[against all fashions that make August, August, he stumbles into Nick's room at around 3:45AM, a bottle and a half deep and clothes rumpled. he does try to be quiet, which is near impossible because every time he tries to bend over to take off his shoes he trips over himself and almost falls each time. this results in a cycle of one or two stomps and scuffs of shoe against wood. that leaves him with only one option:
crawl on to Nick's bed, above the covers, clothes and shoes on, and collapse where the shape of his body is, regardless if he'd been sleeping or not. curled over top of him, head planting itself right next to Nick's — too close, he'll smell alcohol on his breath, on his clothes — and elbow tucked beneath him, the back of his hand tapping against his chest.]
You awake?
[is a really stupid question, considering that all he's done is disrupt the silence and very unceremoniously climbed into bed.]
[ of course nick is awake, how could he not be? it takes a real marker of restraint to stay in bed when he hears august tumbling into the room honestly, he's too tempted to hop up and help, fuss with his shoes and sweep his hair off his face--but he waits, lying quiet in the bed until august climbs in beside him.
god, he must be really drunk, its all nick can smell, but he still shifts closer into his touch, sliding a hand up to find the one tapping at his chest. he doesn't quite take august's hand yet, but he plays with his fingers idly, like he's thinking about it. ]
[his speech is slurred, each letter rolling into the next, wet in his mouth. his free hand reaches up to touch Nick's face, thumb barely missing his eye. he snickers to himself and drops his hand altogether.]
Did you? I lost my phone.
[two things that he doesn't need to say together that he says together anyway. he wriggles, pressing in closer to him, clearly not satisfied with the results. he tilts his head up to look down at the two of them.]
You're under everything. Why are you under everything? God, that's annoying. Jesus, fuck - [loose lips and and even looser body, he's making sorry (and sloppy) attempts to pull the covers down while he's still on top of them. his head drops back down, exhausted, exasperated - all of the above.] this is difficult.
[ nick snorts a laugh as he moves to help wriggle out of the covers, and the sound is so soft and affectionate that he almost disgusts himself with it. is he ever going to be able to just act normally, now that he knows? probably not, but there are worse crosses to bear.
august is making enough of a mess trying to get the sheets out of the way that he's tangling nick up worse, but he fights to wriggle free all the same, kicking them down and out of the way. it's entirely too indulgent when nick snakes an arm up his shirt to press a palm flat up against his chest, but maybe it's easier to do it without overthinking in the quiet hours of the early morning. or when august is so drunk that he can't possibly read nick like a book. ]
[dead drunk. once the covers are gone, he worms his body around Nick, hooking one leg around his. shoe against skin. his nose crinkles and he huffs, but doesn't have the energy to pull himself away and deal with that. he's half aroused, half slipping away. one of his hands tugs at Nick's shirt, and feeling the fabric between his fingertips he's distinctly -- distantly -- aware that it can't possibly be something Nick owns.
he'd like more skin on skin, smooths his fingers over his waistline. Nick always knows where to touch him, where to hold him still. he smiles with glassy, half-lidded eyes.]
[ it would be really quite easy to just tuck his face into august's chest and huddle in, he'd probably even drift off relatively quickly, even though he's as sober as they come and even though his mind still whirs a thousand miles a minute.
but august still has his shoes on, and he's smiling so sweetly, how could he not tend to him? ]
Tell me something in French.
[ because why not, even though nick can't understand more than a scant few handful of words. he ducks a quick kiss in at his cheek, so fast august could almost miss it, before he's sitting up. he doesn't go far, just shifting far enough away on the bed that he can reach august's feet and tug at his shoes, tossing them off of the bed one after the other. then his socks, following suit, gentle and almost reverent as nick moves his legs around to get them off and send them the same way as his shoes before them. ]
[he's too slow to protest Nick pulling away, however brief it is. he props himself up on his elbows to watch him in the dark, lazy smile sticking to his features.]
Rien n'a de sens sans toi. [Nick is chatty in English, and August could go on and on with words that he can't understand. his stupor has what he says too close together, thick and even harder to translate. he glances up toward the ceiling, lips parting as though he's about to say something profound. he hiccups instead, grinning, a light in his eyes that wasn't there before.] Plus il y a d’espace entre toi et moi et moins je respire. Je suis fait.
[the language removes any barrier that he has, opens the door to a world that Nick hasn't ever seen. he has that bittersweet taste in his mouth again, but it's muted by the whiskey and even more so by the way he feels just by looking at him.]
