31 March 2001
X-Men
Cannonball/Cable

Sequel to Where the Wild Things Are and Wild Things 1.5: One Kind and Another

In which Nathan roars his terrible roar and gnashes his terrible teeth and rolls his terrible eyes and shows his terrible claws and then does what he needs to.

Disclaimer: If they were ours, there'd be less angst. Or at least more interesting angst.

Authors' notes: Title snitched from Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are, again. This one comes close to being also Te's fault, but she won't admit it.
 
 

Wild Things II:
Off Through Night and Day
by Janete

He's still thinking about it.

Round sweetness and hard muscle. Open, honest, needful face. Can Nathan tell himself that they both don't need at least a part of this? Contact, acknowledgment beyond the fight ...

Somebody told Nathan once that he was into self-denial to the point of martyrdom, and they probably had a point. But Sam's beautiful and warm and brave and young, and he has this faith that no one's been able to break yet. So it's hard. But desire, definitely. And a question of whether Nathan's going to decide what Sam needs from him, or let Sam decide for himself.

But surely not let anyone decide what he needs, though he's given up on making that point stick with Domino ...

Half-guilty flood, there, as if even thinking about Sam's desire for him is some betrayal of all the vows neither spoken nor acknowledged between him and Dom. But ... where is she? Nathan needed to spy to understand, but Domino should have known. Long before anyone else. And if she did, what then? Was this where she drew the line between mother-figure and fellow soldier? Was she confident enough in Nathan's ability to handle it? Or perhaps comfortable enough to know that he'd need a brick to the head to figure it out.

Anger there, more because of the truth of it. Sam hadn't taken Nate with any hesitancy, any pause to think. This had been. Building.

Sly whisper in his own voice -- does Sam dream of him?

He can almost remember. Something. When they were last overseas, sheltering from the rain in some wretched, bombed-out farmhouse on the Sino-Russia border, he'd spent the night with Sam curled against him, both of them trying to convince themselves that there was enough body heat between them to keep at least one human being alive. The psi-link with Domino was almost hauntingly quiet in the back of his mind, and it would have been terrifying, so close to his own thoughts, if he hadn't had the low-grade psychic noise of Sam's unconscious lapping at his attention.

Nothing clear in the thought-bleed he'd touched. Nothing so vividly erotic that he couldn't mistake it or even anything particularly focussed. Just the fragments of dreams that were the normal part of REM sleep and the more comfortable unconscious knowledge of safety.

Part of him had screamed that he needed to train this out of the boy, that Sam trusted too much, that he'd die permanently of that trust someday and that too would be Nathan's fault. Horrible memory of Sam's blood on his hands and clothes from the minutes before the External power first manifested. Bloody mess on the table where Nathan had laid him, not breathing, baby-soft lashes making him look like he was far too young to be out alone after dark, let alone dead.

The other part pulled Sam closer and drifted all night on the edge of his mind, resting and watching at once. Exhausted by morning when a bashful and barely-awake Sam stammered apologies for not taking second watch.

Something like that.

Memory vivid against the curve of Sam's naked body outside.

So, perhaps not so ignorant as all that. He knows this boy, and, appearances aside, it is possible that this is some new thing. Something fragile and breakable, perhaps even broken now that the secret is out.

Nate. Nate needs something now, something Nathan is precisely the wrong person to give. Should he trust that Domino will see it? Or will Nate be gone by morning?

Perhaps that would be best. Some wounds need to be licked in private.

Quick look and Sam is still out there, still nude, without the safety of a dozen or so naked others to make it anything like normal. Naked in moonlight, off to the side of the deck. On his back and perhaps staring up into the sky. Perhaps even sleeping ... the boy is young.

Definite comfort in that. Sam's youth and innocence both danger and protection -- if not necessarily for himself. Nathan could easily touch the boy's mind now, with no one but him the wiser. It would probably be a good idea to suss out vague impressions and the strongest emotions, something to give Nathan solid ground to stand on so that he can deal with this.

