[ Cool, cool, cool. Nailing it already. Professional traveler & Tibetan expert Ian Fowler is on the scene. His nose scrunches up just a little, wordlessly wry and self-deprecating.
Anyway, cool, now he knows. More importantly, there's an absolutely intense palace to worry about, and he nods sagely. ]
Sure, they probably have a cool gift shop.
[ The vaguely guilty thought that crosses his mind may be something along the lines of what awesome stuff they could probably do, considering his being able to move walls and everything. It dips briefling into whether or not it's a travesty to mess with something that old if he puts it back exactly the way he found it — guaranteed better results than that woman who tried to restore that painting of Jesus.
Maybe... keep that to himself until an opportunity presents itself.
More importantly — ]
Are you gonna give me interesting facts along the way? Because I specifically remember signing up for the tour guide package. This is an educational outing.
[ Nate has absolutely zero idea as to whether they let you even get close to the Potala Palace anymore, let alone go inside - the gift shop notion somehow seems the most likely, though they may just find vendors outside the walls - and either way, getting into places is sort of Nate's wheelhouse. With Ian's matter bending he probably won't even have to work that hard to do so. ]
Really gonna make the dancing monkey work for his tips, huh?
[ He's not chafed, as evidenced by the broad grin on his face. He claps Ian on the shoulder and begins picking his way down the rocky hillside, dredging up old memories for a new lesson plan.
Sadly he won't be nearly as skilled as certain, certified professionals who used to teach for a living, but... ]
Where d'you wanna start? This city was pretty much untouched by British imperialism until the early 1900s.
[ The little smirk and tilt to his eyebrows very clearly says, yes, dance monkey dance. He can't pretend like it's 100% interest in the setting around them; a not insignificant portion of it is just wanting to hear Nate talk. He's passionate about the whole thing, knowledgeable, and he's got a pleasant voice. Ian's not sorry.
He keeps up easy enough, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, eyes flicking from the path before them to Nate's face and back again periodically. ]
What's the furthest back you can go? Gimme the earliest point on the timeline you know about.
[ This, for example, is a question that more revolves around Nate than the city in particular, but he'll wind up dipping back and forth between both. ]
[ Nate blows a raspberry, accepting his position as an object of entertainment and/or ridicule, as he almost always does. Known among his friends back home as the guy who will generally do what you ask him to do - particularly on a job - he scuffs his boots on the stone and dirt and tilts his head to one side in acquiescence. ]
Mmm...okay, I don't know a lot about its earliest history? It was a religious site of pilgrimage for a long time before the fifth Dalai Lama in the seventeenth century. Prior to that it was a kingdom invaded by the ancient Chinese. Monarchy fell, city got recognized as a place where Guru Rinpoche stabbed an earth demoness, and then they built that-
[ He nods toward another temple - gleaming white with red decor - far off, fronting an open square in the center of the city. ]
-where her heart was supposed to be. I had this friend, Tenzin, who visited Jokhang a couple of times with his family? He said it's beautiful inside.
[ He isn't really sure what he expected, but it was definitely something less cool than what he got. Flashback to a couple months ago when he was comfortable in the notion that Nate was 99% bartender. Now they're in Tibet, Nate's wearing a shoulder harness talking about Guru Rinpoche stabbing an earth demoness, and... ]
You are, like, the most interesting person on the planet. You know that, right?
[ Just an FYI that he delivers in a completely matter of fact manner.
Anyway. ]
I feel like it's gonna be really hard to top demon heart.
[ What does he say to that, outside of looking extremely flattered by the statement? As far as Nate's opinion on the subject stretches the honorable title goes to Sully, who would put that guy in the Dos Equis commercials to shame. A career in the Navy and a subsequent few decades in crime made him the most well-traveled and fascinating best friend he's ever had.
Nate's expression tightens for a moment - You wanna help, Sullivan? Then go after her. - and softens again, letting go. ]
You might be surprised. I've seen some stupas that'll blow your mind.
