pursuing the girl – for this night, anyway. Will, for his part, was thoroughly sick of the very idea of her. If she had been willing to play, that would have suited him just fine. But he really had no use for coy females. Flirting and teasing could be great forms of foreplay. There better be some pay-off, though, or he would be gone quicker than the girl could flutter another eyelash. And he really, really, did not care for anyone coming between him and his cousin. Oh, it did happen with a fair amount of frequency – or at least, people tried. But Nate was no better than Will was when it came to one deserting the other in preference for a third party. Well – not until tonight, that was. Nate’s behavior had been well out of line tonight – and Will intended to set him straight, the moment he laid his hands on him. Will wasn’t interested in lording it over his younger cousin, but Nate had better understand that no woman was worth this much bother – not when they had . . . all that they could have together. Will was pretty sure he could bring Nate around to his way of thinking, one way . . . or another.

It was a swim of no more than a few minutes to reach the vessel, and Will’s now cool fingers reached for the hemp rope that hung over the side. Like a watery spider, he was up the side in a flash and over the gunwale, shaking the water out of his eyes and looking for Nate. He wasn’t far – he couldn’t be, on the small boat. Already shed of his clothes, Nate blatantly ignored Will, despite that Will was making no attempt to be quiet or keep his presence hidden. What he could see of his cousin, water gleaming on his slight frame in the light of the half moon, made Will grin. Come what may, things would always be the same. Nate could no more shake Will out of his existence than Will would have ever thought about doing such to Nate. That sense of continuity - of sameness and that being with Nate was as natural as breathing – instead of calming Will, had the opposite effect. Nate rushed through him like a hurricane and there was only one outcome for this feeling that Will could even contemplate.

Two long strides brought Will to Nate’s side. With a strong hand going to each upper arm, he pulled gently but firmly, wanting Nate to straighten, wanting to bring their lips together again, and all that would follow.

“Nate,” he said, softly, seductively. “C’mon. Forget about her. Look . . . “

Will’s head dipped to Nate’s, wanting only to seal this new, tiny wound with the deep, elemental passion that held them together more strongly than any trumped up ridiculous notions of poets and songwriters, lovers and romantics. He wanted only what he always, blindly, unthinkingly, instinctively wanted – Nate.
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A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Nathaniel Blacktide on October 30th, 2011, 3:37 am

Nate canted his head aside, denying those lips. The silk of that voice rolled over him, a soothing balm to the angry spirit inside of him. Still, he was not prepared to deflate so easily. To give in to the hands that always pulled him away from the precipice of his emotional upheaval.

"Stop," he groused, shoving half heartedly at the sleek, wet chest that hovered close to his own. He shrugged those long fingers off of his shoulders, and took a step back. One foot fell atop a rope, and he was unbalanced, if only for a second. His wavering caused him to shoot a dark look towards his cousin, who was somehow at fault for everything in that moment. A hand in his dark hair, brushing it away from his eyes, and Nate exhaled in an unhappy sigh.

Will was there again, more persistent than anyone he'd ever known. Soft lips grazing the line of his jaw, his throat. Those hands, again, where he liked them most. Places more casual lovers would never imagine. The small of his back, the nape of his neck - wise fingers stroking to soothe, to quiet his demons.

"Will, stop," Nate said, sounding far more subdued as he objected - his head tipping to the side without a thought. He was rewarded by the grazing of strong teeth, the hot seal of wet kisses. A strangled groan escaped his lips, one of his own arms looped lazily around Will's waist, and his cousin might have thought he had given in. Hell, he might have. But then her face flashed through his thoughts, unbidden, and with it came a stroke of the old fury. His pleased moan morphed into something akin to a growl, and Nate whirled about desperately, shoving Will back into the mast behind him. His hands went to the fabric of his cousin's shirt, gripping tightly to hold him there, the weight of his naked body aiding his attempt to immobilize his would be lover.

"Don't you see?" Nate bit out, water dripping from his messy hair into his eyes. From long, dark lashes the droplets spilled onto the fine boning of his cheeks, and trailed lower still until they met his parted lips. "I can't find it, Will. The place where you begin and I end."

