[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.]
[ the answer comes automatically and without thought, and nick immediately regrets saying it. the thing is, it's such an easy truth to tell on the face of it. god knows nick has had his fair share of trysts in the house, but always somewhere else, in someone else's room, or in the other spaces that this place provides them, but never in this room. it should be that simple, august doesn't have to worry about interrupting anything, because nick doesn't bring that back here.
but why doesn't he?
that's the question that has nick in a chokehold, the follow up that nick hadn't thought about until he'd already answered, but august is already rocking up against him and it would take a stronger man than nick to resist that, anyway. nick is already pushing his thigh up further up between august's legs, shifting his hips to find the best angle to grind up against him. ]
[he pulls his head away, frowning as he looks at him. his eyes narrow. he's very suspicious of that answer. all August has done since he's arrived is avoid any unnecessary visits out of the blue. years ago, it was as common as anything, as buying bread or making coffee. he stopped showing up after enough times, stopped opening the door entirely. he made Nick come to him.]
Whatdoyoumean?
[all slurred out into one word while he's properly distracted again by Nick's willingness to give into his greed, his hand running along his leg to pull him in. he groans, half-hard and too drunk to know if he can really get anywhere, but it doesn't mean it doesn't feel just as good.]
[ god, nick wishes he was drunk right now, if only because he wouldn't be so hyperaware of everything that he's saying. there's a freedom to not thinking about the consequences of your words that nick is desperate for right now — but then, nick really needs all of that awareness to navigate the conversation that he's just inadvertedly started. ]
I mean—
[ it would be easier to focus if he wasn't also rolling his hips against august's, enough friction for his breath to hitch around a sigh. there's a lack of urgency that's appealing all on its own, rocking back against him just because it feels good, but august asked a question and nick really should answer. ]
I don't... [ does it sound like a confession? nick can't tell, he just knows that the words feel oddly hard to get out. ] I don't fuck anyone else in here. So like. It's fine. You can come round whenever you want, I mean it.
[he can't tell if he's joking, so much that the corner of his mouth turns upward to a lopsided smile. that statement sounds so far-fetched and unreal to him he almost laughs. even August has fucked people in his own bed here. he's tried to be discreet about it, but it's definitely been done.]
Why don't you?
[his thoughts are in one place while his dick is in another. all that part is thinking about is how good it would feel to be inside of him, how nice it would be to have Nick completely around his body. goes to show why these sorts of conversations should be left alone if one of them is undressed. his breaths become more shallow, heart rate picking up from the steady grind. without thinking, he presses another kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek with his hand.]
[ there it is. why doesn't nick use his perfectly good bed inside of his perfectly good room to do anything other than catch a few hours of sleep here and there? it's even occasionally proved more inconvenient, tumbling into a nearby hallway instead when nick could have led someone right here. so why doesn't nick sleep with anyone else here?
not for the first time, nick can't quite fathom how there was a world only a few weeks ago where he wasn't acutely aware of how in love he was, because this predates that horrifying moment of realisation. ever since he arrived, nick has been making excuses or going to other people. ]
I don't know.
[ it's only half a lie. nick doesn't really know why, because it doesn't mean anything to anyone other than him. nick doesn't know why, or at least he doesn't know how to explain in a way that makes sense. even if he could tell august everything, it still probably wouldn't make sense. why does nick put all these rules on himself for how he interacts with the world, if he's not willing to share any of them?
maybe he just wants august to--know something, or maybe he's too distracted by the combination of the kiss and the french and the delicious grind of his hips making his thoughts blur, but for whatever reason, he keeps talking through a breathy moan. ]
[without realizing it, August is using pleasure to sink his teeth into Nick's mind and drag out truth. it's hard to be open with him when he doesn't know what that really looks like between them, so now that he's too drunk to think and Nick is the sober one for once, he's finding that it's much easier to ask the questions he's always wanted to ask.
in the morning, he'll be able to make the correlation between Nick and drugs and why he deep dives into them so easily. right now, he's moaning into his mouth through another heady kiss, made wet from a very needy tongue. he thinks about his answer for a while, or forgets about it. he murmurs out a few intelligible words against lips.]
