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Nate’s not sure how long it’s been since he was last in Goodneighbor, but some time must have passed. Last time it was sunny – or at least, he thinks it was. Now it’s raining again, and has been for days. Possibly longer. It’s unclear. He doesn’t mind the rain this time, the way it catches the light is beautiful. Little rainbows falling from dark clouds. He loses track of time, watching the shifting colors in the air. The sun sets, and the light catching in the rain turns radiant, almost taking his breath away. He starts to wonder if the raindrops are actually stars falling from the heavens, tossing a few murmured wishes to the wind, just in case.
It’s late when he finally makes his way to the Old State House. The only thing that keeps him from standing still in the middle of the plaza by the gates is the promise of what waits for him inside, though he still has to convince himself to keep moving, repeating quiet reminders that the rain will fall again.
Once he steps through the doors, the rainy shroud that had been covering him lifts, and he feels something nipping at his heels. The storm must have been protecting him, and now the clock has resumed its countdown. Whatever follows him is as persistent as his own shadow, and an awareness of it has settled permanently in the back of his mind. He breathes out slowly just inside the doors of the Old State House, telling himself that he’s made it this far, that he’s not at his end yet. He’s kept one step ahead of his fate; as long as he doesn’t falter, he can cheat time, if only for a while longer.
The sun comes out when he gets to the top of the stairs and sees Hancock coming out of his office, evaporating all memory of the watery stars outside. In the back of his mind, an orchestra begins tuning up, discordant sounds echoing off the inside of his skull. The way shadows fall on Hancock’s face shakes something inside of him. He wants to study the lines, to see where the shadows end and Hancock begins.
Nate knows he’s staring, but he can’t stop himself. Hancock closes the distance between them, wearing a fond smile, and something warm unfurls behind Nate’s ribs. He’s sure he stops breathing for a moment, only letting air into his lungs when Hancock pushes his wet hair back from his face. Now that he’s close, Nate can see the murky reddish brown of his irises, normally too similar in color to the blackened sclera to be visible. He hears the clock stop ticking as he takes his time tracking every detail, unable to look away.
Hancock’s eyes crease, and he laughs around a quiet, “Whatcha starin’ at?”
Nate almost answers, but swallows the words and pulls Hancock in with a hand on his coat instead. Words couldn’t do this justice, and he’d rather spend his time taking it in than trying to explain, so he smiles and whispers, “Nothing, it’s nothing.”
Instead of pressing him for answers, Hancock just leads him to his room, tugging his soaked jacket off his shoulders after they cross the threshold. Holding the jacket away from himself, Hancock looks him over and says, “Lose the clothes, I can see you shiverin’ from here.”
Nate does as he’s told, peeling his waterlogged clothes from his skin. Now that it’s been pointed out, he notices that he’s freezing, probably as a result of standing in the rain for an eternity on a cold night. On the edge of his senses, he feels something waiting for him, the same something that made itself known when he walked into the Old State House. But, the countdown stops when he’s with Hancock, so he pulls himself back in and focuses his attention on watching him dig through his dresser, pulling out the clothes that he keeps there specifically for him.
This ignites something behind Nate’s sternum. Since he doesn’t have much in the way of possessions, Hancock decided to start storing these things here, without him needing to ask. It’s something like a promise, a guarantee that he has a place here. The reminder that he belongs makes his heart swell inside his chest, pushing against the confines of his rib cage.
When Hancock tries to hand him the clothes, Nate pushes them away and steps into his space, running his hands over his shoulders and coming to a rest on the sides of his neck, tracing the edge of his jaw with his thumbs. Nate follows the lines on his face with his eyes, trying to memorize their patterns, but gets distracted when Hancock smiles and the lines change shape. Now he’s preoccupied with the way the light catches on his teeth, then his attention is pulled back to Hancock’s eyes, cataloging the almost imperceptible differences of color he finds there.
Tossing the clothes onto a nearby chair, Hancock wraps his arms around Nate and draws him closer, until he’s flush against his body. He leans in and brushes his lips against Nate’s ear. “We got other ways of warmin’ you up, don’t we?”
The line is so terrible and absurdly cliché that Nate can’t hold in the laugh that bursts free. Feeling lightheaded from the joy that lights up his veins and shimmers in his mind, he wraps his arms around Hancock’s neck to use him for balance while it shakes his body from the inside out. Hancock runs a hand up Nate’s back to between his shoulder blades, pulling him in tight, and muffles his own laughter against his neck.