Simple survival there, common sense. There is a problem within the scope of his command, and it needs to be dealt with. There. Still, all the years with Domino have left him spoiled for this, soft. Domino has been his shield against times like this, their particular nasty breed of love enough to cause most to shy away.

Wonders why Sam hasn't done the same, wonders if this one, awful mistake is the sign that he has. Hiding the attraction from everyone but the most powerful psis, like Nate, if not from himself. Sam.

And what is this? A latent taste for power? Lust for the unobtainable? Sam is just screwed up enough about relationships to have those sort of problems. Certainly better than some of the darker alternatives. He's much too old for this, old enough to be the boy's ... father.

Oh, yes, and he knows enough about that. Hate and desire and need and love and misunderstanding tied in a knot at the thought of his too-young parents, still out enjoying the mild night. Much of the same innocence, the same optimism as the naked boy on the lawn, though not nearly as intense.

They've been weathered and shaped by years of combat, if not quite so many as Nathan. And will Sam be weathered just the same? Clear blue eyes shaded with mistrust, body stiffening against unfamiliar touch? Familiar battle within his head, if perhaps more personal than ever before. The commander craving something to hurt the boy enough to temper him, the man desperate to protect.

Hold the boy warm against the cold, and fuck the soldier anyway.

So.

He goes outside. Surprised at himself and not, aware that Sam's turned so far inward that he can step back at any time. It's more of an out than he's had in years (and oh, strange that this should be fully and completely his choice, no Rachel or Blaquesmith hissing about necessary evils and continuities), enough to keep him walking over.

He's never learned to stand casually. Jenskot used to laugh at him for it, his need to loom over space and people. But there are postures that are familiar enough not to be threatening, at least not to someone he knows well. And this one's fully familiar to Sam: standing over, looking down, one hand extended offering assistance. Stays there, breathing loudly enough to be heard until Sam stirs and rolls half onto his back to look up at him.

Bashful, "Hey."

Nathan turns his wrist so that the hand's extended palm-upward. Undemanding until the moment Sam takes it.

That grip enough for him to pull the boy up and in against his chest. Rock him there a little. His chest's dry enough that Sam can't be crying, but he's shaking almost convulsively, and both his hands are clinging to Nathan's shirt.

And he keeps thinking that this love is utterly different from the ones that formed him. Not like Jenskot, whose death-agony's still smeared thinly over his skin like something he can't forget. Not Tyler (not the clinging, aching guilt of abandonment for the child who was almost-not quite-never his). Nothing like Domino, whose need for him is the least part of her, who holds him at a distance of miles and vanishes without warning.

"Sam."

"I'm sorry."

Something he should've expected, but, of course, did not. If he comes close to accepting the apology, Sam will spend who knew how long hating himself for wanting him. If he tells him there's nothing to apologize for, would that be seen as ... encouragement?

Nathan's not in the least used to this, to having the luxury of mixed messages. In the time he still, quietly, thinks of as his own, there'd be no room for this sort of thing. Flat rejection or acceptance only, no time or safety for anything remotely vague. But this is not his time, so he says nothing, merely holds Sam a little tighter.

Hands on the strong back, smooth of scars. Soft skin over muscle. A boy. A boy, and not for him in any way.

Stays as still as he can, something solid to hold that makes no demands. Doesn't move his hands over the boy's skin, stays as carefully back as the hug allows, and waits for a sign that they can end this. A bitter thing, to have to judge things like this. There's a lack of nature in the discomfort, or perhaps just too much of nature. He should be able to hold this boy whenever he needs it, or just wants it, but sex is in the way.

Momentary fear that the boy is hard against him, but the tangled mass of emotion isn't allowing for that at the moment. Judgment call made, and he pulls Sam a fraction closer, enough so that he finally releases Nathan's shirt and wraps his arms around him. Better or worse?

Better or worse to consider the question?

