sundown | for cable (nathan)

[That she makes it as far as she does is a testament to how tired he is. He's normally a light sleeper, but it takes him a long time to realise the ambient noise he hears is because someone else is in the house.

As he gathers his bearings, he realises it must be Francesca pottering around. He hesitates, feeling shy all of a sudden about what feels like a dramatic kidnapping.

When he rounds the corner, he looks terribly dishevelled (not unlike he did when they woke up together). He scoops Smokey up with one arm despite his protests, glancing down at him.]

Like what?

[He turns his attention to her, looking strangely comfortable in his home and his clothes. Like she belongs right where she is, as if he should be kissing her on the cheek.]

You look better.

[ Francesca looks somehow surprised to see him awake, though she shouldn't be. It's his house. He looks exhausted, his hair unkempt, shirt wrinkled. She doesn't answer him on the first, just looks down at her hands on the counter and nods. ]

I feel better.

[ Her voice is soft, painfully aware of the circumstances of how she got here, though her memories in the junction between are hazy. She assumes she embarrassed herself. She feels embarrassed and terribly shy now.

Dressed in his clothes, in his kitchen, touching his things, she feels very much like a trespassor. Like she owes an explanation for her presence outside of the bed she was quarantined in. Her throat clears. ]

I was just... [ Starts, stops. A hand gestures to the pan. She finishes lamely: ] Making breakfast. [ For him. She shifts her weight uncomfortably. ]

[Nate loiters, feeling like he needs to restrain himself a little. He's glad to see her looking well, but also glad to see the way her body looks in his clothes and how at home she looks in his kitchen.

He sets Smokey down, traipsing closer with the intention of asking to help. He doesn't get the words out, instead he circles an arm around her waist and brings her in against his chest. His head leans down so their foreheads bump together, eyes falling shut as his arm squeezes tighter.]

I'm sorry.

[His fingers reach up, brushing her hair aside. He wants to kiss her, but he's visibly holding back.]

[ This is uncomfortable. Francesca trains her eyes on the floor at his feet, watching him pad closer, into her space.

He pulls her into him and her breath leaves her in one exhale, her face tilting upward, all the denied affection surging out and up --

Coming to, she pulls free, backing into the countertop, clutching the lip of it. Not rejection, but uncertainty. Her throat moves with a swallow. ]

Why? [ Her voice is gentle, but her eyes are confronting. No anger has survived the past 48 hours, but she is guarded. Things have happened. So many. ] What are you sorry for?

For pushing you away.

[Which barely covers it, but they've got nothing but time to talk about it. He looks down at her and his gaze is soft, wanting and anxious.]

For making you think I could ever hate you.

[He adds. It feels a little cheesy, but the emphasis is warranted. He gently reaches past her to move the pan off the burner. Last thing he wants to do is ruin her breakfast. When it returns, he cups her face but doesn't yet kiss her. He hasn't earned it.]

I was worried about you. Worried about losing you.

[ She's quiet, doesn't resist the contact, her insides aching like a squeeze around her heart. So many emotions run amok her face, but he looks -- he looks so sad and weary, that she's compelled to comfort him. ]

I'm okay. [ Her fingers lift, pausing before they cover his own. They're warm, not frigid as they were when he first carried her in. Everything is so hazy, she remembers things in snatches. ] See? Alive.

[The squeeze draws a small smile from him, feeling his breath catch when he tries to speak.]

I.. [Love you. Love her. Jesus. He's in love with her. He's fucking hopeless.]

I don't want to burn your breakfast. [Said with all the warmth and affection of what he really wants to say.

He turns them so they can face the stove together, passing her cooking utensil back to her.]

And you look a lot better in that shirt than I do.

[ His smile makes her feel like she's been deprived of a basic human need. She catches her mouth in the beginnings of mirroring him. Catches that he was about to say something else, something unspoken. Heavy in the air.

He turns them, her back bumping against his chest. Heat comes off of him in waves, swivels in her stomach, altering the easy pattern of her breathing.

She's very aware of how close he is. That she is allowing it, attempting very! hard! to focus on the task before her. She asks for this and that as she works, her pulse jolting when his hand brushes hers or takes over stirring. ]

Well, it's not ramen, but ... [ Jokingly -- her detective work had her stumble upon a hoard in the pantry. Possibly a bad joke, but she offers the spoon to him to try, very professionally and not at all desperate for his approval. ]

It's an easy meal when you're grading a hundred papers. [He defends himself lazily, distracted by her. His hand curls around her, spanning his fingers over her stomach.]

And it's nice. [He murmurs against her neck. She smells more like him now, which still manages to excite him. He feels like he's melting into the moment, like whatever barrier he's held up has burst and he's just spilling into her. He doesn't have it in him to be embarrassed. It feels warm. It feels safe.