Strange words. Heavy words that were completely out of place on such a pleasant night, at the end of an evening they'd thoroughly enjoyed. Perhaps it was the drugs in his system, the alcohol in his belly, or the combination of the two. Either way, the anger in his grip melded with something more like desperation, and he was holding Will as much as he was shoving him away.

There had never been a space that had belonged to him that Will wasn't allowed in. As a child he had shared everything with his favorite cousin. Every toy, every secret, every opportunity. That had never changed. Even as young men, now, Will kept nothing from him. He reciprocated. The concept of space was just different between them. What belonged to him, belonged to Will, and it worked the other way too. He loved that. When all was well in his world, Will was his northern star. A point of stability that went with him, no matter where the currents carried them. Nate loved him fiercely.

He had never wanted that separation. He had never found a person, a place, or a thing to want so selfishly that he wouldn't share it with Will. This thing, then, with the strange girl on the beach - it made no sense. Even Nate, who was feeling overwhelmingly stifled by his cousin's sudden proximity in life, couldn't make sense of it.

"I don't know what is mine, Will. What is yours?"

Nate gave him a shove, and then stumbled back again. Distance between them felt nice. Cool, like water. He didn't glance up at that beautiful face, because he didn't care. Or, rather, the opposite was true. He would care about the expression on that face, about whether he had hurt him with his words, with his actions. He'd absolutely be concerned with the emotion reflected in the eyes of the sea, trained upon him. And he didn't want to. He wanted to wallow in the misery that had him staring so miserably at the deck. He wanted to be unhappy.

And then there were fingers in his. His hand was lifted to rest across the damp fabric covering Will's chest, as his cousin mirrored the gesture. It was a pose they had adopted many times in their break ups and make ups, an apology that didn't have words. He attempted to pull his hand away, too moody for even this sacred thing.

"Will," he said at last. "I think... I think I got some messed up shit."
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A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Will Blacktide on October 30th, 2011, 3:43 pm

Will was confounded. For the moment, he let Nate pull his fingers from his own and he made no move towards his cousin. This wasn’t the first time Nate had been moody and reluctant. It wasn’t even what one might call a rare or unusual occurrence. In fact, it happened enough that, to Will, it almost seemed part of a pattern. Every so often Nate felt the need to rebel – and give in. For that was what always happened next. Only – Will had never heard such words coming from his younger cousin’s mouth before – or the depth of sincerity that underscored Nate’s resistance. He had grown up with Nate. He knew Nate’s every mood – how prone he was to getting over excited or over tired or over wrought. And he knew how to calm Nate, soothe him, bring him back around to his more typical energetic and sometimes almost hyper self. But this – this was different. Will had never heard such . . . confusion in Nate’s voice – such doubt. It confused him as well, and for a long moment, he just stood there, uncertain of what to do. What he could give Nate was only one half of this equation. He in turn very much needed what Nate gave to him – had always given to him. But now . . .

It just wasn’t thinkable. It wasn’t doable. There wasn’t any need for some bright line of demarcation between them. They had always been like this – together, in everything. In every way. There didn’t need to be a mine and a yours when their was simply ours. What was going on? Why was Nate all of a sudden being so . . . weird? Like some huge wall had dropped right down in between them? And that truly was unthinkable. What the hell . . .

And then it hit him, like a gigantic swell towering ten meters over his head – the girl. That petching black haired witch. And witch was the right term – for she seemed to have cast some f’ed up spell on Nate and had him seeing the sun literally streaming out of her curvaceous bottom. At his cousin’s last, almost despairing, words, Will did step closer again, closing the gap between two people who had no business being apart. Not now.

Will grabbed Nate again by the arms, a bit more roughly than he had intended. But he was serious as death. He needed to set Nate straight.

“You’re pussy whipped, Nate. You’re damn right you’re messed up! It’s that petching girl! I don’t know what she’s done, but – I swear, you’re bewitched.” The words were not as flippant as they might have seemed, for the Svefra were a very superstitious lot and in Will’s mind it was entirely possible that the wench had in fact cast a spell on Nate. He seemed to have completely forgotten that he too was quite taken with her looks and flirtatious way. But if any female could make his cousin so confused, so irritable – and so seemingly determined to thwart Will’s every attempt to end this night right – then that had to be dealt with. Here. Now.

