uncalendula | {rping} open post

[He can remember everything, in clear detail.

In spite of the haze of adrenaline-spiked panic - something he has faced before, something he knows too well when life on the streets leads to unfortunate encounters with local authorities - Nate can remember the scrambling anxiety clawing into his chest with every jump he had made. The blood on his cut fingers had been nothing compared to the blood spilling into Sam's chest, killing him faster when Nate watched him fall through a sheet of corrugated metal and into the dark.

He feels that way now, tunnel vision dragging him through each obstacle as they arrive, rather than looking with any real foresight. Distantly he recalls events that transpired between the mental video of Sam's death playing on a loop, a private jet and a cargo plane, a chopper out to site, everything so agonizingly minuscule and far away. Too far away to draw, to touch, to know. At the edges Rafe would shift in, tell him the plan, before distributing orders elsewhere.

Operating on autopilot leaves him listing out of the loop and he's aware of the whispers of crew members, suggestions that he's not clocked in, that the lights are on and nobody's home. Scotland is mist and mystery, as much a future as he is capable of seeing.

Nate sways in front of Rafe's work desk, by all accounts a wreck and a half with a few cuts on one cheek and muddied jeans, the inelegant aftermath of a snapped rappel line when his belayer lost the anchor. For the first time, fucking up wasn't his fault. The vaguest humor creeps into his voice, some small satisfaction in feeling more alive from the fall.]

Reporting for. Paycheck pick-up. Sir.

[ Rafe hears the rumors too, in spite of the crew knowing better than to deal in anything but the business at hand when he's around. Not that he can blame them for talking. Not only is there nothing else to talk about in the middle of the highlands, it is painfully obvious that his consultant isn't all there. Hasn't been since they got off the plane.

But Rafe understands the nature of a long term investment. He also understands when the short supply of experts on 17th century pirate meets his high demand for finding the Gunsway treasure, you take what you can get. Whenever the stagnation starts to gall, he reminds himself people have been searching for this three hundred years already — putting him well ahead of the curve. So he hasn't pushed yet, just presents what needs doing and nudged Nate forward a step or two to get going with it. Idle hands and all, right?

Standing beside his desk, he's sorting through the day's photographs. Cursory polaroids, more detailed negatives developed on site, documenting every inch before the crew start gridding off a new area. Nate's appearance earns a wry appraisal, eyebrow arching before Rafe's lazy smile makes an appearance. He scoffs good-naturedly, flicks the picture in his hand to skim across the others. ]

Nate, come on. Do partners call each other sir? [ He doesn't bother asking what happened — of course he'd heard about it. The belayer in question will spend the next several days inspecting every cable in camp for any other weaknesses. Not everybody on the end of a snapped line is Nathan Drake, and if he'd lost that asset after the time he's already paid in? One brother's already bitten the dust. Rafe can't afford losing the other. ] You seen the medic yet?

[ Rhetorical twice over. He knows what goes on at his site, and after these weeks here he knows Nate. Or at least the Nate that's been stumbling around in a daze.

Which is why those small changes are immediately noticed. His focus sharpens, the shift to calculation hardly noticeable behind lidded eyes. ]

[To be fair, the rumor mill is really lacking in grist. It's easy for the rabble to latch onto the social pariah strictly because he still doesn't make sense to a lot of them, a "consultant" that rarely speaks unless spoken to, whose thirst for lonely dives into shadowy spaces in the crypts exceeds normal levels of healthy recreation.

It's been easy to follow orders, easier than it's ever been when all he needs is a direction and a sturdy rope (although the latter he could do without if his fellow climbers insist on being incompetent walnuts). At least Rafe is pleased to see him, although the reaction alone is likely because he managed to survive a forty foot drop with hair-trigger reflexes.

Nate lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug.]

Nothing busted. Been banged up worse falling from shorter heights. I told you last week - you get a stationary rig instead of a belayer, I'll get those catacombs scoured a Hell of a lot faster. Not for nothing, but I'm kind of amazing at free solo climbing.

[ Grist or no, it hasn't harmed Nate in the long run. Not with Rafe quietly following along after to make it abundantly clear to all that Nathan Drake's actions are sanctioned, that his suggestions be given due course, that his orders be followed. Period. Whether or not they glanced at each other in nonplus as they do so is beside the point. It'll all be paid forward when Nate really gets down to business.

