[It's a good thing Nate didn't actually need his help getting dressed, because even though he offered, Sam is perfectly content watching this struggle unfold from his spot by the dresser. His smirk seems to grow with each minute that passes as he looks over his brother while he puts himself back together, taking in everything from his messy hair to the agonizingly slow way he ties his shoes.]
Boy, she really did you in, huh?
[Said as he pushes himself off of the dresser. He takes a longer drag on his cigarette before taking it between his fingers, exhaling the smoke as he claps his free hand on his brother's shoulder.]
We are going to the only place that's capable of putting some dignity back in you.
[A few non-sympathetic pats before he leaves the room, calling back to him as he reaches the front door of the apartment.]
And try to keep up! The quicker we get some chilaquiles in you the less whining I have to hear.
[Sam could really stand to give his observational humor a rest, because newsflash: pointing out how shitty his younger brother looks doesn't make his younger brother look any less shitty.
Nate wants to argue. He wants to point out that he's fairly certain the half-dozen (or more) glasses of cane alcohol that got nudged his way are what "did him in," but lively debate isn't on the menu unless served as a side dish to something starchy that can soak up his regrets. Bile wells up in his throat when Sam rocks him with a heavy pat and Nate feels his eyes water as he suppresses his gag reflex.]
Chilaquiles are eight countries away, [he grouches, rubbing the back of his neck and trudging to the door.] Unless there's a vendor here who loves to cook them as much as you love to eat them.
[Of the opinion that not even ajiaco could save him now, he shuffles past Sam and squints at what feels like an oppressively bright ten-in-the-morning.]
All right, wise guy, so it's not chilaquiles. But trust me, it'll cure you right up.
[Sam shades his eyes with his hand, squinting as well as he steps outside. The sun is always relatively strong here, but even he has to admit that it feels even brighter than usual. Fortunately, his stomach isn't on the verge of revolting as much as his brother's seems to be. He looks around briefly before deciding on a direction and beginning to lead the way.]
And I'd say around two o'clock? I left about a half hour after you did.
[In contrast to the slow pace Sam's established on behalf of his brother, the rest of the city is vibrant and bustling with activity. Sam weaves through heckling vendors and chattering crowds, occasionally looking back over his shoulder to make sure Nathan is still alive and following.]
So, you wanna talk about it now or wait till you get some caldo de castilla in you?
[The normally welcoming smells of a morning marketplace feel like a fútbol player kicking him repeatedly in the stomach, and he holds his breath when they shuffle around the butcher's stall. It would be extremely rude to throw up on a pile of fresh tripe.]
What is there to talk about?
[he says with the kind of surly delivery that only a teenager can muster. Sam never worried about Nate's non-existent sex life until now and the question is too prying, too open, the implication that at some point in the near future they are going to talk about last night and oh God he can feel himself wanting to vomit again.
The mamita selling arepas waves and Nate waves back with a weak smile, following Sam around the fruit, the small flock of chickens, and the mountain of yuca down an alley.]
[The great thing about the morning market is that you can meet people from all different walks of life and experience some interesting sights. For example, while Nathan waves to the arepa vendor who always looks out for them and somehow knows when they might need some extra arepas to eat that day, Sam is looking back at the mamacita who just flashed him a smile as she passed by, walking backwards to get a good look at her until she's out of sight.]
You did...stuff?
[Sam's attention turns back to Nathan, eyebrows raised and an amused snicker inching at the corner of his lips.]
Oh, no no no little brother, that is not all. That is just the beginning.
[He slows down enough so that he's in line with him, throwing his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to him. And if he adds a few extra tussles and jolts in there for good measure, well...hopefully Nate's gag reflex is a little less sensitive.]
C'mon, you gotta give me more than that. You enjoyed it right? Was she good to you?
[Sam, who shares the same distracted nature as his baby brother, turns to watch a girl's hips swing down the alley with the sort of "subtlety" that leaves nothing to the imagination. (Sam wouldn't know subtle if it broke down the door, painted itself purple, and tap-danced on the table singing "subtle days are here again," but hey, what does Nate know about making eyes at women?)
It isn't long before Sam's attentions are diverted to the piteous object of ridicule shuffling alongside him. The Good Book states that Hell is a lake of fire in which the wicked shall be annihilated or tormented for all of eternity - Nate is fairly certain that Hell is an older brother tousling your hair and asking you about the drunken sex you had on the night you lost your virginity.