It doesn't matter.

Nathan reaches up to stroke the soft hair, the hint of curl at the scalp. Hot breath against his throat and residual trembling. Relief that Nate's room is on the far side of the mansion, that he can't possibly be watching this. God, and what are his responsibilities to him? His twin of sorts? His brother? The genetics of the question are, perhaps thankfully, beyond him -- the emotions are not.

He can smell sex on the boy, musk and heat and desire. Nathan is thankful that he doesn't know enough to distinguish Sam's desire from Nate's, but the mix is still heady and strong.

Two young men and why can't it have been enough? Nate and Sam would have been good for each other, steadying and even healthy in some vague way he associates with his parents. Instead, there is this. More soap opera for the X families to deal with.

Could Sam be relocated to another team?

Not right away, of course, but sometime down the road. Ease the tension that way. Perhaps an older brother to Gen-X, as they certainly need one. They know him, are obviously comfortable with him . . . but no, there's the sister to be considered and this. Is too much.

Sam shivers against him, and Nathan registers the chill for the first time. They've been standing here long enough for new air to blow in. A fraction cooler, and a wave of dampness that crawls into the human parts of his body. For Sam, who has only Nathan's body to protect him, it must be that much worse.

And so he steps back, gently, waits for Sam to release him. While the boy looks at his feet, he unbuttons his cuffs and the top two buttons, pulls the shirt over his head and offers it to Sam. It's a gesture he's made before, most often to Dom, who's given to wandering around in the night wearing as little as she sleeps in. Still, he has to physically put the cloth into Sam's grip and close his fingers around it.

Instant in which Sam brings the cloth up to his face and inhales, then raises his arms and lets the shirt drop over his head. Not dress-length, but big on him. Enough that he can walk through the house without raising the bashfulness that colours so much of what he does.

Nathan pushes him towards the house. Not that he doesn't trust Sam to follow -- he suspects Sam would follow him into liquid fire -- but it's that much easier to send him slightly ahead. One or two paces, moving with the grace he's only grown into in the last couple of years. So awkward before that, all arms and knees and random blasts of energy. Quietly, barefoot in the house, though the silence that means that collective exhaustion descended a long time ago. How long were they standing there? Nathan's internal clock rouses itself a little, gives him forty minutes as an estimate, and he's surprised at the lack of stiffness in Sam's body from being naked in the chill for that time and the hour before he spent there on his own.

Follows Sam through the dark, tracking and mapping at once, and recognizes maybe before Sam does that the room they're headed for is Nathan's. Upstairs and off to the south, away from the psychic clamour of the whole house dreaming.

Pauses out of reach and lets Sam continue to the door and lay his hand against it. Purely blond in the hallway's darkness, pale legs reaching down to the floor from under the huge shirt swaddling his torso. Sam's been in Nathan's room before. It makes him rare among the X-Men, and virtually unique in X-Force. In San Francisco, he kept the study for meeting with the kids. His room was for meditation, for Dom to visit, for him to sleep in. Here, Scott and Jean come occasionally, checking on him in spite of the absurdity of it. And Sam has come, quietly, to talk to him when it was necessary. A couple of times just to keep him company, sitting and reading while Nathan meditated or worked.

Sam turns back to him and peers through the darkness. Focuses on Nathan's face after a second. Looks at him. Blue-grey gaze steady and startlingly grown-up, distracting enough that he's unbuttoned all but the bottom button on the shirt before Nathan realizes he's doing it.

Then steps in, close enough that their chests brush every time one of them breathes. Nathan's vaguely aware that Sam's not hard. Just fully relaxed and watching him. Fierce and clear as Nathan taught him to be when he lifts up slightly on his toes and brushes Nathan's lips with his own.

Gentle enough that it still manages to be a surprise, opening his mouth on a grunt and at the same time sending

Sam?

As if he has to question. As if he hasn't spent the last two hours thinking about just this. This desire that's far more personal than Nathan knows how to handle now, beyond.