Which seems to finally be now.

Rafe nods in agreement, mouth twisting in a begrudging smile as he lifts his arms in surrender. ]

I'm a guy who can admit when he's wrong. Give me specs for what you need, you'll have it within the month. [ That's the only place one can see Adler money shine around here — top of the line equipment down to the boots on the ground, the cutting edge of archaeology available as fast as they need it. Rafe can't deny where he comes (much as he'd like to) from but he can damn sure make the money work instead of letting it hang round his neck and crush him under the weight. ] And don't worry, I know exactly how good you are.

[ I remember Panama is on the tip of his tongue, the way three men scrambled through hell by the skin of their teeth. But he clips it back behind his teeth instead, and instead leans to snatch up a folder off the corner of his desk. Most employees on site have direct deposit but Nate seems to prefer the old school in a lot of ways, including this. ]

How you earned this, after all.

[ Fishing the check out of its brothers, he steps closer to hand it over — until the last second, when he instead tucks it into an inside pocket of Nate's jacket. ]

Great.

[That is something Nate can handle, drawing up a small, movable rig with enough counterweight to hold without slipping. There's always a wider margin for human error when he trusts a stranger - and most of the guys here are just that - to maintain the other end of his line when he's swinging for a far ledge. Nate has more faith in his little finger than he does in any of these hired hands.

It's unconventional by modern standards, he knows, to take payment on a physical piece of paper but there's something about it that really appeals to his tactile nature. As well as his need to keep relatively detailed notes on things. (It would actually be considerably more convenient if it was a wad of hard cash, but he understands that as a consultant he has to appear a certain way on the payroll.) Nate is prepared to reach out and accept it when Rafe slips into his space, nudging the lapel of his jacket aside to nudge the check into his coat pocket.]

Uh.

[He laughs then, partly out of nervousness, partly because the adrenaline spike from almost dying is crashing pretty hard and he can feel the need to lie down niggling at the back of his skull.]

Buy me a drink before you start stuffing money down my shirt, why don't you.

Pick your poison if that's all it takes, [ Rafe shoots back without missing a beat. A sly grin follows before he mock-winces and amends the options: ] Long as it's scotch or gin.

[ Any more variety than that is going to have to wait on another supply crate, but one of the very few perks Rafe allows around camp is something just in case. For morale, for celebrating a discovery, for letting someone think they're stealing a sip and feel better about themselves for it.

His fingers stay busy, fixing the fabric he'd disturbed. The pads of his fingers barely catch on the sheepskin as he glances up, and his eyes stay on Nate's as he listens for the answer. The silence is barely broken by the sounds of camp bustling on by outside, the hum of the generator behind the tent, and the drum of fingertips at Nate's lapel.

Note that nowhere in any of this has Rafe moved an inch out of Nate's personal space. Because why not. ]

[He counters with another tired laugh that slowly crumbles under its own weight, sagging like his shoulders in the privacy of Rafe's work tent. So allowed this minor vulnerability it's nice to not have to worry about the kind of impressions he makes on everyone else in camp, when the only person whose opinion matters here is standing in front of him.

Still.]

I...

[It's a beginning that dies before it comes to fruition, and even feeling worn to a weary nub he is overly conscious of the way that Rafe's fingertips linger on his coat, the way he hasn't stepped back to offer a modicum of space. The way he's making it apparent that he's holding on for something else entirely. Confused, Nate furrows his brow and has to pull away from eye contact deferentially, gaze shifting to Rafe's collar.

When he speaks it is careful, tentative, and wary of being presumptuous. Nate has never been exceptionally talented at recognizing when people are coming onto him.]

...are you hitting on me?

Can't get anything past you.

[ Sue him, but he can't help the condescension — but it's mild, more than tempered at Nate catching onto what's going on. And what's about to happen if he has his way about it. Which is looking more and more likely given that although Nate is slow on the uptake, though there's confusion, certainly, and a different kind of daze than has lingered since Panama... Rafe still hasn't heard even the beginnings of a no.

His eyes slide along the curve of Nate's neck, allowing him the momentary illusion of reprieve while indulging himself in the play of well-toned muscle under tan skin.