[ It's a meandering path down the hill and into the city, crowded with much more modern updates slapped on top of the tired foundations of a too-old world, like a chrome Band-Aid on a neighborhood in Detroit. It's clear that the bustle of vendors is something in which Nate delights, however, as he furthers explains the sacred site and its radiating complex, maneuvering stalls and shoppers between describing the conflict between Buddhists and Bonpos. ]
They first started building it in the seventh century. Just kept adding onto it for nearly a thousand years, which is, like, insane. People get impatient when new construction takes longer than a few months- [ He screeches to a sudden halt near a booth draped in fabric. ] Hey, are you hungry?
[ It's a short but interesting journey, the expressions that weave through Nate's features. Subtle and graceful like ballet, transitioning too quickly for Ian to exactly pinpoint each pose. Whatever it means, whatever he's thinking, it seems a little...
Low.
It bites at his tongue to ask, but—
They only just got here. They didn't come for Ian to pick him apart within the first hour, pulling at threads trying to unravel the deeper parts of his tapestry. The moment goes and Ian lets it, stowing the thought for later in favor of absorbing Tibetan history like a dry sponge under a tap. The pleasant, attentive calm never really leaves his posture, it only rises in falls of waves of amusement or curiosity.
It firmly shifts slightly toward the former at the abrupt stop. ]
Usually, yeah. Why, what synapses fired in your brain just now?
[ Because what made you think to ask matters more to him than where are we going. ]
[ Nate informs him unhelpfully, as if Ian is supposed to know what that means, and the bottomless pit that is the younger Drake brother hasn't actually had some legitimate ethnic food from its country of origin in months. Years, if he's counting the last time he actually visited Tenzin and Pema, who was growing way too fast for her father to keep up with.
Hard to miss the distinct scent of roasted barley flour, though. Nate lifts a strip of fabric like a curtain and lights up, treated to the view of an older woman tending a griddle with several steaming baskets nearby. Back of a restaurant. Must be their side hustle.
Like the noodle huts of northeast Asia there's a cramped stretch of counter and several beaten stools, and Nate jerks his head for Ian to follow him inside the little hut. ]
[ There's an amused mouthing of the word what that follows tsampa, clearly not meant for Nate so much as just... pure thoughtless reflex. What the hell is tsampa? Somehow, walking into the future felt less foreign to him than walking into Tibet feels now.
That's only partly an exaggeration.
It's a good thing. It's fucking fascinating.
He follows with easy, bright interest and his hands stuffed in his pockets. ]
I'd give it a solid eight out of ten.
[ He's not going spelunking, diving, or free climbing. He's also not dropping an acid and having an orgy, so. Probably minus two points on the scale, right? ]
[ Nate seats himself and gestures that Ian to the same at his side, both of them a little comically cramped from the close quarters and the nature of the stall. Part of the experience is slamming your knee against the partition whenever you try to move.
It's nice to see Ian is willing to try something new.
It smells good, like fresh bread and dense, rich broth, well-spiced dishes and actual meat cooking somewhere behind the woman on a small grill. It's not beef but Nate absolutely does not care and he flashes her a wave and a polite Du'ī kr̥payā.
She answers quickly and Nate points to several baskets and a pair of bowls before propping his elbow on the counter and looking at Ian. ]
Two questions: how do you feel about goat, and what's your spice limit?
[ Ah yes, good, nothing quite like squeezing two thick guys over six feet tall into a cramped space. The consolation here is he doesn't actually mind the places they wind up touching, so he's giving the experience three and a half stars minimum from the onset.
Watching Nate slip into this place like a well-worn sweater adds to the appeal. ]
I'm good with spice, I say from the perspective of somebody from rural Northern California.