Pushing Sam back.

No resistance, but neither does Sam look away. And when Nathan brings his hands back to his side, Sam moves in again. Another kiss, a little wet this time. Sam has licked his lips. What has he tasted? Jolt of the thought making the second kiss just as shocking as the first.

Brush of loosened fabric against his chest, welcome heat of skin in the mild mid-Spring chill.

Internal shake and this time he pushes Sam with more force, shaking his head. Flash of heat from the boy's hips and below, and Sam matches force for force. Muscles suddenly straining a little, breeze from the oxygen Sam's consuming with his power. Air just that much thinner now, and Cable doesn't know if he's anticipating or not.

More force, more power. Their own little physics equation right here in the hallway. Comfort and horror in the fact that, starting from this point, the escalation of power would be clear. Ending in . . . what? Sam blowing a hole straight through to the Danger Room just to get close enough to kiss?

Clear blue eyes grey in the darkness, neither dare nor fear anywhere present within them. Anything eyes, and Nathan finds himself -- slowly -- lowering his arms back to his sides, and the flare of heat recedes.

"Sam ..."

Trails off to the sight of the boy with his hands on his own chest and shoulders, tracing the places where Nathan had touched. Nathan's hands suddenly alive with flesh memory and this can not happen. Tomorrow is time enough to revise his own image in Sam's eyes, now he has to stop this.

"Sam -- Cannonball. You can't stay here."

"Inappropriate desire leads to tension, tension leads to mistakes. Where it counts." Half-conscious growl, eerie imitation of Nathan's voice. "Did I ever make you sit through Star Wars, Cable?"

No use trying to evade the rebuke. "It would be ... better for both of us to stay professional now."

"We've never been professional, Nathan. You're gonna start now?" Anger breaking through the calm. "Why not the first time I thought of you like this?"

"I --"

"I ... touch myself. Thinking of you. Your hands." Sam blushing and Nathan wishes the innocence were even half the protection it should be. Some things were the same, no matter when you were.

"You can't even say it, Sam."

And Sam's right there, too fast for Nathan to get a grip on anything but slim, hard waist. His own shirt brushing his knuckles, and the body-knowledge of what's beneath. Waiting for him. Sam at his ears.

"I can say it when I want to, Nathan."

Gasps a breath full of the boy's scent, health and sex and youth and so much skin . . .

"Touch me. Jerk me off. Let me suck you. Fuck me."

Entirely too easy for that image to form. This body -- his Sam -- impaled on him and rocking, young and slick and aching, and he has to shake his head hard to clear it. Sees Sam's eyebrows come together as he recognizes the gesture as the latest in this string of rejections and his lungs fill for the next attack. Air that comes as a fast breath across Nathan's cheek when he bends and kisses Sam before he can speak.

Flash in his mind that the boy expected this to be brutal, and he gets all of the slow wave of Sam's shock as the kiss deepens only gradually. Mouth soft against Sam's, easing it open and just brushing inside with a tongue, tender and shallow and sweet as he can make it. Putting in some kind of understanding that whatever this is between them, he's not angry. Only cautious, because he's too old to be breaking things just because they're beautiful and bright-burning.

He has to explain somehow. More for Sam than himself, to make it clear that it wasn't ever Sam's humiliation he was after. Summons up the only thing he has to measure this by. Not Dom or Aliya, but Tetherblood, when Nathan was only as old as Sam is now. Too young and already leading the Clan, aching at night from the deaths of his people all on his hands. How he was curled up alone, more child than Askani War Leader, and Tetherblood came to him and curled up beside him and held him. His lover that night. His first, though he doesn't give Sam that detail, not yet. No expectation between them of life-vows, but steady for all that. Slow-burning affection between them that their lovemaking cemented.

Sam shudders against him, nods faintly. And Nathan stretches out his TK and opens the door.