Batting at the fist giving him a disorienting noogie Nate feels his self-consciousness about his inexperience grow exponentially.]
Yes, I liked it- [What he can remember.] -and yes, she was nice, will you- [With a sound of frustration, Nate hunches his shoulders again.]
I don't know what you expect me to say! What color her underwear was? It was black. Happy?
[He doesn't actually remember. Maybe it was blue? He doesn't remember how long he lasted, either, or how long he's supposed to last, or if he even did well, or if she even enjoyed it, or if he should take her speedy retreat as an indicator that he's terrible at this and should consider his first try a bitter failure.]
[Sam replies with the tone of someone who is not at all interested to know what color her underwear was. Some people might approach this subject delicately: sit their younger brother down and pass them a book about puberty and quietly answer any questions they might have about the changes their bodies are going through and how sex works.
Samuel Drake has never been so delicate, and he is certainly not going to make an exception the day after his teenage brother lost his virginity. As far as he was concerned this was a day for celebration. He'd take him out for celebratory drinks if he didn't think Nathan would just puke them all back up as soon as he saw them.]
Told you it'll change your world. Was I right or was I right?
[ Despite Nate's protests and his swipes at his hand, Sam keeps a good hold on him, resting his arm around his shoulders and giving them a good squeeze.]
Who made the first move, her or you? And you were safe, right? You wore a condom?
[Some people might approach this subject delicately. Some people might choose to gently nudge the conversation in this direction after a genial exchange, not unlike the way that foreplay can enhance the overall enjoyment and appreciation of sexual intercourse. Some people might broach the subject with care and discretion, instead of slamming into it with all the grace and elegance of a bull making itself at home in a china shop.
There are a myriad of colorful metaphors that can apply to this situation and Sam is tearing up the book on "how to talk about sex with your baby brother." Nate grumbles when Sam jostles him again, because at this point he's just giving a kid - a man? nah - a hard time.]
Oh my God. Seriously?
[With the pleading, wide-eyed look of a tortured soul in Satan's clutches Nate stares at Sam, his face hot, before determinedly examining the cobblestones beneath them in rapt interest.]
Yes, I wore a- yes.
[Sam, honestly. Who do you think made the first move?]
[Some people might also be genuinely affected by that sad, almost puppy dog look his younger brother is giving him, as if pleading for some higher power to come rescue him from this presumed torture. God must not be listening to them right now though, because Sam continues enthusiastically.]
All right, good. Cause you never know here and we've got enough to look after without some baby in the picture.
[He could just imagine the look on Father Duffy's face if they suddenly showed up there with a baby in their arms. Lucky for Nate, he gets a few minutes of silence as Sam leads them to a small restaurant on the corner of a busy street. He'll wait until they're both sitting down before he'll prod him further.]
[Nate would like to point out that he isn't the one with the wandering dick, and that if anybody should be worried about seeding local ladies and leaving a trail of infant Drakes behind, it's Sam. The thought alone makes Nate's insides turn over - a heady combination of Catholic guilt and preexisting fears of abandonment are all it would take to leave no child behind. He'd never want to do to a kid what his father did to him and Sam.
Slipping onto one of the worn, wooden stools at the counter, Nate is grateful for the lack of jostling movement. His stomach settles (but only just) and he braces his elbows on the Formica, fingers shoved into his rumpled hair as his nerves calm to a low simmer. Behind the bar an enormous pot of stew does the same thing, pieces of meat and onion surfacing before sinking back into the broth, a cauldron of delicious protein that's starting to look more appetizing with each passing second.
Sam nudges him with his elbow again and Nate looks at him askance, through the crook of his arm.]
I feel bad. [He confesses, the last vestiges of a pubescent whine trapped in the back of his throat as he starts to ramble.] I don't even remember her name, I-I don't know if I was any- if I was good, or-
You feel bad? What, just because you can't remember her name? Nathan, I don't even remember half of the girls I sleep with, and I'm pretty sure the other half don't remember me either.
[Sam chuckles, waving down the waitress after she finishes taking the order of another customer further down the counter. It smells like stewed beef and herbs and too much perfume, the source of which becomes ever more apparent as the waitress comes closer with a tired smile. Sam orders two tall glasses of water and big bowls of caldo de castilla before turning back to look at his brother's sorry position against the counter.]