[ he wonders, if he listens hard enough, could he understand what august is saying anyway? it doesn't make any sense, nick has never picked up enough french to follow a sentence, he can only even identify a couple of the words he's using, let alone the whole thing. but maybe it doesn't matter, too.
not when august looks like that. shoes and socks done, nick works his way up. at his pants, nick undoes them carefully, nudges gently at august's hips to let him work them down his thighs and off of his legs. he's taking so much care with each action, slow and soft as nick watches august's face and not what he's doing at all. ]
That is something.
[ he could ask what it all means, but maybe he shouldn't know. maybe august can say whatever the hell he wants like this, with the knowledge that nick won't know what he's saying. maybe it's just nick that's desperate for that, though. what he wouldn't give to press secrets into his skin, safe knowing that august won't remember.
they don't tend to forget, though, and august won't even wake up with a hangover if he shares the bed with nick, and at the end of the day he's not the one with a tongue intoxicated enough to whisper anything, so he just moves back up to august's side, stretching out next to him and slipping his hand back up august's shirt, because he wants to. it could be enough, just this. ]
[there's trust in the way August lets Nick touch him. the tenderness that's given, the silence that follows as the two of them look at each other while he's slowly undressed. he's obsessed with how he watches him, wishes that he'd look at him like that forever. memories swirl around in his mind - the nothing conversations, old texts, and moments shared between them in the quiet of the night.
his touch doesn't come soon enough. as soon as Nick is back at his side, he wraps his arm around him, pulling him in as close as he can. he breathes deeply, content. he doesn't think he'll ever have another chance to be so open again, his confessions would seem insincere. he yearns to be understood and seen by the person he knows can't understand the adoration he's been speaking into their space.]
Je ne peux pas m'empêcher de penser à toi.
[is his real answer. love is weaved into every letter, poured directly out from his soul. it's the last thing he'll say, he decides, because the rest might take up what Nick can translate, and he's not going to do that to him.]
[ nick doesn't know if he dares to give the real answer, he already feels exposed just thinking about it. the truth of it is, if he was going to let himself be as unreasonably and insanely honest as he could be, then august would be consumed by nick. his thoughts, his space, his body, if nick allows himself to really dwell on it for too long, the truth is that he wants everything.
but there's a thousand reasons why he can't say that, least of all because of the unreasonable and the insane nature of the request, that even he can recognise for what it is. obsession. desperation. and nick wants to be consumed by august in return, but he can't say compromise. ]
What was it you said.... my tongue? [ he says it like a secret, leaning in until he can press a kiss to the corner of august's mouth, flick his tongue like he's seeking entrance--but no further, not yet. ] My body?
[ and a hand finds august's, twisted behind him so that he can adjust it's place to tucking up under the back of his shirt, pressing against nick's skin. they're already so close, but nick hooks his leg around august's, just to edge himself in a little closer. ]
Me?
[ that's as close as he can get to the real thing, the real request, and even that's too honest, probably, but august is drunk and the house is quiet and nick--well, nick can only keep so much to himself. ]
[the feeling of Nick's tongue on his lips stirs him, alerts more of his senses to focus on only one thing. booze-heavy and hungry, he returns the kiss like that's all he needed. he's shot messages into darkness and to untrained ears, laid his heart on the table as a spectacle. he can't decide if it was cruel of him to do and he doesn't remember the last time he was asked to speak the language he missed so much, especially by Nick.
he's itching for more, too - his hand on Nick's skin doesn't feel like enough. but the kiss is feels too short lived, and he's been ignoring the question by losing himself in his mouth. delayed and foggy with lust, he pulls back to answer. his lips brush against his when he speaks.]
Always you.
[there isn't any space to shush or disguise himself. he'd texted him after all, held onto his phone and stared at it begrudgingly until giving in. he always prefers to be in Nick's bed (no matter the hour) and have him wrapped and tucked and fit into every nook he can. he is all the soft parts to August's soul.]
[ nick has to wonder how he managed to be so blind for so long, because the little thrill it gives him to hear isn't anything new. the thing is, even though august is absolutely more loose-lipped now than he might be on an ordinary day, it's also not like it's unheard of for him to talk like this. they do this, sometimes, both of them, pressing words into each other's mouths and skin that feel so close to a promise. it's just that now there's this painful little spike of--not hope, that's not the right name for it, but maybe a wildly delusional moment of wondering what if...
that's not a fair tangent to indule right now, though. not for nick, who feels more cracked open and raw around august than he ever has in his life, and certainly not fair on august, too drunk to know the weight of what he's saying. so nick kisses him until he can get a hold of himself, figure out a way to stamp that little whim back down again. he's only mostly successful, but it's enough that he can speak without worrying about what words might dribble out of his mouth. ]
You know you can come here any time, right? You don't have to ask, ever.