[ Not the awesome parts that throw down with some chile Seco del Norte. He's a happy, comfortable sriracha. More importantly, he continues on after only a beat to circle back to that first question. With utmost solemnity: ]
[ Kicking his duffel under the stool he doesn't so much mind the proximity in the context of such revered customs as "eating something prepared by a tiny old lady on the side of the road." Being pressed up against somebody is kind of the nature of traveling in many countries in this part of the world, though Tibet is considerably more crowded than he remembers. ]
Kinda sounds like we should eat one in his honor, then.
[ Nate says gravely, as two bowls of soup-with-some-kind-of-noodle are set in front of them. A flower-shaped bread is set between them. ]
...there's no tripe in here, if that's got you worried. This is- Thukpa? [ He looks to the woman across from them for affirmation, and she smiles, pleased, making a long gesture with her hands. Nate smiles back. ] She pulled the noodles herself.
[ It would be insulting, so the fact that Ian is keen to play along to the best of his abilities in this endeavor to have a little adventure is really the cherry on the sundae. Nate props an elbow on the little counter, careful not to upset his bowl, and rests his chin in his hand with the appraising air of a man waiting for a result to manifest itself in his presence.
He won't pointedly observe every single one of Ian's interactions with the culture in this place. Probably. ]
[ Nate doesn't need the response for himself - it's more courteous to extend as much to the woman in front of them, and while he knows Ian is doing it to dig at his expectant look it's more charming that he's engaging with the locals. Mostly it's just nice to see him outside New Amsterdam.
The old woman nods politely and turns back to her griddle, rearranging some grilled meat while Nate gets back to his soup. ]
Weather's supposed to be nice. Got a few ideas about where we should camp out.
[ It's nice to be away from the same setting, he can admit that. The same oppressive buildings, the same overcrowding every day. The same three or four spots he frequents — work, home, Red Wings, Kyna's. It's funny how a shift in environment can make something feel... different. It's just different, seeing someone in a new backdrop.
They eat.
They walk.
There is an even split between bullshit and interesting history — mostly. It's the latter that gets them in trouble, because the temptation to go into places they're definitely not allowed to be grows with each successive temple. It's so hard to be able to bend walls and not use that to walk through them.
So of course they do, and of course they get caught, and of course there's a shitload of security and scandalized historians or whoever jump immediately on their asses as they book it down some halls, which means he can't just go moving the damn walls around.
And then there's Nate's power, which doesn't get them a nice exit but it does somehow find them an incredibly fucking convenient closet that they can duck into about 1.5 seconds before a herd of boots pass by. So that part's great. What's not great is the fact that two thirds of the space is taken up by shelves of a few dozen cleaning supplies, and the remaining third was definitely not intended for two tall, grown ass men to stand inside with the door closed.
There's a shelf gently pressing against his left hip. A wall at his back. Maybe an inch of space between his right shoulder and the damn doorframe and. Obviously, the guy he's decided to blame this on smashed into his front.
There's chattering outside. Continued footsteps. He's shooting Nate a little sideways look in the almost-dark, but he can't give it the impact it deserves because turning his face any more means probably bumping his jaw into a chin or something.
[ Getting to talk and eat and wax on about cultural differences in another country was reassuring in its normality on its own, something familiar and warm, but what really cinched it was Ian's innocent could we get up there?, like he knew exactly who he was talking to and what to expect from that kind of question.
When it comes to a mild amount of breaking and entering for the purposes of a little peek around, Nate is always the last person to ask if one is looking for dissuasion.
They get in, they look around, they get caught. Just their luck. It's a turn of events Nate could have anticipated, but it was more fun to let things play out even as they sprinted down one hall and into another before he reached out for assistance. What he didn't reach out for was an escape route. ]
You know, [ he whispers back tersely. ] I thought hiding place. I wasn't thinking "preferably a ten foot by ten foot space, with lots of legroom, and a drink service."
[ Nate is crammed between a shelving unit with really pointy edges and Ian, the door at his left, a slim line of light on the floor - presumably, because he can't look down - and hot, mildly-annoyed huffs of air at his ear.