Walks in with Sam so close behind him that the shirt brushes him with the swing of Sam's slightly off-time steps. Rustle of it hitting the floor. Sam's arms come around his waist from behind, and an eerily soft cheek brushes the merge-line of flesh and techno-organics on his back. Lips damp at the base of his neck.

Faint greyness from the window, a lesser darkness, making shadows out of Sam's profile when they separate. Clean lines, graceful, smooth shift of the thighs as he walks. Over to Nathan sitting now on the edge of the bed, brush of a hand against one silver temple and then over him to lie down on the closed-in side. Leaving Nathan the clearest route of escape to the door.

It's a gesture of trust that doesn't surprise him, though he's touched by it. Some essential understanding in it that he can accept more easily than declarations of love.

His protective instincts somehow satisfied by positioning himself between Sam and the rest of the world. On his side with Sam watching him, one hand reaching out now to rest on Nathan's belt. Every line of that body stark even in the dark room, something that can be understood and recognized with a single touch.

Pulls Sam to him and kisses him, full body, nakedness against him a cool challenge. Brave boy, and his friend for a long time now, and a subtle flare of heat and pressure to remind him that whatever else he may be, Sam's an External, powerful on a scale with Sinister and Apocalypse, distinct from them only by virtue of the silver-pureness in him. Pliant, willing, pushing at him. Rolling them both over so they lie with Sam on top, staring down and braced against Nathan's chest. Startling slide of those long legs folded against his ribs.

Young, so young, but maybe old enough. Too late to back out now, even if he wanted to with more than just the shreds of his conscience. Nathan slides his hands over Sam's thighs, up his torso to thumb and rub at his nipples and Sam starts to rock, bending slightly, bracing his hands on Cable's own chest.

Tracing the edge between machine and flesh, almost luxuriating in his chest hair in a way that makes Nathan feel wonderfully, ridiculously male. Same primitive urge as when he's with Dom, but different, too. Not as equal, no matter how much he tries to scrub his own mind. Nathan wants this too badly, and Sam is so willing to be the youth, despite all his own courage and strength.

Some need for this well beyond reason and shame, something irrevocable Nathan can't resist, and Sam's skin just waiting to be marked.

Thrusting up against the boy now, hands back down to Sam's hips, less to hold him there than to simply exert force. Dig his fingers into the flesh of his ass and control the ride, one of Sam's hands sliding off the metal to settle on the coverlet. Flesh on fabric sound of Sam fisting it hard and Nathan wants to make his knuckles go white, make him howl with it.

Slides a finger down the cleft of Sam's ass, watches him jerk a little, bite his lower lip so hard Nathan has to mimic the gesture before he can tease anymore.

Circles his hole, backwards and forwards, tight rippled skin clenching and unclenching at nothing. Heat and sweat and Nathan's mouth is watering. Flips them over again, landing harder than he wanted to on Sam, who grunts but smiles. Brilliant smile, hands up in his hair again, over his face, tracing nose and scar and mouth.

Nathan holds Sam's gaze and bites down on two fingertips, earning a shiver he can feel all over his body. Only then does he brace up and move down Sam's body slowly. Sam's beautiful, hard body, laid out and ready for him, open for lips and tongue and teeth. Marking him randomly, sometimes roughly, coming back again and again to circle small, hard nipples with his tongue. Breathe humid on them and slip down again, dip his tongue in the tiny bowl of Sam's navel, taste sweat and chlorine and the hints of come that may or may not be his own.

Dangerous half-thoughts, images and Nathan takes a moment to check his shields and hope to Christ Nate's not up, that Nate's too hurt to check on Sam. Moaning Sam, hands in Nathan's hair, caressing and carding and tugging directionlessly.

Touches Sam's mind and finds desire focused beyond all thought, nothing but yes, and please, and Nathan as Nathan licks an uneven stripe over his ribs, up to suckle a nipple and bite harshly before moving back to spread Sam wide, push his knees up and try to stare his fill while Sam puts his legs over Nathan's shoulders.