Nate’s laughter slowly quiets down, and his breath catches in his throat when Hancock starts to kiss up his neck. Sighing, he tosses Hancock’s hat aside and wraps a hand around the back of his head, encouraging him. Hancock starts using his tongue, laving over his skin between open mouthed kisses, making Nate’s head fill with static. Blinking rapidly, Nate feels his feet start to lift off the floor, and watches the air pulse in time with his racing heart. Time begins to slow down, and the world outside Hancock’s room falls away.
A sudden thought echoes through his mind, bringing with it an intense desire to blur the lines between them, to get closer. He’s dizzy enough that words become more effort than normal, so he runs a hand down Hancock’s arm to grab his wrist, pushing his hand lower until it rests on his ass, pressing down to send the message. Hancock seems to understand at first, lightly biting his neck and squeezing his ass. It draws a gasp out of Nate, and he holds Hancock’s wrist tighter, waiting for him to move things in the direction Nate wants them to go. Hancock hums against his neck, rolling their hips together, but doesn’t take the next logical step, so Nate begins to suspect that something may have gotten lost in translation.
Deciding to push things along, Nate pulls back and grabs the front of Hancock’s jacket, leading him to the bed. When the back of Nate’s knees hit the mattress, he pushes the jacket off his shoulders and tugs at his shirt. Hancock understands this message without issue, and Nate runs his hands over his exposed skin as soon as it’s presented to him, getting distracted by the way it feels under his fingers.
Hancock draws him back in, kissing him softly at first, then deepening the kiss as he tightens his hold and presses them together. Nate’s hands land on his neck, and he starts tracing along the thick scarring, seeking out patterns in his skin. Hancock pulls his attention away from his search when he runs his tongue along Nate’s. He didn’t realize he had opened his mouth. He’s lightheaded, and he’s sure that the only thing keeping him from floating away is Hancock’s touch.
When Hancock breaks the kiss, giving them a chance to catch their breath, Nate takes the opportunity to make good on his plan. He steps away, keeping Hancock from following him with a hand to his chest, and digs the oil out of the nightstand, passing it to him with a grin. Hancock’s brows raise, asking a question that Nate’s about to answer. Climbing onto the bed, he positions himself in the middle and lays on his stomach, resting his head on folded arms, holding eye contact while he waits for Hancock to get the message.
Hancock’s brows raise even higher, then draw together. He drops to his knees on the floor, forearms on the mattress, and quietly asks, “You sure?”
It’s a fair question. Nate’s made a point of not allowing Hancock behind him when they get intimate. An old habit he’s been unwilling to break, having been burned one too many times. The consideration he’s being shown makes his heart stutter, and is an enormous part of the reason why he wants to do this. Nate trusts him, more than he was expecting to, in a way that’s terrifying.
But today, he’s not afraid of it, and wants to bring them closer together, making an attempt at erasing the boundary between them. With a smile, he whispers, “Yeah, I am.”
Hancock studies his face, looking for any hint of a lie. When he doesn’t find one, he matches Nate’s smile, steps out of his pants, and joins him on the bed, kissing the back of his neck. Nate spreads his legs to make room for Hancock, feeling a rough hand drag down his spine. The bed dips as Hancock settles between his legs, and Nate closes his eyes when he feels him grab handfuls of his ass, squeezing firmly before exposing his entrance.
His heart leaps into his throat. The sudden feeling of vulnerability that races through him, normally something that would make him shoot up and run away, has him shuddering and groaning quietly. Knowing it’s Hancock behind him, knowing he’s watching Nate, makes his cock throb from where it’s trapped between him and the mattress.
A kaleidoscope of color bursts behind his eyelids when Hancock sinks a finger inside him, dragging it back out slowly, before setting a steady pace. Nate’s focus comes to a sharp point on the place where they’re connected, unable to process anything other than the way Hancock’s rough finger feels inside of him.
Another finger joins the first, slipping inside easily with how relaxed Nate’s body is, and his head starts to feel like it’s underwater. His breathing gets heavier when Hancock starts opening and closing his fingers, sighing when his other hand runs up Nate’s spine and rests on the small of his back.
