[ Having walked into enormous spider webs before, being wacked in the face with something soft and ticklish isn't outright shocking on its own, except that it comes with a waft of pleasant shampoo scent and he realizes it's Ian's hair. The shifting that follows - once again, the pressing sensation of a body against his own - is accompanied by a little quiet rustling. It takes Nate a few long seconds to realize he's just pushing that ridiculous mass of curls out of the way and he huffs through his nose. ]
A Renaissance man. What can't you do?
[ In fairness, the handyman thing is actually kind of cool. What little Nate knows comes from trial and error rather than a deep understanding of the mechanisms at play, because he doesn't need to fully comprehend plumbing to know that if the level is rising an easier solution is dumping hot water straight in to encourage the damn thing to drain.
One day he'll learn how it works beyond basis identification, but that day is not today, so until then he can continue to ramble aimlessly in an attempt to distract himself. ]
Because seriously, you feel like you bench engine blocks or something.
[ The truth is, a lot of it's pretty simple, it's just intimidating. It's mostly the same design just adapted different ways, it's a few rounds of following the instructions until you get it right. If it's got a user manual or a youtube video, you'd be surprised what you can do for yourself.
Which is what he'd surely love to talk about, except that he's apparently blowing Nate's mind right now. It is so, so difficult to keep a relaxed posture when you're suddenly hyper-aware somebody's feeling up your front with their front. It's a serious mental exercise not to instinctively flex or something. ]
Equal parts flattering and amusing, thank you.
[ Light and pleasantly informative. Quiet and low as he has to keep his voice it's dragging out a little bit more of the semi-permanent rasp he's got going on. He's got the wrong vocal chords for this, apparently. ]
This must be what it's like for you when you get an entire fan club of people talking about your pecs. Please don't tell me you were thinking dad bod, because I really don't wanna be putting off that energy.
[ Okay, so, the low and pleasant voice speaking in his ear is a lot more distracting than Nate anticipated it being, for reasons he doesn't presently want to go into. They're warm and wedged and tensions are already a little high, and maybe blood is a little higher than that. Very suddenly, getting out of the supply closet in the Tibetan temple is a more pressing engagement than he thought.
He can't even appreciate the dig at his pecs again, the apparent go-to target in Ian's repertoire of backhanded compliments, because he's trying not to sound overly defensive when crammed into a small space with someone he likes enough to not want to embarrass himself. ]
I wasn't thinking dad bod, I just also wasn't thinking washboard abs that a Cajun band could play riffs on during Mardi Gras.
[ A wry and somewhat surprised compliment for the metaphor, but unfortunately not vivid enough to keep him distracted for long.
There's a kind of hyper-awareness that comes during situations like this, at least for him. It keeps him stuck in the present, thinking too much about his posture and his body language, the places they touch and the places they don't. Scanning for signals whether he wants to or not.
They really gotta get the fuck out of here — not the least because he's dressed for cold ass Tibet and they're in a hot ass closet with breath and body heat slowly bumping up the thermostat. It would be an absolutely terrible idea to try and shrug off a sweater right now. Damn it.
And, you know what, this is stupid--]
Listen, man, do me a favor— if you're gonna compliment my body do it in like... an old scottish granny accent, or like, redneck farmer. Something really unappealing.
[ Because since when has he ever pretended like Nate isn't super attractive? Who the hell is he trying to fool here? ]
[ Shifting again, Nate manages to eke a little closer to the door until he's well and truly crammed against it, temple resting on wood that's somehow lasted a fourth world war. The hall outside has been silent for a good few minutes now, and presumably the people chasing them have decided they left through a window.
He's only half-paying attention when the request meets him, and the face Nate pulls in the dark should be audible. ]
What? Why?
[ Fingers on the handle he turns it slowly as the tumbler rolls, and cracks the door open. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
A Renaissance man. What can't you do?
[ In fairness, the handyman thing is actually kind of cool. What little Nate knows comes from trial and error rather than a deep understanding of the mechanisms at play, because he doesn't need to fully comprehend plumbing to know that if the level is rising an easier solution is dumping hot water straight in to encourage the damn thing to drain.
One day he'll learn how it works beyond basis identification, but that day is not today, so until then he can continue to ramble aimlessly in an attempt to distract himself. ]
Because seriously, you feel like you bench engine blocks or something.
no subject
Which is what he'd surely love to talk about, except that he's apparently blowing Nate's mind right now. It is so, so difficult to keep a relaxed posture when you're suddenly hyper-aware somebody's feeling up your front with their front. It's a serious mental exercise not to instinctively flex or something. ]
Equal parts flattering and amusing, thank you.
[ Light and pleasantly informative. Quiet and low as he has to keep his voice it's dragging out a little bit more of the semi-permanent rasp he's got going on. He's got the wrong vocal chords for this, apparently. ]
This must be what it's like for you when you get an entire fan club of people talking about your pecs. Please don't tell me you were thinking dad bod, because I really don't wanna be putting off that energy.
no subject
He can't even appreciate the dig at his pecs again, the apparent go-to target in Ian's repertoire of backhanded compliments, because he's trying not to sound overly defensive when crammed into a small space with someone he likes enough to not want to embarrass himself. ]
I wasn't thinking dad bod, I just also wasn't thinking washboard abs that a Cajun band could play riffs on during Mardi Gras.
[ So much for truth in advertisement. ]
no subject
[ A wry and somewhat surprised compliment for the metaphor, but unfortunately not vivid enough to keep him distracted for long.
There's a kind of hyper-awareness that comes during situations like this, at least for him. It keeps him stuck in the present, thinking too much about his posture and his body language, the places they touch and the places they don't. Scanning for signals whether he wants to or not.
They really gotta get the fuck out of here — not the least because he's dressed for cold ass Tibet and they're in a hot ass closet with breath and body heat slowly bumping up the thermostat. It would be an absolutely terrible idea to try and shrug off a sweater right now. Damn it.
And, you know what, this is stupid--]
Listen, man, do me a favor— if you're gonna compliment my body do it in like... an old scottish granny accent, or like, redneck farmer. Something really unappealing.
[ Because since when has he ever pretended like Nate isn't super attractive? Who the hell is he trying to fool here? ]
no subject
He's only half-paying attention when the request meets him, and the face Nate pulls in the dark should be audible. ]
What? Why?
[ Fingers on the handle he turns it slowly as the tumbler rolls, and cracks the door open. ]
...coast is clear.
no subject
He nods his head quickly, not toward the left or right but the wall straight ahead of them. )
Okay, come on, let's go--
( So he can matter-bend a nice big gaping hole for them to slip through, and they can make a break for it through the courtyard. )