Dark, hard cock bobbing against Sam's abdomen, tightening sac and that impossibly small little pucker that only makes Nathan want more.

Leans in and tongues the head of Sam's cock just for a few seconds before nudging his balls out of the way and nuzzling. Uses his thumbs to spread Sam's cheeks and dives in, teasing at his hole. Pure animal joy in the drum of Sam's heels on his back, at the brief string of curses the boy can't hold back.

Teasing flicks and flat-tongued rasps and Sam's getting louder, wilder, dragging Nathan in closer with his legs until he finally slips his tongue inside. Dark, tangy and oily taste and the clench of muscle against his lips. Just another kiss, another form of begging for what Nathan fully intends to give.

Tonguefucking Sam ruthlessly, some small and outraged part of his mind beaten bloody by the rest as Nathan growls a little, digs his thumbs in harder and moves faster. Fierce and pulled in by Sam's legs, so obviously wanting this that he can't refuse. Opening, wetting him, vaguely wanting to drive him over by this alone, wishing he trusted his telekinesis enough to get deeper. Shattering moan from Sam as he rubs the boy's prostate from outside, rolling his knuckles hard against the perineum. Possession in this. Assertion over all the dying whimpers of his conscience, making Sam his.

Desperately his. He pulls back before Sam finishes, closes his hand around the tube he did trust himself to reach for telekinetically. Slicks two fingers and pushes them into the hole he's already fucked wet and open. Stretching him almost ruthlessly, reminding himself that Sam's young, that he has to be careful, that not all the whimpers are begging ones. But careful enough, and Sam's still hard when Nathan crawls back up his body to mark his chest. The base of his throat. Tongues both wings of Sam's collarbone out to his shoulders before he raises his eyes to Sam's face.

Huge pupils almost radiant in the dark, shadow of the power that's going to light up the sky someday. Awed and a little slack. Just the faintest smile, but he feels Sam reach towards his mind and stroke, firm and inviting. Body and mind both open to him in this moment, so easy to make the boy his forever. His student, his creature, his tool. Dirty the gold in him a little and make him harder. Exactly what he never wanted. Nathan follows the invitation back only far enough to stand at the gates, kiss him psychically as well as physically and thank him. Focuses outward again with Sam's mind still close against his, not possessed but insistently touching.

Hands on Nathan's belt. Scars on both palms, slightly broken nails. Curves of muscle from the time when the boy worked underground, dying slowly in the powdered carbon of some throwback mine in the hills where he lost his father. Sam rubs the calloused heels along Nathan's abdomen, half a tease, while he gets the belt and pants open. Smile and something that almost looks like a bow, except that Sam follows it all the way down and presses his mouth to the skin and greying hair just below his navel. Mouths there softly for a moment before tilting his face towards the erection pushing at him through white cotton.

Scrape of calluses on hypersensitive skin for a moment, until Sam's grip settles, and then Sam's mouth closes over the head of Nathan's cock. Careful and wet and hot, more hesitant than teasing, but determined underneath. Pushing himself down a little, trying to get more in, and Nathan's grinding his teeth together to keep from just thrusting. Not going to, not when Sam so obviously hasn't done this before.

Not doing badly, but careful and a little awkward, nearly gagging once when he pushes down too far at a bad angle. So that Nathan finally claims Sam's other hand and wraps it around his length on top of and above the one already there, leaving just the head and first inch and some of shaft for Sam's attention. Because then he can cradle that soft head and just want this. The tease of it. Hot and wet and so carefully affectionate, not enough to get him off, not at his present age, but as deeply intimate as anything they've reached yet.