Then Hancock presses his fingers down, rubbing firmly against a place inside him that sends lightning through his veins. Nate jolts and lets out a moan, pushing his hips up to chase his fingers, but Hancock holds him in place with the hand on his back. Nate’s so distracted by the sensations ripping their way through his body that he doesn’t make a comment about the quiet laugh he hears behind him.
Hancock adds another finger, alternating between a slow drag, a firm press down, and spreading them to work Nate open. He can hear Hancock’s voice behind him, low and raspy, but can’t make out the words over the electricity racing up his spine and into his mind. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, so Nate’s broken moans and gasps must be enough of a response.
Nate feels tremendously heavy and impossibly light, all at once. He can barely feel the bed beneath him, the only thing keeping him tethered to reality are Hancock’s fingers inside him, his palm against his back, and the sound of his voice, even though he can’t understand him. Behind his eyelids, the kaleidoscope repeats an intricate pattern of gold, brown, red, and black, tangling together and forming new, indescribable colors.
He keeps his eyes closed, separating from his body in a way that doesn’t frighten him, and he’s sure that if he looked at himself now, he’d be translucent. He couldn’t possibly be solid, not in this moment.
The fingers inside him pull out slowly, and Hancock’s voice breaks through the haze with words he’s finally able to understand. “You ready?”
His hand still presses down on Nate’s back, keeping him from dissolving into nothingness. He takes an uneven breath, shifting and taking note of how loose he feels. Hancock must have been at it for a while. Nate hardly noticed the time passing. He gives Hancock an airy, “Yes.”
Nate feels him press a few kisses to the base of his spine, sending a wave of fondness over his skin. He pulls on Nate’s hips, squeezing lightly, to raise him onto his knees. Nate goes easily, not feeling the worry he’d usually expect from being this exposed, exhaling slowly when Hancock runs a hand up his side, landing on his rib cage and running a thumb along the bone.
Hancock enters him slowly, letting Nate adjust, groaning when their hips meet. He runs his hands over his ass, up his back, and traces down his spine, chuckling when the motion makes Nate shiver. Then his hands glide around to his stomach and back up to his chest, lifting him off the bed and holding him against his body, pressing one arm across his chest, hand resting on his shoulder, while the other comes to curl around his hip. Nate wraps his hands around the arm across his chest and tips his head back onto Hancock’s shoulder, letting out a shaky exhale when the angle changes, pressing his cock right into the spot that makes Nate dizzy.
Then he starts moving. It’s less of a thrust and more of a long, hot grind, and all the air in Nate’s lungs escapes. He couldn’t stop the sounds he makes if he tried, too overwhelmed by the way Hancock’s chest feels against his back, the tightness of his arm around him, and the heady feeling of having him inside.
Nate loses all sense of time, everything outside their bodies rolling together forgotten. His nerve endings are on fire, mind lit up by the sparks racing from low in his stomach up his spine. The space where he ends and Hancock begins starts to fade, and Nate’s certain that if he were to look, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them.
A steady warmth has been building between his hips, and he feels himself start to shake with the intensity of it. Hancock must notice too, since the hand on his hip moves toward his cock. Before Hancock gets very far, Nate’s seized by a thought that commands his complete, undivided attention: he wants to stretch this moment out as far as it will go, and Hancock’s plan will make it end too soon.
His voice comes out faint, softened around the edges from the lightness in his head. “No.”
Hancock freezes, then goes rigid. The arm around Nate’s chest starts to pull back, and he feels Hancock slipping out of him. Nate takes a sharp inhale, suddenly frightened of what will happen when Hancock stops touching him. He grips his wrist with bruising force, keeping his arm pressed to his chest, then reaches around to catch Hancock’s hip, pulling him back toward him.
Quiet and uncertain, Hancock asks, “What’s wrong?”
He whispers, “I don’t want to cum yet.”
Hancock blows out a noisy breath, tightening his hold on Nate before burying his face in his neck. Nate feels him smile against his skin, then he breaks out into breathless laughter. It’s infectious, and Nate joins in after a moment. Hancock whispers into his neck, “You scared the shit outta me.”
Around a laugh, Nate says, “Sorry,” then squeezes Hancock’s hip and urges him forward. “Don’t stop.”
He starts moving again, lightly biting his neck between open mouthed kisses. All sound falls away except for their breathing, and Nate can’t think about anything other than the way Hancock’s skin drags against his. He floats higher and higher, warmth spreading from low in his stomach through his veins.