He leans over to taste the food, offering a sincere sound of approval.]

Better than ramen.

[ His hands encircle her entire waist and middle easily. She hadn't noticed it then. She does now, and the revelation feeds the desire working its way through her.

She noticeably warms to have won his favor. Between that and his breath cascading down her neck, the warmth in her cunt breaches. Would have soiled her underwear -- if she was wearing any.

Her body twitches, unable to stay still now that she's growing more and more anticipatory, waiting, lubricating in full expectation. ]

It's shakshuka, [ she explains, and the thought she's put into this comes spilling out. ] I thought maybe, perhaps you would recognize it. You said you were a veteran, and ... [ God, it sounds so overboard. ]

[The gesture warms him so much, it's difficult to articulate. His arm tightens around her and he hums against her neck. Tentatively, he presses his lips to her skin and breathes against it.

His fingers skim against the waistband of her pants. Well. His pants. The only reason they're staying up is because the drawstring is pulled tight and the curve of her hips fills them, but they're sitting low on her. Tempting him.]

I missed you. [He says finally. It feels terribly vulnerable, but right to say. He's also aware that he's firming up against the curve of her ass, but she's so close to his body he wonders if that's what she wants. He remembers the sounds she made in her sleep, the same he's heard from her before. It's all very alluring.]

[ The moment, electrified, turns when he says that. She sets the bamboo spoon down and turns in the circle of his arms, vulnerable and hopeful.

Until this moment, they've been dancing. Her fingers slip across his arms, up to sit on his chest. She fists his shirt, her voice stained with months' worth of sadness. ]

I missed you, too.

[Although aware it wasn't a clean break between them, Nate can't help but be baffled by her. It's not like he can deny that he wasn't so utterly charmed by her that he's been insane since they kissed. But for her to be this caught up over him? He struggles to make himself believe it.

But it's hard to deny it when she looks at him like that. And he hears it in her voice. All the ache between them, the pain of letting her go again feels harder to bear than any scrutiny about their relationship.

His arms tighten around her when she turns against his chest. He cups her face, turning her chin upward so he can kiss her deeply. He hums into it like he's sinking into a hot bath, as if he can feel the relief washing over him. His fingers thread into her hair, kissing her like he doesn't care if they ever breathe again.]

[ She doesn't care either, but eventally her lungs burn, forcing her to pull back. Taking sips of air, her forehead resting against his. A small smile smooths over her lips, a knot of tension released.

She cannot voice what emotions claw at her chest when she thinks of him -- the burning obsession, the ache that she realizes has sat in her stomach until this moment -- but she tries to communicate it. Through her eyes, her fingers, her lips when she turns his hand over to drop kisses over his fingertips, his palm, his pulse. There are faded scars on his hands and arms, a life's story of them, callouses on his palms. She nuzzles like she's known no safer place.

Then, she flips: kittenish licks, sucking on his pulse point. ]

[Nate huffs out a confused sound, almost a chuckle. He's utterly baffled by the obsession but equally, completely drawn to her in the same way. Under her lips, his heart is racing, skin pulsing.

He draw his arms around her, lifting her and setting her on the counter behind them. He crowds in on her, kissing her neck with long, lingering presses of his lips.]

I haven't been with anyone. Since you. Couldn't stop thinking about you.

[His admissions are breathless. It's unusual for him to be so candid and vulnerable, but she just draws it out.]

And it fucking killed me-- knowing you were right there.

[ He picks her up with ease and she settles there on the countertop, one hand in the linen of his shirt, the other coiled in the dark web of his hair. Her head tipped back, submitting to the path of his mouth. It drives her crazy to hear of his abstinence, the words pulsing between her legs. ]

What did you think of?

[ She leans forward, tugging him upward to chase4 his mouth, just as breathless as he is. His sweatpants are slung low on her hips, they could easily be pulled off with a motion of his hands, and his shirt is too big, falling over one shoulder. ]

Show me?

I thought of making you stay after class.

[He murmurs, setting his hands on her waist and turning her gently. He bends her over the counter, grinding his hips against her.]

Bending you over my desk. Pushing your skirt up. Fucking you.

[This stuff is relatively easy to admit, though a little shameful. His hands slide under the draping fabric of his shirt, squeezing her breasts.]

Every time you wore something that showed off your figure-- something short, low-cut-- thought it was for me.

[He presses his erection firmly against her, deliberately grinding her so that her cunt rubs against the counter through his pants.]

Then I'd think about fucking your tight, little pussy again while I jerked myself off.

[ He pins her to the kitchen counter, pushes her half-down. Her breaths come short and shallow the more he speaks, the longer he grinds. ]

O-oh.