He shifts, thinking it might alleviate some of the pressure between them as his hand settles on the shelf next to Ian. ]
[ It's actually impressive it took this long for his brain to go, oh. uh oh. this could be a problem. It didn't happen when they first slipped in, it didn't happen at first press of chest against chest, didn't happen for several seconds at the start.
It's the damn red flags that pop up swiftly right after. The whispering, which wouldn't be so bad if it weren't like four inches away from his ear so he can feel it. And that wouldn't be a huge thing either if it wasn't for the shifting, which actually does absolutely nothing to alleviate any space, thank you very much. It's only served to make him way too aware of where everything is in proximity to everything else.
It's fine. This is only gonna take like two minutes. They shouldn't be in here long enough for it to actually be a problem. ]
What the fuck is a pocket spa?
[ Quietly hissed back, like pocket spa is the source of all their problems.
You know what, maybe he can try to like...
His chest glows, gently illuminating the space like a cell phone while he tries to bend one of the shelves--
--which precariously shakes the cleaning supplies on top of it. The glow stops immediately. Nope, nope nope. A harsh, frustrated whisper: ]
I never learned how to do the fucking... thing with the table cloth and the place settings where you like... snap it.
[ Nate freezes when something rattles above them in the dim blue light, shoulders sagging again only when the noise stops and Ian's attempts at the dinner table trick cease. ]
The inertia thing that magicians do.
[ He agrees quietly, because Nate's understanding of physics came explicitly from ways to entertain and ways to avoid imminent death when falling from a great height.
Crammed closer to the door than Ian he listens at the jamb as another set of sprinting footsteps run down the hall outside. They're still looking, and Nate won't complain about how innocuous their hideout is if it saves their bacon.
When the ruckus passes he goes back to explaining away the first question - less stressed, more informative. ]
A pocket spa is like- look, I had a friend in Hadriel who was a wizard. It was basically like a...an extra-dimensional space that could fit in your pocket, but it had, y'know, a sauna and a bunch of patio chairs and a shower and sandwiches in it.
[ There's nothing quite like a calm informative explanation in your ear from a male model pressed against your chest in the three cubic feet of space you're using to avoid getting arrested.
What if we kissed... in the cleaning supply utility closet 😳🙈😘
It's annoying to have to stop himself from turning his head after an inch when he realizes he can't actually look without something touching. ]
Wouldn't the sauna and the shower make the sandwiches kind of gross?
[ Because the logistics of steam around bread in a magical pocket dimension is what he should be thinking about. ]
I don't know if your friend thought that one through...
[ Nate insists as though that should be obvious, like the mere suggestion that the magic spa within the magic pocket dimension would ever let its sandwiches get soggy from the condensation and steam. ]
I don't really- know the logistics, or anything, he just said he bought it at the Fantasy Costco. And yeah, I know how that sounds, I can feel the expression on your face.
[ Disappointment? Disbelief? Something between the two? Nate doesn't think about the proximity or its potential for bumping and does turn his head, meeting jaw to jaw before huffing a laugh and apologizing. ]
[ The edge of their jaws and a bit of their cheeks touch, and there's a gentle flash of soft blue between them as the empathy bond sparks like flint. It's gone before he gets any real sense of anything, which is absolutely for the damn best considering the hyperawareness he suddenly gets. ]
I'll save you the trouble.
[ Murmured a little lower, a little more quietly. ]
I'm about two inches away and my face looks like me.
[ He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Clothing drags an inch or two on either of them, torso against... very torso, holy shit he's firm. Keep your mouth shut, Fowler. ]
Anyone ever told you that you're, like, 90% chest?
[ There are certain things about being in very close proximity with someone that you forget about, if substantial time has passed. Nate considers himself a physically affectionate person, but the dearth of the same for the last six-plus months has thrown into sharp relief how much he's missed, and how much he seems to be lacking. Having a personal feature pointed out by somebody who can make a judgment call by feel alone is sobering.