When Hancock’s hand runs up his chest to his throat, coming to a stop around his chin, it drags the air from Nate’s lungs with it. Hancock turns his head to the side, kissing him off-center, then holding their faces together to breathe the same air. Nate’s thankful his hand is on his chin, he’s not sure that he would have been able to move it on his own.
A new desire rings insistently through his mind, racing down his spine and out to the tips of his fingers. Against Hancock’s mouth, he murmurs, “I want to see you.”
Hancock smiles, and his voice comes out amused when he gently teases him. “Your eyes have been closed this whole time, you sure you can keep ‘em open?”
Nate teases him in return. “Give me something to look at.”
Hancock breathes a laugh, then starts to pull back. This time, Nate lets him. The promise that he’ll touch him again is enough to keep the worry of what will happen without it at bay. Hancock turns him around and pushes him to lie back.
Nate keeps his eyes closed, knowing that when he opens them the floodgates will open, and he wants to save the deluge for the right moment. He lifts his hips so Hancock can slide a pillow beneath him, and with a hand pressed flat to Nate’s stomach, Hancock enters him again. Nate doesn’t try to hold back the choked moan that escapes, hearing Hancock groan alongside him.
Nate opens his eyes, and his heart stops beating.
Hancock hovers above him, framed by a brilliant display of shimmering color as light and sound warp the air around him. The room is dimly lit, and the shadows it casts on Hancock’s face bring the peaks and valleys of his skin into high relief. Nate notices, for the first time, how golden the scars are. The sound waves in the air trail behind him as he moves, framing his body in a luminescent glow.
Nate gasps when Hancock starts to move, shaken out of his reverie. He sets a languid pace, rolling his hips forward and running his hands over Nate’s body, coming to rest around his waist, keeping him in place.
Nate watches the light bend around them, trying to keep track of the way the color shifts, searching for meaning. The sounds they make pulse in the air between them, and Nate’s breath catches in his throat, awestruck by the way it ripples across Hancock’s skin. His hands linger an inch above Hancock’s arms, feeling the buzzing, radiant energy just beneath his palms. He wants to touch, but he’s not sure he should.
Making the choice for him, Hancock grabs his wrists, pinning them to the mattress by his head, and Nate’s mind short-circuits. He doesn’t move faster, but he does move harder, fucking deeper into him, stealing the air from Nate’s lungs. Fireworks ignite under Nate’s skin, and he moans as Hancock starts hitting the most sensitive parts of him. He watches the fireworks rise from his body, slide over Hancock’s skin, then burst in the space between them.
Nate stops thinking about anything other than the way Hancock feels inside him and the pressure on his wrists, deciding that the waves of light and sound around them mirror what he’s feeling. Nate tries to move his arms, but Hancock only tightens his grip, sending a fiery line of want up his spine. He knows he could break his hold easily, that Hancock would let him go without question, but he's suddenly, powerfully aware that he wants Hancock to keep him in place. He decides to look into it later, letting the burning desire it lights in his bones race through his body without questioning it.
Too soon, Hancock releases him, and Nate has to bite his tongue to keep from asking him to hold him down harder. Hancock runs his hands down his arms, settling them on his waist and digging his fingers in, making Nate's already racing heart stutter painfully in his chest. With a dangerous smile, like he knows exactly what he's doing to Nate, Hancock sits back on his knees and uses his grip to pull Nate back onto his cock as he snaps his hips forward.
Nate’s mouth drops open, eyebrows knitting together. He tries to keep his hands on the mattress, but his self-control doesn’t last long, and he grabs Hancock’s forearms and uses them to tether himself to the moment. With what little breath he has left, he pants, “Oh my god.”
The look on Hancock’s face could melt metal. He snaps his hips into Nate harder and rasps, “Feelin’ good?”
Between broken moans, Nate gets out a barely intelligible string of curses, landing on, “Fuck, so good, oh fuck.”
Hancock doesn’t let up, relentlessly driving into Nate and pushing him higher. He squeezes his hands around his waist and says, “I wanna see you cum.”
Nate wants to finish with Hancock, he’s sure that it will blur the line between them even further, so he asks, “Are you close?”
Taking the deflection in stride, Hancock groans and pulls Nate closer, grinding into him before panting, “Yeah, fuck you feel incredible.”
That’s all Nate needed to hear. He pulls at his wrist, dragging it over to his cock, giving his silent permission.