I'm just for us.
[that makes no sense, and what he meant to say got mixed up with something else entirely, but he's thinking too heavily about Nick's thigh between his legs and the warmth of his mouth.]
[ august is too drunk for nick to ever possibly hold him to these words, but he can't help taking a moment to close his eyes and imagine a world where august means it exactly the way that nick wants him to. it's a self-indulgent, delusional fantasy, but he can't help but entertain the idea all the same, a world where just for us means...
well. it's only a moment of delusion, not enough for nick put a name to it. honestly he might not be able to keep a lid on things if he starts thinking in specifics like that. it's a dangerous game, he's already said far too much, gotten so lucky that he hasn't blurted enough to really scare august, but he can't push his luck any further. ]
Me too.
[ he huffs out a sound a little like a laugh, sliding both his hands down august's body and finding his hips, coaxing him into a little more of a purposeful rhythm. this might not go anywhere, august might not last — honestly he might pass out before either of them get close to an orgasm — but it's not really about that, anyway. it's about holding him close, having august in his bed and his arms. ]
[he says me too and August kisses him again, like he did when he'd first climbed into bed with him with his rosary dangling from his neck. his mouth hurts and he doesn't register it's because he's been smiling all this time. Nick leads him, makes his movements more steady and he's glad for that, because he doesn't have the energy or focus to do it right.
yes he wants to come. yes he's holding on to Nick lazily, palming at skin or tugging on his shirt. being drunk lets him look desperate, hips rolling forward in search for more and soft groans escaping his throat every so often, bitten back or breathed into Nick's mouth during a kiss.]
I don't know if I can.
[he murmurs, but so relaxed here in Nick's arms, and his cock is getting harder and he's finally, finally somewhere he wants to be instead of the bar or drowning in a bottle somewhere else.]
[ nick whispers the words back, soft and soothing, permission given to just take as much from this as he needs. august is soft and pliant in a way that he never usually is, and it's easy work for nick to get an arm between august's neck and the bed, winding around his shoulders.
tenderness isn't something new or unusual for them but something about this still feels--too much like a scenario nick keeps working over in his brain, despite his best efforts to stop. august, coming home to Nick's best, pressing soft, sweet nothings into nick's mouth and falling asleep by his side — it's too much to hope for, but maybe it's okay, if he can have it for a night. ]
I'm glad you came here tonight.
[ he doesn't ever break the kiss for long, slow and lazy like the long roll of his hips, just enough to keep them feeling good without building any urgency. really, it's the closeness that he's chasing more than anything, the tangled wrap of their legs together and chests pressed tight, lips that never leave each other for more than a moment. really, just this could be enough. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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tongue
body.
you.
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i'll wait for you
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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.]
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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?
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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.
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[ 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.
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[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.
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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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?
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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?
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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. ]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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[ the answer comes automatically and without thought, and nick immediately regrets saying it. the thing is, it's such an easy truth to tell on the face of it. god knows nick has had his fair share of trysts in the house, but always somewhere else, in someone else's room, or in the other spaces that this place provides them, but never in this room. it should be that simple, august doesn't have to worry about interrupting anything, because nick doesn't bring that back here.
but why doesn't he?
that's the question that has nick in a chokehold, the follow up that nick hadn't thought about until he'd already answered, but august is already rocking up against him and it would take a stronger man than nick to resist that, anyway. nick is already pushing his thigh up further up between august's legs, shifting his hips to find the best angle to grind up against him. ]
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Whatdoyoumean?
[all slurred out into one word while he's properly distracted again by Nick's willingness to give into his greed, his hand running along his leg to pull him in. he groans, half-hard and too drunk to know if he can really get anywhere, but it doesn't mean it doesn't feel just as good.]