Someone breathing near him, the way it feels to be pressed up against another body in a platonic embrace or something more intimate, that pinprick shiver that rolls down his spine. Animal things. Human things.
Acutely aware of the warmth and tension and the completely involuntary desire to wade into it, he immediately attempts to stifle the sensation with a swift punch of guilt to the gut that doesn't so much solve the problem as amplify it. It's been a while, he's not supposed to feel like that, and other lies he tells himself. ]
Uh.
[ The sound he makes is torn between a cough and a laugh, and Nate is suddenly grateful that it's too dark for anyone to see how hot his face must look. ]
No, I- I don't think so? Could say the same thing to you, are the sweaters meant to be misleading camouflage?
[ They're having two very different yet simultaneously similar experiences over here. Compromised by the press of a warm body flush from chest to thigh, compromised by a voice in his ear, the occasional feeling of breath it brings.
It's been a while for him since he cut off sex — not six months, closer to three, and never with somebody he cared about (at the time; him and Kyna grew after that stopped). As a matter of fact, he hasn't been up close and personal with somebody that mattered in a not-strictly-platonic way since... what, undergrad?
Hilariously, and maybe it's a total contradiction, but the fact that he cares amps up the determination not to feel anything about this. No weird intimacy, no prickling at the back of his neck, none of that heartbeat stutter shit, definitely not thinking about kissing on a cliff once. None of that's happening, thank you very much. He is an adult and he is in complete control of his feelings and reactions.
Could say the same thing to you- god damn it Nathan. You are not helping. ]
Don't let me mislead you, I actually weigh about eighty pounds, I just really layer on the sweaters. It's like a foot of padding.
[ It's a murmur, drawled out and hushed and slow. Maybe just like two percent distracted by his internal guided meditation to not be attracted to extremely hot men who saved your life and got stoned on your couch and helped pull you out of a circling downward despair spiral. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Anyway, cool, now he knows. More importantly, there's an absolutely intense palace to worry about, and he nods sagely. ]
Sure, they probably have a cool gift shop.
[ The vaguely guilty thought that crosses his mind may be something along the lines of what awesome stuff they could probably do, considering his being able to move walls and everything. It dips briefling into whether or not it's a travesty to mess with something that old if he puts it back exactly the way he found it — guaranteed better results than that woman who tried to restore that painting of Jesus.
Maybe... keep that to himself until an opportunity presents itself.
More importantly — ]
Are you gonna give me interesting facts along the way? Because I specifically remember signing up for the tour guide package. This is an educational outing.
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Really gonna make the dancing monkey work for his tips, huh?
[ He's not chafed, as evidenced by the broad grin on his face. He claps Ian on the shoulder and begins picking his way down the rocky hillside, dredging up old memories for a new lesson plan.
Sadly he won't be nearly as skilled as certain, certified professionals who used to teach for a living, but... ]
Where d'you wanna start? This city was pretty much untouched by British imperialism until the early 1900s.
no subject
He keeps up easy enough, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, eyes flicking from the path before them to Nate's face and back again periodically. ]
What's the furthest back you can go? Gimme the earliest point on the timeline you know about.
[ This, for example, is a question that more revolves around Nate than the city in particular, but he'll wind up dipping back and forth between both. ]
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Mmm...okay, I don't know a lot about its earliest history? It was a religious site of pilgrimage for a long time before the fifth Dalai Lama in the seventeenth century. Prior to that it was a kingdom invaded by the ancient Chinese. Monarchy fell, city got recognized as a place where Guru Rinpoche stabbed an earth demoness, and then they built that-
[ He nods toward another temple - gleaming white with red decor - far off, fronting an open square in the center of the city. ]
-where her heart was supposed to be. I had this friend, Tenzin, who visited Jokhang a couple of times with his family? He said it's beautiful inside.
no subject
You are, like, the most interesting person on the planet. You know that, right?