Look, if that really worries you, just write the girl's name down in your journal or something before you leave next time. As for the other stuff--
[He pauses as the waitress sets down their water and steaming bowls of stew. She must have thought Nathan needed a little more help fighting that hangover, because there are considerably large chunks of meat and potatoes in his bowl.]
--As for the other stuff, that kind of thing comes with experience. Everyone's first time's a little awkward, I'm sure you weren't as bad as you imagine. Hey, maybe you're like a sex prodigy. I mean, after me of course.
[It doesn't bother Sam that he doesn't always remember their names, but Sam is...experienced, and looser, and a lot more free with that kind of charming expression. He goes out looking for the kind of women who want one-night-stands where talk that isn't suggestive comes secondary to the actual act, where opening lines aren't about professions or personal interests, unless those personal interests are sexual. Having observed many of these exchanges from the corner seat of a bar Nate knows that the assessment isn't too far from the truth.
Nate also has the suspicion that Sam's disappointment in his lack of enjoyment probably stems from a monetary transaction that led to a woman coming to Nate's bed in the first place.
He chugs half of his glass of water and gives his bowl of stew a forlorn look, prodding a piece of beef with a spoon.]
I guess. I feel stupid for even- [Nate rakes his hair back with one hand, furtively glancing at his brother.] I don't think I'm ladykiller material, Sam.
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uncalendula) wrote2016-11-04 12:27 am
no subject
Boy, she really did you in, huh?
[Said as he pushes himself off of the dresser. He takes a longer drag on his cigarette before taking it between his fingers, exhaling the smoke as he claps his free hand on his brother's shoulder.]
We are going to the only place that's capable of putting some dignity back in you.
[A few non-sympathetic pats before he leaves the room, calling back to him as he reaches the front door of the apartment.]
And try to keep up! The quicker we get some chilaquiles in you the less whining I have to hear.
no subject
Nate wants to argue. He wants to point out that he's fairly certain the half-dozen (or more) glasses of cane alcohol that got nudged his way are what "did him in," but lively debate isn't on the menu unless served as a side dish to something starchy that can soak up his regrets. Bile wells up in his throat when Sam rocks him with a heavy pat and Nate feels his eyes water as he suppresses his gag reflex.]
Chilaquiles are eight countries away, [he grouches, rubbing the back of his neck and trudging to the door.] Unless there's a vendor here who loves to cook them as much as you love to eat them.
[Of the opinion that not even ajiaco could save him now, he shuffles past Sam and squints at what feels like an oppressively bright ten-in-the-morning.]
When did I leave the bar last night?
no subject
[Sam shades his eyes with his hand, squinting as well as he steps outside. The sun is always relatively strong here, but even he has to admit that it feels even brighter than usual. Fortunately, his stomach isn't on the verge of revolting as much as his brother's seems to be. He looks around briefly before deciding on a direction and beginning to lead the way.]
And I'd say around two o'clock? I left about a half hour after you did.
[In contrast to the slow pace Sam's established on behalf of his brother, the rest of the city is vibrant and bustling with activity. Sam weaves through heckling vendors and chattering crowds, occasionally looking back over his shoulder to make sure Nathan is still alive and following.]
So, you wanna talk about it now or wait till you get some caldo de castilla in you?
no subject
What is there to talk about?
[he says with the kind of surly delivery that only a teenager can muster. Sam never worried about Nate's non-existent sex life until now and the question is too prying, too open, the implication that at some point in the near future they are going to talk about last night and oh God he can feel himself wanting to vomit again.
The mamita selling arepas waves and Nate waves back with a weak smile, following Sam around the fruit, the small flock of chickens, and the mountain of yuca down an alley.]
I left the bar at two-ish. We...did...stuff.
[He can feel his cheeks heating up.]
That's all.
no subject
You did...stuff?
[Sam's attention turns back to Nathan, eyebrows raised and an amused snicker inching at the corner of his lips.]
Oh, no no no little brother, that is not all. That is just the beginning.
[He slows down enough so that he's in line with him, throwing his arm around his shoulders and pulling him close to him. And if he adds a few extra tussles and jolts in there for good measure, well...hopefully Nate's gag reflex is a little less sensitive.]
C'mon, you gotta give me more than that. You enjoyed it right? Was she good to you?
no subject
It isn't long before Sam's attentions are diverted to the piteous object of ridicule shuffling alongside him. The Good Book states that Hell is a lake of fire in which the wicked shall be annihilated or tormented for all of eternity - Nate is fairly certain that Hell is an older brother tousling your hair and asking you about the drunken sex you had on the night you lost your virginity.
