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. |