[ She bites her breath, hips rolling back. He's hard enough to fuck her already. She goes a little crazy realizing that, her cunt drooling. Shakily, her fingers dip to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over her shoulders and head, her nipples pointed and her stomach rippling with every intake of breath. ]

I thought about you, too. But I thought -- I thought you didn't want me. So I didn't ...

[Another pained, exasperated sound escapes him and he's not sure between the two of them which one is crazier here. He pinches a nipple, possessive of all the parts he's been wanting to touch.]

I want you-- I wanted better for you-- didn't want people to talk about you. But I want you.

[A hand releases one of her breasts, forcing itself down the waistband of his pants so much that they slip downward. He teases his fingers over her cunt, feeling so aroused by how wet she is that his breath shudders out of him. His fingers tease circles around her clit before he plunges two inside of her, pumping them slowly in her. He wants to ravish her, but he's convincing himself to be careful.]

Kept thinking I should've put a baby in you while I had the chance.

[ She shivers, too taken in by him to be annoyed at this particular moment by his way of thinking. Why he pushed her away, why he acted the way he did. It's all so ridiculous, so poorly communicated, but she's so wet she sees stars when he finally gets his fingers on her.

His pants pool around her knees, shaking unsteadily, his fingers forcing their way in her. She keens at the new company, finally, sounding distinctly like a cat in heat, doubling over until her stomach hits cold marble. ]

Oh god, Nathan--

[ She nearly comes right then and there, teetering dangerously, a sob pushed through clenched teeth as she shoves her ass into his hand. She's so worked up already, the dirty talk about getting knocked up by him is going to be her undoing. ]

[Her receptiveness to that comment, he suspects, is part of what drives his obsession. He puts something insane out there and it drives her wild. Maybe that's what relationships should be.

As she drops down, he leans over her. He's still rolling her nipple in his fingers while fucking her with his other hand. The wetness gives him immense satisfaction, which draws more lewd things out of him.]

You like that? Like it if I got you pregnant?

[There's a tease in his voice, starting to blur the line of how much he means this.]

Knock you up. Marry you. You drop out, raise our kids. Sounds nice.

[He hums against her shoulder. He was completely opposed to the idea of all of this until he met her, now it's all he wants (though not necessarily at the expense of her education).]

[ Her face turns to the side to lay her cheek against the stone, her eyes half drawn shut. The sound of his fingers spearing her cunt is obscene, so wet.

It's nearly as much his closeness, the scrape of outgrown stubble against her bare shoulder, as his words that have her tense, not unexpectedly, and crest with a sharp cry. A long climax, rolling her hips into the movement of his fingers, her body shuddering.

But it hasn't sated her, and she moans approvingly at the feeling of him stepping back, the rustle of him getting undressed. Her hand travels low, prying her wet folds open, prepared to take him. ]

[Nate bites lightly on her shoulder through her climax, mostly to stop himself from finishing without contact.

He pulls back to undress, making a sound of pure desperation when she spreads herself for him. He feels incredible luck, which is why he can't resist gripping her thighs and crouching so his tongue can lap at her folds. Every obscene thought he's had about her body is bubbling up, he could sit on his knees and eat her like dinner, but she wants his cock.

And he wants it in her too, desperate for the tight squeeze of her cunt around him. He rises again, resting his hands on her backside and dragging his thumbs in circles.]

Tastes good. I could lie you on the kitchen table and eat you for hours.

[He presses the swollen head of his cock into her hole, teasing it in and out of her before he starts to slide in. He doesn't have any banter for her, it sucks the air out of his lunges and makes his skin painfully flushed and hot. He starts to rock his hips at a slow, steady pace.]

[ She feels a little high when his body melds into hers, in no doubt partly because her body hasn't recovered fully from its round of infirmity, so it's probably for the best that he takes mercy on her and doesn't rail her against his kitchen counter. However much she would enjoy that, too.

Her forehead rests on her arm. She loses herself in the press of his hips into her, loses the dregs of any shyness as she voices the pleasure it gives her. Short gasps, louder moans fed to his ears. If he pauses to cup a hand under her and around a breast, she wiggles her ass, teasing him back into action, whining: ]

Don't stop!

[It is certainly a merciful fuck, and sweeter for it. It's not as animalistic as their first, but it's certainly primal the way he savours her. It occurs to him that he never asked if she started birth control and, when he thinks about releasing in her anyway to claim her, his cock twitches inside of her.

He feels every inch of her, pausing to wrap his arms around her and fondle her. He chuckles darkly against her shoulder, wanting to challenge the way she begs him. Unfortunately, he's so utterly besotted and horny that he simply complies. He starts to pump into her faster, just enough that their skin starts to slap together from the motion.]

Whose pussy is this? [His fingers wind gently into her hair, scritching her scalp.]

Tell me.

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