Hancock spits in his palm and wraps a leathery hand around him. Nate jolts and shudders, letting out a few mumbled curses then a much louder, “Oh,” when he runs his thumb over the head. He’s about to fall apart, he can hardly keep his eyes open.
Hancock’s pace goes uneven, hips stuttering. He tightens his grip on Nate’s cock, twisting as he drags his rough hand along his shaft. Gravelly and thick, he asks, “You gonna cum for me?”
Nate moans loudly, watching the sound echo off the walls and reverberate around the room. He wants to do as Hancock says, a haze falling over his mind and pushing aside his pride. Between airy, breathless noises, he gasps, “Yes, oh god.”
Rough and low, Hancock says, "Good," and presses his thumb just under the head of Nate’s cock, fucking him even harder.
The tension that had been building between his hips releases, sending electricity racing up his spine. His eyes snap closed, and his back arches as he makes involuntary sounds around stuttering breaths.
Somewhere above him, Hancock whispers, “God damn,” and grinds his hips into Nate after a few more uneven thrusts, groaning as he twitches inside him.
He doesn’t stop moving his hand, drawing out Nate’s orgasm, only stopping when he starts to squirm. He runs his hands over Nate’s stomach then to his thighs, squeezing them gently. Dropping to his elbows, he brushes his lips along Nate’s jaw, and Nate wraps his arms around Hancock’s neck to pull him in for a hungry kiss. He keeps them pressed together, swearing he can feel Hancock’s body sink into his.
They come down from the high together, letting their hearts slow and breathing even out. Nate feels like he’s been drugged, and takes his time falling back down to earth, using Hancock as an anchor. It feels like it takes hours, but it was probably only minutes, since Hancock didn’t start complaining about Nate keeping him there too long.
When Hancock breaks the kiss, he takes a moment to suck a bruise into Nate’s neck, humming when it makes him tremble. As he pulls back, it takes a brief, stern internal conversation for Nate to let him go. He makes a convincing argument: he’d rather not have Hancock think he’s clingy. His sudden distance is jarring, and Nate keeps his eyes closed, allowing him to focus more effectively on the sounds Hancock makes as he moves through the room. Knowing that Hancock’s there, that he isn’t alone, helps keep Nate from fading away.
He isn’t startled when Hancock drags a piece of cloth across his skin, having listened closely enough to tell he was approaching. He hears him step away, toss the cloth aside, then the bed dips and Hancock’s within reach again.
Nate sits up, one leg bent and the other stretched out in front of him. He pulls Hancock back to lay his head on Nate’s thigh so he can trace the lines of his face, the way he wanted to when he walked in. Hancock moves easily, closing his eyes when Nate’s fingers start following the grooves and ridges of his skin.
They keep moving, after he’s followed the lines of one it changes shape and shifts into something new. The dim light of the room amplifies the contrast, and little whorls of brown and gold dance across his face. Nate tries to follow them, but they slip away before he can catch them.
Eyes still closed, Hancock quietly asks, “You sure you wanna do that? This mug ain’t a pretty sight.”
The insecurity doesn’t suit him, so instead of taking the route to an easy insult, Nate’s honest. “I like this mug.”
Hancock smiles, changing the shape of the scarring. Nate doesn’t try to smooth the new lines away.
Time is frozen, here in this moment. Nate knows that if he stops his movements it’ll pick back up again, and he doesn’t want this to end. He doesn’t have much time left, so he needs to halt it wherever he can. Outside of this warm, glowing moment, something terrible lurks.
He keeps tracing the magnificent hills and valleys of Hancock’s face, mesmerized. He wonders if Hancock ever feels like this, like the end is catching up to him. The words slip out unbidden. “Do you ever think about dying?”
Hancock frowns and opens his eyes. “Not often. Do you?” He sounds almost hesitant to ask.
Nate presses down on the new lines that formed. These don’t belong with the rest. He suddenly feels like he shouldn’t share what he knows, that it’s meant for him alone. He also doesn’t want to lie. It’s too big a question, one that doesn’t have an easy answer anyway, so he says, “I don’t know.”
Hancock’s frown deepens. A hand comes up to grab Nate’s hip. “And what the hell does that mean?”
Too distracted by trying to smooth the frown away from Hancock’s face to explain any further, Nate murmurs, “Whatever you want it to mean, so long as you stop frowning so much.”
He squeezes the hand on his hip, sighing. “Then I’ll take it as a no.”