[ he sweeps a hand over august's head, pushes his hair back out of his face, and doesn't resist the urge to press a softer, sweeter kiss right on the bridge of his nose. he doesn't resist the urge to push his thigh up between august's legs either — there's so little space between them, but somehow, always, it never quite feels like enough.]
[through the lazy kisses and Nick's hand through his hair he's leaning into everything, giving in when the contact breaks. that feels nice, the doting and devotion. he tries to return it, but his head flops back down to the pillow instead. he's too far away to hold back what tumbles out.]
Mm, no. What if you're with someone?
[he's not asking to be cruel, or because he's anxious about the potential of it happening - it already has. he's walked in, seen too much and promptly turned away. he doesn't like those kinds of surprises. he doesn't even know if Nick knows that he's seen anything, but it looms over him anyway. he doesn't want to know.
so he adjusts himself. hips rolling forward to try for friction, a primal human reaction deep seeded inside of him and past all that murkiness of liquor and sleepiness.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
lost**
youknow. i'll come to you
don't wait for me
no subject
but you can come to me
i can't sleep though so no promises on not waiting up
no subject
why can't you sleep?
no subject
too much to think about not enough to do
you're awake too
no subject
what are you thinking about
no subject
tracking runes
why we're here
you
what are you thinking about?
no subject
not a hot thing to say.]
mostly you
no subject
no subject
50/50
no subject
no subject
tongue
body.
you.
no subject
i'll wait for you
no subject
crawl on to Nick's bed, above the covers, clothes and shoes on, and collapse where the shape of his body is, regardless if he'd been sleeping or not. curled over top of him, head planting itself right next to Nick's — too close, he'll smell alcohol on his breath, on his clothes — and elbow tucked beneath him, the back of his hand tapping against his chest.]
You awake?
[is a really stupid question, considering that all he's done is disrupt the silence and very unceremoniously climbed into bed.]
no subject
god, he must be really drunk, its all nick can smell, but he still shifts closer into his touch, sliding a hand up to find the one tapping at his chest. he doesn't quite take august's hand yet, but he plays with his fingers idly, like he's thinking about it. ]
I told you I would be, didn't I?
no subject
Did you? I lost my phone.
[two things that he doesn't need to say together that he says together anyway. he wriggles, pressing in closer to him, clearly not satisfied with the results. he tilts his head up to look down at the two of them.]
You're under everything. Why are you under everything? God, that's annoying. Jesus, fuck - [loose lips and and even looser body, he's making sorry (and sloppy) attempts to pull the covers down while he's still on top of them. his head drops back down, exhausted, exasperated - all of the above.] this is difficult.
no subject
[ nick snorts a laugh as he moves to help wriggle out of the covers, and the sound is so soft and affectionate that he almost disgusts himself with it. is he ever going to be able to just act normally, now that he knows? probably not, but there are worse crosses to bear.
august is making enough of a mess trying to get the sheets out of the way that he's tangling nick up worse, but he fights to wriggle free all the same, kicking them down and out of the way. it's entirely too indulgent when nick snakes an arm up his shirt to press a palm flat up against his chest, but maybe it's easier to do it without overthinking in the quiet hours of the early morning. or when august is so drunk that he can't possibly read nick like a book. ]
You're wasted.
no subject
[dead drunk. once the covers are gone, he worms his body around Nick, hooking one leg around his. shoe against skin. his nose crinkles and he huffs, but doesn't have the energy to pull himself away and deal with that. he's half aroused, half slipping away. one of his hands tugs at Nick's shirt, and feeling the fabric between his fingertips he's distinctly -- distantly -- aware that it can't possibly be something Nick owns.
he'd like more skin on skin, smooths his fingers over his waistline. Nick always knows where to touch him, where to hold him still. he smiles with glassy, half-lidded eyes.]
Main - [clearing his throat,] You knew that.
no subject
[ it would be really quite easy to just tuck his face into august's chest and huddle in, he'd probably even drift off relatively quickly, even though he's as sober as they come and even though his mind still whirs a thousand miles a minute.
but august still has his shoes on, and he's smiling so sweetly, how could he not tend to him? ]
Tell me something in French.