[ Just an FYI that he delivers in a completely matter of fact manner.
Anyway. ]
I feel like it's gonna be really hard to top demon heart.
[ Seems like a good place to start. ]
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Nate's expression tightens for a moment - You wanna help, Sullivan? Then go after her. - and softens again, letting go. ]
You might be surprised. I've seen some stupas that'll blow your mind.
[ It's a meandering path down the hill and into the city, crowded with much more modern updates slapped on top of the tired foundations of a too-old world, like a chrome Band-Aid on a neighborhood in Detroit. It's clear that the bustle of vendors is something in which Nate delights, however, as he furthers explains the sacred site and its radiating complex, maneuvering stalls and shoppers between describing the conflict between Buddhists and Bonpos. ]
They first started building it in the seventh century. Just kept adding onto it for nearly a thousand years, which is, like, insane. People get impatient when new construction takes longer than a few months- [ He screeches to a sudden halt near a booth draped in fabric. ] Hey, are you hungry?
no subject
Low.
It bites at his tongue to ask, but—
They only just got here. They didn't come for Ian to pick him apart within the first hour, pulling at threads trying to unravel the deeper parts of his tapestry. The moment goes and Ian lets it, stowing the thought for later in favor of absorbing Tibetan history like a dry sponge under a tap. The pleasant, attentive calm never really leaves his posture, it only rises in falls of waves of amusement or curiosity.
It firmly shifts slightly toward the former at the abrupt stop. ]
Usually, yeah. Why, what synapses fired in your brain just now?
[ Because what made you think to ask matters more to him than where are we going. ]
no subject
[ Nate informs him unhelpfully, as if Ian is supposed to know what that means, and the bottomless pit that is the younger Drake brother hasn't actually had some legitimate ethnic food from its country of origin in months. Years, if he's counting the last time he actually visited Tenzin and Pema, who was growing way too fast for her father to keep up with.
Hard to miss the distinct scent of roasted barley flour, though. Nate lifts a strip of fabric like a curtain and lights up, treated to the view of an older woman tending a griddle with several steaming baskets nearby. Back of a restaurant. Must be their side hustle.
Like the noodle huts of northeast Asia there's a cramped stretch of counter and several beaten stools, and Nate jerks his head for Ian to follow him inside the little hut. ]
How adventurous do you feel today?
no subject
That's only partly an exaggeration.
It's a good thing. It's fucking fascinating.
He follows with easy, bright interest and his hands stuffed in his pockets. ]
I'd give it a solid eight out of ten.
[ He's not going spelunking, diving, or free climbing. He's also not dropping an acid and having an orgy, so. Probably minus two points on the scale, right? ]
no subject
[ Nate seats himself and gestures that Ian to the same at his side, both of them a little comically cramped from the close quarters and the nature of the stall. Part of the experience is slamming your knee against the partition whenever you try to move.
It's nice to see Ian is willing to try something new.
It smells good, like fresh bread and dense, rich broth, well-spiced dishes and actual meat cooking somewhere behind the woman on a small grill. It's not beef but Nate absolutely does not care and he flashes her a wave and a polite Du'ī kr̥payā.
She answers quickly and Nate points to several baskets and a pair of bowls before propping his elbow on the counter and looking at Ian. ]
Two questions: how do you feel about goat, and what's your spice limit?
no subject
Watching Nate slip into this place like a well-worn sweater adds to the appeal. ]
I'm good with spice, I say from the perspective of somebody from rural Northern California.
[ Not the awesome parts that throw down with some chile Seco del Norte. He's a happy, comfortable sriracha. More importantly, he continues on after only a beat to circle back to that first question. With utmost solemnity: ]
A goat murdered my father.
no subject
Kinda sounds like we should eat one in his honor, then.