...Well. Skin and mud. There is a lot of that. ]

You are a little dusty though, [ comes the observation half a beat later, lips pursing in a quiet frown. Nothing so strong as disapproval but it's certainly something that needs addressing. ]

Edited (w o w i cannot spell ) 2016-08-08 05:51 (UTC)

[Beggars can't be choosers.

Nate won't refuse attention when he has so little in his possession at present, and neither will he attempt to jeopardize it by pushing back when he isn't so inclined. His own mental state aside, Nate isn't blind - Rafe is attractive in that neatly-trimmed way that suggests he spends as much time poring over the artifacts they find as he does agonizing over how to style his hair. It's clearly an art form.

The interest in him comes as a surprise - and it always does, no matter who sidles up to look him over - and his chances for refusing genuine curiosity are rapidly disappearing while Rafe permits him the break in eye contact. Presumably he's looking at the miserable state of Nate's clothes, and who could blame him?]

Yeah, [Nate affirms, his throat suddenly bone-dry. He clears it and shifts minutely, just enough to put another inch between them for breathing room.] I was about to shower.

Not a bad idea.

[ Rafe grants him the breather, and does him one better. Sidestepping neatly, he strolls past Nate — the picture of nonchalance, as if he weren't perfectly aware of the poleaxe he's left behind him for Nate to fumble with and figure out.

Nate may think he's off the hook, or even that the past five minutes were some weird post-adrenaline fever dream to be shaken off and forgotten back in the real world. The possibility spins out in the silence until Rafe pauses, turns back to arch an eyebrow inquiringly. ]

You coming?

[ His own private shower is much closer than the general wash tent up on the ridge in the middle of camp, and Rafe can one hundred percent guarantee better company than Nate could find elsewhere. But the question is still more honest question than rhetorical at this point, still offering Nate a way out rather than anything else. ]

[Nate, spinning out too freely and without direction, a slightly-organized and semi-suicidal consultant on a good day with little incentive to change, feels an agonizing magnetic draw to his employer - business partner - as soon as Rafe turns out and away. Unconsciously moving to mirror the only recent anchor in his life he watches Rafe go, and go, feeling as though he's missed some unspoken opportunity until an offer is extended.

Tired and cold, lonely and desperate, a weak take me with you sits on his tongue and melts back into his body when he forces his feet to take a step toward the eye of the storm.]

Ye- if you're- [Of course he's okay with it, Nate, he wouldn't have said so otherwise. He finally moves to catch up, albeit sluggishly.] I'm coming.

[~~not the first time he'll be saying that tonight, ZING~~]

...didn't realize you had your own bathroom. [Nate laughs again.] Can't pee with the peons?

[ ~~Congrats, you are now tuned to the Rafe Adler channel.~~ ]

[ A gleam of victory lights up Rafe's face before leading the way to the stall. Small and entirely functional, yet with the precise sleekness that only money can buy. Twisting the water on, the steam is quick to rise up when met with the chill of a Scots autumn about to turn. The water heaters have the same smack of expensive efficiency, thank god. ]

I enjoy my privacy.

[ Simple as that. The luxury's certainly not born out of some weird idea of modesty, as evidenced by the careless way he peels off his sweater and shirt in one go and tosses them aside. Nate isn't the only one who's had a long day and the damp cold has a way of getting everywhere no matter how layered the defense. ]

Unless you're the kind of guy who needs an audience?

[ The chuckle stays low in his throat at the idea as he turns around to face Nate. That he's dragging is plain as the mud on his face (and everywhere else) and Rafe may be a great many things, but a complete asshole?

...Well, sometimes. But at least not now, so he reaches over to tug Nate closer by his shirt collar to help him out of these clothes. ]

[Nate isn't one to complain about small luxuries when and where he can get them, and this is a gift horse he doesn't really want to look in the mouth. Money really can buy you everything, like personal water heaters and a compact private shower. It's sort of impressive, in a way that makes him wonder if people actively camp anymore.

I enjoy my privacy, Rafe says, and then strips his sweater and shirt off as though he wasn't currently entertaining exhausted company. Nate barely has the energy to keep from staring, lingering on wiry muscle and the dark hair under Rafe's navel. He swallows hard.]