[ because why not, even though nick can't understand more than a scant few handful of words. he ducks a quick kiss in at his cheek, so fast august could almost miss it, before he's sitting up. he doesn't go far, just shifting far enough away on the bed that he can reach august's feet and tug at his shoes, tossing them off of the bed one after the other. then his socks, following suit, gentle and almost reverent as nick moves his legs around to get them off and send them the same way as his shoes before them. ]
no subject
Rien n'a de sens sans toi. [Nick is chatty in English, and August could go on and on with words that he can't understand. his stupor has what he says too close together, thick and even harder to translate. he glances up toward the ceiling, lips parting as though he's about to say something profound. he hiccups instead, grinning, a light in his eyes that wasn't there before.] Plus il y a d’espace entre toi et moi et moins je respire. Je suis fait.
[the language removes any barrier that he has, opens the door to a world that Nick hasn't ever seen. he has that bittersweet taste in his mouth again, but it's muted by the whiskey and even more so by the way he feels just by looking at him.]
That's something.
no subject
not when august looks like that. shoes and socks done, nick works his way up. at his pants, nick undoes them carefully, nudges gently at august's hips to let him work them down his thighs and off of his legs. he's taking so much care with each action, slow and soft as nick watches august's face and not what he's doing at all. ]
That is something.
[ he could ask what it all means, but maybe he shouldn't know. maybe august can say whatever the hell he wants like this, with the knowledge that nick won't know what he's saying. maybe it's just nick that's desperate for that, though. what he wouldn't give to press secrets into his skin, safe knowing that august won't remember.
they don't tend to forget, though, and august won't even wake up with a hangover if he shares the bed with nick, and at the end of the day he's not the one with a tongue intoxicated enough to whisper anything, so he just moves back up to august's side, stretching out next to him and slipping his hand back up august's shirt, because he wants to. it could be enough, just this. ]
What are you thinking about now?
no subject
his touch doesn't come soon enough. as soon as Nick is back at his side, he wraps his arm around him, pulling him in as close as he can. he breathes deeply, content. he doesn't think he'll ever have another chance to be so open again, his confessions would seem insincere. he yearns to be understood and seen by the person he knows can't understand the adoration he's been speaking into their space.]
Je ne peux pas m'empêcher de penser à toi.
[is his real answer. love is weaved into every letter, poured directly out from his soul. it's the last thing he'll say, he decides, because the rest might take up what Nick can translate, and he's not going to do that to him.]
What do you want me to be thinking about?
no subject
but there's a thousand reasons why he can't say that, least of all because of the unreasonable and the insane nature of the request, that even he can recognise for what it is. obsession. desperation. and nick wants to be consumed by august in return, but he can't say compromise. ]
What was it you said.... my tongue? [ he says it like a secret, leaning in until he can press a kiss to the corner of august's mouth, flick his tongue like he's seeking entrance--but no further, not yet. ] My body?
[ and a hand finds august's, twisted behind him so that he can adjust it's place to tucking up under the back of his shirt, pressing against nick's skin. they're already so close, but nick hooks his leg around august's, just to edge himself in a little closer. ]
Me?
[ that's as close as he can get to the real thing, the real request, and even that's too honest, probably, but august is drunk and the house is quiet and nick--well, nick can only keep so much to himself. ]
no subject
he's itching for more, too - his hand on Nick's skin doesn't feel like enough. but the kiss is feels too short lived, and he's been ignoring the question by losing himself in his mouth. delayed and foggy with lust, he pulls back to answer. his lips brush against his when he speaks.]
Always you.
[there isn't any space to shush or disguise himself. he'd texted him after all, held onto his phone and stared at it begrudgingly until giving in. he always prefers to be in Nick's bed (no matter the hour) and have him wrapped and tucked and fit into every nook he can. he is all the soft parts to August's soul.]
no subject
that's not a fair tangent to indule right now, though. not for nick, who feels more cracked open and raw around august than he ever has in his life, and certainly not fair on august, too drunk to know the weight of what he's saying. so nick kisses him until he can get a hold of himself, figure out a way to stamp that little whim back down again. he's only mostly successful, but it's enough that he can speak without worrying about what words might dribble out of his mouth. ]
You know you can come here any time, right? You don't have to ask, ever.
[ he sweeps a hand over august's head, pushes his hair back out of his face, and doesn't resist the urge to press a softer, sweeter kiss right on the bridge of his nose. he doesn't resist the urge to push his thigh up between august's legs either — there's so little space between them, but somehow, always, it never quite feels like enough.]
no subject
Mm, no. What if you're with someone?
[he's not asking to be cruel, or because he's anxious about the potential of it happening - it already has. he's walked in, seen too much and promptly turned away. he doesn't like those kinds of surprises. he doesn't even know if Nick knows that he's seen anything, but it looms over him anyway. he doesn't want to know.
so he adjusts himself. hips rolling forward to try for friction, a primal human reaction deep seeded inside of him and past all that murkiness of liquor and sleepiness.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
🎀