[ Nate says gravely, as two bowls of soup-with-some-kind-of-noodle are set in front of them. A flower-shaped bread is set between them. ]
...there's no tripe in here, if that's got you worried. This is- Thukpa? [ He looks to the woman across from them for affirmation, and she smiles, pleased, making a long gesture with her hands. Nate smiles back. ] She pulled the noodles herself.
no subject
I wasn't worried about tripe, but now that I know she pulled her own noodles I'd have to eat it anyway.
[ Because you can't turn that down, that's just plain insulting.
He's got very little hesitance when it comes to trying new experiences, and this is no exception. Nary a falter in tasting it. ]
no subject
He won't pointedly observe every single one of Ian's interactions with the culture in this place. Probably. ]
Well?
no subject
Except he can't be an asshole to the little old lady who hand-pulled her noodles, so he's gonna give his reaction to her instead of Nate. ]
This is really good, thank you.
[ Another thing they have in common: charming grannies. ]
no subject
The old woman nods politely and turns back to her griddle, rearranging some grilled meat while Nate gets back to his soup. ]
Weather's supposed to be nice. Got a few ideas about where we should camp out.
no subject
They eat.
They walk.
There is an even split between bullshit and interesting history — mostly. It's the latter that gets them in trouble, because the temptation to go into places they're definitely not allowed to be grows with each successive temple. It's so hard to be able to bend walls and not use that to walk through them.
So of course they do, and of course they get caught, and of course there's a shitload of security and scandalized historians or whoever jump immediately on their asses as they book it down some halls, which means he can't just go moving the damn walls around.
And then there's Nate's power, which doesn't get them a nice exit but it does somehow find them an incredibly fucking convenient closet that they can duck into about 1.5 seconds before a herd of boots pass by. So that part's great. What's not great is the fact that two thirds of the space is taken up by shelves of a few dozen cleaning supplies, and the remaining third was definitely not intended for two tall, grown ass men to stand inside with the door closed.
There's a shelf gently pressing against his left hip. A wall at his back. Maybe an inch of space between his right shoulder and the damn doorframe and. Obviously, the guy he's decided to blame this on smashed into his front.
There's chattering outside. Continued footsteps. He's shooting Nate a little sideways look in the almost-dark, but he can't give it the impact it deserves because turning his face any more means probably bumping his jaw into a chin or something.
A low, accusatory whisper: ]
You couldn't magic a bigger closet?
no subject
When it comes to a mild amount of breaking and entering for the purposes of a little peek around, Nate is always the last person to ask if one is looking for dissuasion.
They get in, they look around, they get caught. Just their luck. It's a turn of events Nate could have anticipated, but it was more fun to let things play out even as they sprinted down one hall and into another before he reached out for assistance. What he didn't reach out for was an escape route. ]
You know, [ he whispers back tersely. ] I thought hiding place. I wasn't thinking "preferably a ten foot by ten foot space, with lots of legroom, and a drink service."
[ Nate is crammed between a shelving unit with really pointy edges and Ian, the door at his left, a slim line of light on the floor - presumably, because he can't look down - and hot, mildly-annoyed huffs of air at his ear.
He shifts, thinking it might alleviate some of the pressure between them as his hand settles on the shelf next to Ian. ]
Next time I'll manifest a pocket spa.
no subject
It's the damn red flags that pop up swiftly right after. The whispering, which wouldn't be so bad if it weren't like four inches away from his ear so he can feel it. And that wouldn't be a huge thing either if it wasn't for the shifting, which actually does absolutely nothing to alleviate any space, thank you very much. It's only served to make him way too aware of where everything is in proximity to everything else.
It's fine. This is only gonna take like two minutes. They shouldn't be in here long enough for it to actually be a problem. ]
What the fuck is a pocket spa?
[ Quietly hissed back, like pocket spa is the source of all their problems.
You know what, maybe he can try to like...