Batting at the fist giving him a disorienting noogie Nate feels his self-consciousness about his inexperience grow exponentially.]
Yes, I liked it- [What he can remember.] -and yes, she was nice, will you- [With a sound of frustration, Nate hunches his shoulders again.]
I don't know what you expect me to say! What color her underwear was? It was black. Happy?
[He doesn't actually remember. Maybe it was blue? He doesn't remember how long he lasted, either, or how long he's supposed to last, or if he even did well, or if she even enjoyed it, or if he should take her speedy retreat as an indicator that he's terrible at this and should consider his first try a bitter failure.]
no subject
[Sam replies with the tone of someone who is not at all interested to know what color her underwear was. Some people might approach this subject delicately: sit their younger brother down and pass them a book about puberty and quietly answer any questions they might have about the changes their bodies are going through and how sex works.
Samuel Drake has never been so delicate, and he is certainly not going to make an exception the day after his teenage brother lost his virginity. As far as he was concerned this was a day for celebration. He'd take him out for celebratory drinks if he didn't think Nathan would just puke them all back up as soon as he saw them.]
Told you it'll change your world. Was I right or was I right?
[ Despite Nate's protests and his swipes at his hand, Sam keeps a good hold on him, resting his arm around his shoulders and giving them a good squeeze.]
Who made the first move, her or you? And you were safe, right? You wore a condom?
no subject
There are a myriad of colorful metaphors that can apply to this situation and Sam is tearing up the book on "how to talk about sex with your baby brother." Nate grumbles when Sam jostles him again, because at this point he's just giving a kid - a man? nah - a hard time.]
Oh my God. Seriously?
[With the pleading, wide-eyed look of a tortured soul in Satan's clutches Nate stares at Sam, his face hot, before determinedly examining the cobblestones beneath them in rapt interest.]
Yes, I wore a- yes.
[Sam, honestly. Who do you think made the first move?]
no subject
All right, good. Cause you never know here and we've got enough to look after without some baby in the picture.
[He could just imagine the look on Father Duffy's face if they suddenly showed up there with a baby in their arms. Lucky for Nate, he gets a few minutes of silence as Sam leads them to a small restaurant on the corner of a busy street. He'll wait until they're both sitting down before he'll prod him further.]
Sooo?
no subject
Slipping onto one of the worn, wooden stools at the counter, Nate is grateful for the lack of jostling movement. His stomach settles (but only just) and he braces his elbows on the Formica, fingers shoved into his rumpled hair as his nerves calm to a low simmer. Behind the bar an enormous pot of stew does the same thing, pieces of meat and onion surfacing before sinking back into the broth, a cauldron of delicious protein that's starting to look more appetizing with each passing second.
Sam nudges him with his elbow again and Nate looks at him askance, through the crook of his arm.]
I feel bad. [He confesses, the last vestiges of a pubescent whine trapped in the back of his throat as he starts to ramble.] I don't even remember her name, I-I don't know if I was any- if I was good, or-
no subject
[Sam chuckles, waving down the waitress after she finishes taking the order of another customer further down the counter. It smells like stewed beef and herbs and too much perfume, the source of which becomes ever more apparent as the waitress comes closer with a tired smile. Sam orders two tall glasses of water and big bowls of caldo de castilla before turning back to look at his brother's sorry position against the counter.]
Look, if that really worries you, just write the girl's name down in your journal or something before you leave next time. As for the other stuff--
[He pauses as the waitress sets down their water and steaming bowls of stew. She must have thought Nathan needed a little more help fighting that hangover, because there are considerably large chunks of meat and potatoes in his bowl.]
--As for the other stuff, that kind of thing comes with experience. Everyone's first time's a little awkward, I'm sure you weren't as bad as you imagine. Hey, maybe you're like a sex prodigy. I mean, after me of course.
no subject
Nate also has the suspicion that Sam's disappointment in his lack of enjoyment probably stems from a monetary transaction that led to a woman coming to Nate's bed in the first place.
He chugs half of his glass of water and gives his bowl of stew a forlorn look, prodding a piece of beef with a spoon.]
I guess. I feel stupid for even- [Nate rakes his hair back with one hand, furtively glancing at his brother.] I don't think I'm ladykiller material, Sam.