No. I mean- it doesn't bother me, but uh- [Belatedly he realizes he should be stripping, toeing off his boots.] I like privacy, too.

[Rafe conveniently steps in to guide him back on track, a lost soul loitering at the edge of a foreign place. At the light pulling Nate agrees with the silent assessment that he ought to lose his shirt, and lose it he does. Part of his attention span is caught with weary fingers fumbling over his belt buckle, while the other drifts to the the shower itself.]

...are we gonna fit?

Glad to hear it.

[ The weight of Nate's eyes on him turn Rafe around with a knowing smile. He pauses, lets Nate enjoy the view a moment or two longer before getting back to work. As much as Rafe tries to make it nothing much at all, as pleasantly neutral as he schools his expression, there's no way to hide the way he drinks in the expanse of Nate's chest. Scars of varying size and shape and age crisscross the expanse and another time, Rafe would be all too happy following every one with his tongue.

Next time, if there was one. Rafe doesn't gamble on much in his life beyond the Gunsway, not unless it's a sure bet — and so far the odds seem to be in his favor. ]

I think we can make it work.

[ Rafe's hands are surer than Nate's as they slip under loosen the belt, toeing off his boots as he drops the belt aside with the growing pile of discards. Pushing down Nate's filthy jeans, his smile morphs into something with even sharper edges in the split second before catching Nate's mouth in a kiss. Not as rough as it could be, more survey than conquest and as thorough in excavation as Rafe demands of the crew on site. He occupies himself smoothing a hand up to Nate's hip with a trace of nails before sweeping up to splay fingers against his chest. But his pants are still unfortunately part of the equation, and he finds Nate's hand to lead it to his own belt to be rid of it. ]

Edited (I CAN TYPE AND PICK ICONS I SWEAR ;;) 2016-08-10 04:47 (UTC)

[Nate half-stumbles, half-steps out of his pants, now a sad puddle of denim on the floor while Rafe investigates him: he knows he's a mess, he always has been, but he likes to claim it gives him character. Given the intent in Rafe's hands he thinks it's a safe bet that the guy's been wanting to explore this particular terrain for a while, and who is he to neglect the opportunity for an expedition?

Tentatively licking into Rafe's mouth Nate makes quick work of his belt upon given a directive, following orders to the letter and feeling like a total idiot standing around in his shorts in sticky air that is the precise opposite of "warm." When the steam finally hits him he shivers, tugging on Rafe's pants sluggishly, as though the motion might remove them.

It's still an ungraceful gesture - and they all are, every time he tries to move with any real coherence - and he's still filthy, a mess of mud and speckles of blood from a small impact wound, too shallow to stitch and too deep to not require a bandage.

The soreness is largely dulled now, especially when he leans into Rafe's hands like a cat toward a source of heat.]

S'barely enough space for you.

[ Rafe rewards Nate's initiative with a low note of approval, somewhere between a hum and a growl before suckling Nate's lower lip between his teeth. ]

Then you'll just have to stay close. Won't you.

[ Since Nate obviously needs the help, Rafe releases his hand to push his boxer briefs and pants past his hips in one fell swoop to drop round his ankles. Stepping backwards out of the mess, he makes sure Nate follows by scratching dull nails down washboard abs to snag the waist of Nate's shorts and yanking him along. Said shorts are slowly but surely worked over sharply defined hipbones now free for Rafe to fondle much as he likes.

The water is hot enough to have him hiss into Nate's mouth but he doesn't flinch, not for a second. It'd take a hell of a lot more than that to stop him now that he's getting what he wants. Only Rafe's back hitting the wall gives him pause but even then he still pulls Nate in under the shower with him, until the breadth of Nate's shoulders take the brunt of the water and leave Rafe free and clear to start sucking bruises into his neck. ]

[Nate snorts in a decidedly ungentlemanly fashion, the sound catching in his throat when Rafe steps out of the rest of his clothes. The sight doesn't disappoint, even if Nate doesn't feel as though he's present enough to enjoy it in its entirety. Tempted - or encouraged - to follow with neatly trimmed nails digging into his stomach Nate steps into the spray of the shower after Rafe.

Rafe, who pries his wet, sticking boxers off of him like a candy wrapper, whose thumbs curl over the jut of his hips with a fondness that would be unnerving if Nate didn't find it so fucking hot.