When Sam pulls away finally, his mouth and chin are impossibly wet, and his eyes are unreasonably even wider than they were a minute ago. Both hands still wrapped around Nathan's cock, just feeling it. Slow massage of the boy reading texture and size and warmth off of him, too good to be anything other than a gift. Steady and close even after one hand releases and hooks at the back of his waist to push his pants and boxers down. Just the shortest of releases while Nathan half-stands, kicks the tangled fabric away from his ankles, turns back naked and hard and wet as Sam's wet to the renewed grip of one scarred hand.

Kiss, brief and shallow, while he kneels, but it releases, and he turns Sam to fit into the curve of him, back to his chest, ass trapping Nathan's erection between them. He lifts easily at Nathan's urging, up to his knees and leaning forward against the hand spread to support his torso. Down more carefully onto the cock Nathan's other hand braces.

Sam's moan startles them both, even after the breathy begging of the last few minutes. So clearly articulated that it cuts the dark. Stretching, a little pain, a lot of wonder. Paused with just the head inside him, Sam strokes Nathan's hands on him, the arms as far back as he can reach. Lays a kiss on his hand and reaches back to lay it wet and warm on Nathan's shoulder. Then lets the bracing tension of his legs go and pushes carefully down, whimpering as he does and screaming NATHAN! across their telepathic contact.

Not-sound ringing in Nathan's mind, forcing him to thrust up, bury himself to the root inside the boy and hold him. Too tight too good too much and there are barely any words left along their link, nothing but silent wails and half-thought imprecations, and the sudden sense of something large and tangled thrown at him.

Everything. Everything's Sam feeling, pain and pleasure, need and sincere gratitude that breaks everything away from Nathan but their bodies -- the only sincerity he can take right now. Works hips and thighs into a serviceable rhythm, slow and careful as he can. Steady and hard. Soft curls on his shoulder, Sam's skull digging into him, rocking back and forth. No for yes, and the wave of absolute surrender.

Needs him. Trusts Nathan with everything he can give and Nathan responds with touch, holding Sam back against him and running his hands all over that kiss-marked torso, down to strong thighs and up to his shoulders, skirting around the boy's hard, heavy cock until he feels the last of the pain bleed away, until he can give up the last of his own control and just fuck him.

Thrusting up and in, leaving his own moans naked and part of the room around them and stroking Sam fast. Growl of satisfaction when Sam starts fucking Nathan's fist hard and natural, accepting mutual gift and Nathan can let himself be ruthless now.

Baring his teeth and sinking them into the smooth skin of Sam's shoulder and thrusting faster, grunting and sucking and fucking, animal wild and pure, feeling of it washing through him clear and devastating.

"Sam --"

"Oh, God ..." Broken sound and Sam spilling over his hand, Sam coming on him and Nathan pushes them both down, Sam spreading pliant and willing on the tangled bedclothes, hands and knees and head hanging low. Nathan slips back inside with one long, rough thrust and begins again, testing the muscle and skin of the boy's back for one long moment before grabbing his hips and holding him still, fucking and fucking until he comes with a bitten back yell, shuddering hard and dreading the return of thought.

Sobs under him get his attention first. He shouldn't be surprised after the jacked-up feelings of the night that Sam's hysterical. He's slightly grateful for it, actually, for the way it wipes out the need for self-analysis on his part. Sam's shaking by the time he pulls out, and he just rolls up when Nathan releases him. Shaky breaths, loose tears, gasping for air, but not unwelcoming when Nathan curls up around him. Sam even scoots far enough loose to turn over and bury his face in Nathan's chest.

Nathan just holds him, whispering softly and not always in English because he knows Sam isn't listening to the words, just the reassurance of the tone and the soft psychic touches that come with it. The boy's emotionally ragged where he touches back, strung out to the point that he isn't entirely rational, but curling in rather than away. Kissing Nathan's chest in the moments when he can breathe easily enough to manage it. And eventually he does quiet. Registers safety and the warm smell and protection of Nathan's body, and snuggles against it, half asleep.