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I mean—
[ it would be easier to focus if he wasn't also rolling his hips against august's, enough friction for his breath to hitch around a sigh. there's a lack of urgency that's appealing all on its own, rocking back against him just because it feels good, but august asked a question and nick really should answer. ]
I don't... [ does it sound like a confession? nick can't tell, he just knows that the words feel oddly hard to get out. ] I don't fuck anyone else in here. So like. It's fine. You can come round whenever you want, I mean it.
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Why don't you?
[his thoughts are in one place while his dick is in another. all that part is thinking about is how good it would feel to be inside of him, how nice it would be to have Nick completely around his body. goes to show why these sorts of conversations should be left alone if one of them is undressed. his breaths become more shallow, heart rate picking up from the steady grind. without thinking, he presses another kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek with his hand.]
Je suis fou de toi.
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not for the first time, nick can't quite fathom how there was a world only a few weeks ago where he wasn't acutely aware of how in love he was, because this predates that horrifying moment of realisation. ever since he arrived, nick has been making excuses or going to other people. ]
I don't know.
[ it's only half a lie. nick doesn't really know why, because it doesn't mean anything to anyone other than him. nick doesn't know why, or at least he doesn't know how to explain in a way that makes sense. even if he could tell august everything, it still probably wouldn't make sense. why does nick put all these rules on himself for how he interacts with the world, if he's not willing to share any of them?
maybe he just wants august to--know something, or maybe he's too distracted by the combination of the kiss and the french and the delicious grind of his hips making his thoughts blur, but for whatever reason, he keeps talking through a breathy moan. ]
I guess I wanted something that was just for us.
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in the morning, he'll be able to make the correlation between Nick and drugs and why he deep dives into them so easily. right now, he's moaning into his mouth through another heady kiss, made wet from a very needy tongue. he thinks about his answer for a while, or forgets about it. he murmurs out a few intelligible words against lips.]
I'm just for us.
[that makes no sense, and what he meant to say got mixed up with something else entirely, but he's thinking too heavily about Nick's thigh between his legs and the warmth of his mouth.]
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well. it's only a moment of delusion, not enough for nick put a name to it. honestly he might not be able to keep a lid on things if he starts thinking in specifics like that. it's a dangerous game, he's already said far too much, gotten so lucky that he hasn't blurted enough to really scare august, but he can't push his luck any further. ]
Me too.
[ he huffs out a sound a little like a laugh, sliding both his hands down august's body and finding his hips, coaxing him into a little more of a purposeful rhythm. this might not go anywhere, august might not last — honestly he might pass out before either of them get close to an orgasm — but it's not really about that, anyway. it's about holding him close, having august in his bed and his arms. ]
Do you want to come?
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yes he wants to come. yes he's holding on to Nick lazily, palming at skin or tugging on his shirt. being drunk lets him look desperate, hips rolling forward in search for more and soft groans escaping his throat every so often, bitten back or breathed into Nick's mouth during a kiss.]
I don't know if I can.
[he murmurs, but so relaxed here in Nick's arms, and his cock is getting harder and he's finally, finally somewhere he wants to be instead of the bar or drowning in a bottle somewhere else.]
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[ nick whispers the words back, soft and soothing, permission given to just take as much from this as he needs. august is soft and pliant in a way that he never usually is, and it's easy work for nick to get an arm between august's neck and the bed, winding around his shoulders.
tenderness isn't something new or unusual for them but something about this still feels--too much like a scenario nick keeps working over in his brain, despite his best efforts to stop. august, coming home to Nick's best, pressing soft, sweet nothings into nick's mouth and falling asleep by his side — it's too much to hope for, but maybe it's okay, if he can have it for a night. ]
I'm glad you came here tonight.
[ he doesn't ever break the kiss for long, slow and lazy like the long roll of his hips, just enough to keep them feeling good without building any urgency. really, it's the closeness that he's chasing more than anything, the tangled wrap of their legs together and chests pressed tight, lips that never leave each other for more than a moment. really, just this could be enough. ]
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🎀