...And speaking of hot, the water burns through him immediately, sinking into his bones, his marrow, a deeper place that hasn't Felt for weeks (maybe longer). Huddled over Rafe it's a nice kind of closeness, a river of something clean stretching across his skin while Rafe's mouth becomes familiar with his throat, and Nate groans in response.

Shifting a leg between Rafe's he allows a vague wander of his hands, fingers curling around Rafe's elbows, up the backs of his arms and squeezing when his mouth hits a particularly sensitive spot. Nate doesn't know what he wants save for closeness, and this is as close as he's gotten in a long time.]

[ Even though they're too close for Nate to see now, Rafe still preens. He'd seen the appreciative albeit dulled glint in Nate's eyes before he crowded them both in here. Nate helps the logistics even now and Rafe rewards him with a grateful grind against the thigh so nicely presented him.

Rafe proves himself a quick study, answering each tell with a speedy rejoinder. A follow-up bite, a longer lick, a teasing nibble whenever Nate's fingers dig into his arms with a yes, there. Nate's skin is a heady mix of salts, from sea spray and sweat and bloody scrapes, and he wants as many tastes as possible before most of it's washed away. His thumbs rub circles at Nate's hips for long minutes before he claims another proper kiss to share his findings. His tongue slides over Nate's even as he continues that lazy grind, the fingers at his hips clenching tight to somehow bring him even closer than they already are.

True, Nate isn't all there just yet... Rafe knew it before he'd politely yanked Nate in here, he wasn't blind. But there had been a glimmer of someone checking the lights after a long vacation away — why not help out with a little housewarming? If that meant the onus fell to Rafe for the time being, no matter. He never has been one to shy away from hard work and even more so when he knows the payout will be worth it. ]

Edited 2016-08-13 16:17 (UTC)

[Rafe is a fast learner, picking up on what he likes, what makes him moan, what makes his fingers tighten in Rafe's skin like he's trying to bury himself in the guy's muscle. Rafe accommodates and Nate wishes he was conscious enough to recognize the self-sacrificing efforts more appropriately, wishes he were capable of reciprocating without wanting to melt to the floor of the shower with the water before slipping down the drain.

Every so often those thumbs will catch the edge of his waist and Nate's hips jerk against him, cock at attention and Rafe's erection pressing into his thigh like a brand. Fingers stumbling to Rafe's shoulders Nate pushes in, an easy, slow grind, the mouth on his tasting of sweat and stress, earthy undertones of who the fuck gives a shit.

Nate licks into his mouth lazily, hot-damp and savoring the sensation of being inscrutably close and yet not close enough.]

'M not clean yet, [he observes, largely in response to the fact that he's apparently become a human buffet.]

[ He's the smaller of the two, lean to Nate's solid, but he's more than capable of holding up both their ends for the time being. If anything he stands the straighter the more Nate leans on him, one hand detaching from his hip to systematically grope its way round and up between Nate's shoulder blades. ]

Not yet,

[ comes the agreement, murmured in between swipes of his tongue over Nate's. Rafe's teeth worry playfully at his lower lip for a second before scraping roughshod back to steal a kiss. Long, steamy moments later he tacks on in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone, ]

Wouldn't make sense. Not when you're just going to get come everywhere.

[ Rafe has been matching Nate grind for grind, rutting back as if they have all the time in the world. After all, for all intents and purposes they do — up until the hot water runs out.

Some day they can put it to the test, see which goes tepid first: the shower or making out. But not today.

So it's with a rueful grin pressed to Nate's lips that Rafe brushes through dark curls to circle the base of Nate's cock. The touch is more catalog than caress at first, inspecting firsthand just what Nate has to offer and in it as all things, Rafe comes away more than pleased with what he finds. ]

[Not when he's just going to-]

Oh, God.

[Nate's teeth click against Rafe's and it feels like like a battle and more like a taking. An offering? He wants so desperately to please and is disappointed in himself for being so tired that the effort comes out sluggish, slow, and lazy. What should be a fierce kiss in return is an easy sucking on Rafe's lip, thumbs tracing the guy's clavicle.