His chest glows, gently illuminating the space like a cell phone while he tries to bend one of the shelves--
--which precariously shakes the cleaning supplies on top of it. The glow stops immediately. Nope, nope nope. A harsh, frustrated whisper: ]
I never learned how to do the fucking... thing with the table cloth and the place settings where you like... snap it.
[ God damn it. ]
no subject
The inertia thing that magicians do.
[ He agrees quietly, because Nate's understanding of physics came explicitly from ways to entertain and ways to avoid imminent death when falling from a great height.
Crammed closer to the door than Ian he listens at the jamb as another set of sprinting footsteps run down the hall outside. They're still looking, and Nate won't complain about how innocuous their hideout is if it saves their bacon.
When the ruckus passes he goes back to explaining away the first question - less stressed, more informative. ]
A pocket spa is like- look, I had a friend in Hadriel who was a wizard. It was basically like a...an extra-dimensional space that could fit in your pocket, but it had, y'know, a sauna and a bunch of patio chairs and a shower and sandwiches in it.
no subject
What if we kissed... in the cleaning supply utility closet 😳🙈😘It's annoying to have to stop himself from turning his head after an inch when he realizes he can't actually look without something touching. ]
Wouldn't the sauna and the shower make the sandwiches kind of gross?
[ Because the logistics of steam around bread in a magical pocket dimension is what he should be thinking about. ]
I don't know if your friend thought that one through...
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[ Nate insists as though that should be obvious, like the mere suggestion that the magic spa within the magic pocket dimension would ever let its sandwiches get soggy from the condensation and steam. ]
I don't really- know the logistics, or anything, he just said he bought it at the Fantasy Costco. And yeah, I know how that sounds, I can feel the expression on your face.
[ Disappointment? Disbelief? Something between the two? Nate doesn't think about the proximity or its potential for bumping and does turn his head, meeting jaw to jaw before huffing a laugh and apologizing. ]
Sorry. Can't see for shit.
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I'll save you the trouble.
[ Murmured a little lower, a little more quietly. ]
I'm about two inches away and my face looks like me.
[ He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Clothing drags an inch or two on either of them, torso against... very torso, holy shit he's firm. Keep your mouth shut, Fowler. ]
Anyone ever told you that you're, like, 90% chest?
[ Or not. ]
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Someone breathing near him, the way it feels to be pressed up against another body in a platonic embrace or something more intimate, that pinprick shiver that rolls down his spine. Animal things. Human things.
Acutely aware of the warmth and tension and the completely involuntary desire to wade into it, he immediately attempts to stifle the sensation with a swift punch of guilt to the gut that doesn't so much solve the problem as amplify it. It's been a while, he's not supposed to feel like that, and other lies he tells himself. ]
Uh.
[ The sound he makes is torn between a cough and a laugh, and Nate is suddenly grateful that it's too dark for anyone to see how hot his face must look. ]
No, I- I don't think so? Could say the same thing to you, are the sweaters meant to be misleading camouflage?
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It's been a while for him since he cut off sex — not six months, closer to three, and never with somebody he cared about (at the time; him and Kyna grew after that stopped). As a matter of fact, he hasn't been up close and personal with somebody that mattered in a not-strictly-platonic way since... what, undergrad?
Hilariously, and maybe it's a total contradiction, but the fact that he cares amps up the determination not to feel anything about this. No weird intimacy, no prickling at the back of his neck, none of that heartbeat stutter shit, definitely not thinking about kissing on a cliff once. None of that's happening, thank you very much. He is an adult and he is in complete control of his feelings and reactions.
Could say the same thing to you- god damn it Nathan. You are not helping. ]
Don't let me mislead you, I actually weigh about eighty pounds, I just really layer on the sweaters. It's like a foot of padding.
[ It's a murmur, drawled out and hushed and slow. Maybe just like two percent distracted by his internal guided meditation to not be attracted to extremely hot men who saved your life and got stoned on your couch and helped pull you out of a circling downward despair spiral. ]
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