Nathan lies beside him, too wired to drop off, feeling those rough fingers play over his ribs. It's come to him sometime in the last two or three minutes that wrapped up in their lovemaking was the psychic equivalent of a scream. Something he'll need a decent explanation for by breakfast tomorrow, because Jean's going to want to know. More worried about Nate, who almost certainly heard and had to know what it meant. Pang in him for the boy, who didn't deserve to get tangled up in this, and worse for him because as open as he was to everyone's play earlier in the night, he probably couldn't have stopped it from happening.

Something else he'll have to deal with come morning. Along with what happens next with Sam, who's licking him softly, radiating a kind of exhausted happiness. And whether he'll tell Domino the truth if and when she asks.

He drifts and wakes and finds himself thinking of watch fires, expecting the rain outside to be skin-searingly acidic. Reaches out with one hand for his coat and head-wrap, thinking that he could probably stoke things up and be back in bed in time to sleep decently again before morning. Realizes only gradually that it is morning, or nearly, and only still dark because of the weight of the clouds.

That the body beside him isn't Tetherblood or Jenskot (wave of pain at that, always looking for her even now). Too sturdy to be Dom. Warm, scraping hand on his chest reminds him, Sam. Oddly, not something to be regretted. Sam's warm and welcome and known. And while things would have been less complicated had they been otherwise ...

Sam crawls up him, half-awake, and buries his face in the crook of Nathan's neck. "Hey."

"Good morning."

Sam burrows deeper, gets so far down that Nathan feels his voice more than hears it. "Oh god, I know that tone. That's the sun's-up-time-to-make-Sam-run-his-ass-off sound. I'm not getting up."

Softly petulant, and sounding so normal that Nathan could almost believe Sam's buried under the covers of his own bed and not hiding against the human-flesh side of Nathan's body. Strokes the back of Sam's neck absently while he stares out the window for a minute. Grins at the soft moan of approval he gets for the touch.

Curious and not wanting to disturb Sam, so that eventually he pushes the window open telekinetically and just waits to get a feel for the draft coming through. Sam flinches against the air and slides farther under the covers, leaving just the faintest trace thought of that kinda smells nice lingering behind him. Cool, but not awful, Nathan decides, and he runs a hand down to touch Sam's back, tracing the line of his vertebrae down towards his ass while he talks.

"It's not that bad out. About twenty or twenty-two Celsius."

"What's that in real degrees?"

"Warm enough to go swimming." He eases out from under Sam and finds his pants on the floor. Already half-dressed and dropping his belt onto a chair when Sam peers out. "Come on."

Just an edge of a growl, but it gets Sam moving. Flustered and clumsy-graceful and a little bruised this morning, moving with the care of someone noticing that his ass hurts, though when Nathan brushes against his mind Sam answers softly that he'll be OK. Takes the shorts that Nathan offers and swipes the belt from the chair to keep them on. Shirt of Nathan's he was wearing last night on his shoulders while he follows the older man out.

Wet grass, and Nathan's almost instantly slick from the rain. Not uncomfortable, though. He turns, sees Sam paused just a couple of steps out into it, his face raised towards the lightening sky. Wet blond hair frames his face far too innocently. He gives a half-abashed smile when he spots Nathan watching him and runs to catch up. And past, down towards the lake with the shirt translucent and wet and streaming down behind him. Clean lines of him, graceful and buoyantly happy in spite of the nagging unease that's been radiating from him these last few minutes and his remaining inability to look Nathan in the eye.

Sam strips at the edge and steps into the shallows, crouches and starts washing himself down. Arms and legs, chest and back. Face with an up-arching motion of his body to catch the water he's thrown. Turns and looks over his shoulder at Nathan, and meets his eyes very carefully, and smiles. Loved and not clinging this morning. He straightens and leans into the hug Nathan offers when he gets there, stands on his toes to brush their lips together. Then lets go and runs loose-limbed out deep enough that he can dive and swim. Surfaces a hundred yards out, waving and vivid through the grey, something that Nathan can reach toward.

janete
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