Hips jerk involuntarily when a hand wraps around his dick, fingertips tripping the edges of the shaft and Nate whines into Rafe's mouth, half-embarrassed by the sound and more pleased by the sensation. The touch alone is enough that he slips out of the kiss, stumbling forward to brush his lips over Rafe's cheek before his forehead presses into Rafe's shoulder.]

Mmnh.

[ Nate may be disappointed but Rafe is anything but, satisfaction rolling off him as palpable as the steam around them. Pliant putty in his hands and Rafe's only started working him over. ]

What did you think I was aiming for? I know it's been a hell of a day but please. Give me some credit.

[ With his shoulder made available again, Rafe returns to those sucking nips that went over so well before. Even without help the water's rinsed away enough that Nate tastes entirely different — fresher, rawer but still with that same base component Rafe's getting to know oh so well.

The bites become gentler the higher he moves up Nate's neck to his ear until it can't even be called teasing, just a ghost of lips at the lobe. ]

Or did you just figure on me leaving once you were good and hard, whining like that... And then make you finish up on your own? [ A series of quiet tsks in Nate's ear before his tongue traces the shell. He takes no small amount of pride in the control necessary to speak calmly in spite of every temptation to be otherwise. ] I don't leave my partners in the lurch like that, Nate.

[Nate doesn't know what he expected because he tries not to expect anything from anyone these days, not when life can change so quickly. Not when loss can happen so fast.

Shoulder bared and panting heavily over Rafe's collarbone, inhaling the salt of his skin and the damp from the shower - clean water, wrung from a well and then run through a heater - Nate waits and shivers. Each minute kiss pressed to the juncture of his neck and shoulder sends another thrill of electricity through him and into his cock. With one hand now braced on the wall of the shower, the other clutching around Rafe and into the sharp wings of his back, Nate feels the heat between them muddle deliciously.]

'M tryin' not to assume, [he huffs with a weak laugh, because the thought alone is a painful one. Nate barely has it in him to stand at present, let alone get himself off.] You've-

[He bites back a groan and into his lip when soft, uncharacteristic kisses curl over his ear.]

You've got a way of being surprising.

[ A place for everything and for everything its place, right down to gentler techniques — even the ones Rafe isn't in the habit of using so much.

The first test drive doesn't happen on the Autobahn, not until all the parts are guaranteed to be in working order. Rafe has every intention of driving Nate to and over the edge but this first time? He can afford a more careful handling. Get a feel for it before seeing what he can really do behind the wheel. ]

Well, you know. Gotta keep it interesting.

[ Such as when he shifts gears and strokes faster along Nate's cock. Again, another time drawing it out can be the agenda but Rafe can now picture the shitshow if Nate collapses on him now and that mess? Not quite the kind of evening he's aiming for, and not the kind of performance that begs a repeat.

So Rafe tightens his grip, fingers stripping along slick and smooth between water and precum and he offers a pleased noise when Nate's cock presses against his thigh, leaving a momentary smear behind before it too is washed away. The mild frustration at that briefness shows in the bites he picks back to Nate's shoulder, feeling freer to leave such marks as won't be embarrassingly obvious given Nate can't keep a shirt buttoned to save his life. ]

[Test drive or not, Nate is doing his very best to keep up when everything seated in the pit of his stomach would rather ooze into a puddle. He's no Ferrari, but neither is he a Hummer, some reliable, in-the-middle spot that always gives a satisfying ride.

His hips jerk again when Rafe's hand pulls at his cock, slick and rubbing precum against a thigh and a delirious thought makes Nate want to apologize for it even as teeth sink into his shoulder and stuttered gasp breaks over Rafe's. (Were he more cognizant of everything going on in this period of over-stimulation, he might thank Rafe for graciously designating a place easily hidden for those bruises.)

Nate chokes on another sharp sound, shuddering as he presses closer into Rafe, every hard plane of his chest sharp and wet, the heat pounding his back from the showerhead, the expedited fistfucking below the belt. It's debilitating, this sensation, fingers clutching another man's shoulder blade while his forehead presses into a neck, drinking the humidity deep.]

I'm gonna- Rafe, 'm gonna come-

{rping} open post

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(no subject)

I don't know where this tag disappeared to in my inbox but here I am

maybe it just slipped... down the drain

OHO

no just the one ho right here

>B)

huehuehue

HEH

mmmhmMMMM