“You listen to me, Nate. Forget her. Forget . . . this.” He stared at his cousin, having no words to describe this proposed mutiny of both spirit and flesh that seemed about ready to break. “Listen! Just forget what happened back there and I’ll say I’m sorry a hundred times over it that will make it better. Just . . . “ He had lost the ability to go further with mere words. Once again his hand snaked down to grope for Nate’s, twining their fingers together, pulling it up towards his heart
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A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Nathaniel Blacktide on October 31st, 2011, 4:53 am

Nate's brow furrowed in a way that would be familiar to Will. Confusion, worry, concern. But, mostly, relenting. He allowed his fingers to be claimed, curling them back into Will's own. His imaginative thoughts were dancing along the thread of treachery Will had held out before him. What if he was bewitched? The thought made him shudder, but he tried to do as Will had said. He tried to forget her. To push those bright eyes out of his mind, and to think about the dark hair that he could touch, instead of that wench who had tortured him for no good reason on the beach. He was already sinking in to the familiar promise of peace that came with Will's presence. His touch, his comfort, his lips. Will was home, more than the sea, even.

"I guess," he groused, allowing himself to be tugged closer, until his bare skin could brush the damp fabric covering his cousin. He did not flinch away from the touch of those cool fingers when, again, they returned to his exposed skin. In fact, he merely dropped his head so that he could essentially nuzzle into the curve of Will's throat. He parted his lips and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the length of it, tasting what was familiar, what was good. He heaved a great sigh, expelling the girl on his breath. Already he felt comforted by the touch he was obliged to accept. Years of love and trust between them forced him to give in, to heed advice given, and to try.

It always worked. Or, at least, it had always worked before. When he was at his most upset, his most volatile, his most broken, Will was the one to piece him back together. So much so that the women in their pod had long since learned that it was easiest and best to call for the other cousin, the other half, when Nate was out of control. They were like two halves to one mind, one spirit, one body. If Nate had lost control, then Will was the certain answer to that. He had no reason to think that this situation would be any different. Will was his anchor, his peace.

His body was much further ahead in the making amends than his mind, and so it took little for Will to coax his frame to life. Those fingertips knew him so damned well. Great pleasure found in the smallest things, Nate soon had his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of Will's shirt, pulling him closer still, even when there was no more space between them. He groaned at the sensation of teeth against his shoulder, fingernails along his back. Gods, but Will always knew how to fix him.
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A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Will Blacktide on October 31st, 2011, 3:46 pm

As it came – as Nate’s very breathing pattern altered in a way that Will could have readily and easily predicted – as the fingers curled in his and Nate’s body relaxed – relented – Will himself felt a great lump of uncertainty and dread shatter and dissolve, leaving a rush of relief in its wake. Pulling Nate close, feeling no resistance, his eyes closed as his other hand wrapped around Nate’s bare waist. It was a relief so intense, so blissful that he could have almost forgotten his arousal. Almost. With fingers tracing over Nate’s wet skin, though, and the sensation of those warm lips against his throat, the near panic of just a moment ago telescoped out to seeming a million miles away. Within bare moments, he had Nate encompassed in his arms, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces, his mouth – his lips, his tongue, his teeth – nuzzling along the curve of Nate’s shoulder, his hand dropping away from Nate’s as they pressed together even more tightly. Both hands running exploratory sweeps to reconfirm what every fingertip already knew, and treasured. His eyes closing in satisfied awe at what they could create in a flashpoint of coming together in this way, as they always had done. Nothing had changed. Everything was as it should be. Nate was mollified, the blip in their evening forgotten - he was Will's once more, and there was no-one in heaven, hell or earth that could worship him with their body as Will could - as Will would tonight.

With his lips climbing up the column of his cousin’s throat, Will murmured, “Come below lover. It’s petching cold up here.”

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A bottle of rum. [Will]

Postby Will Blacktide on November 14th, 2011, 3:50 am

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