nathaniel_kitten | (no subject)

"I'd... expected you to be downstairs by now."

He hadn't been prepared to deal with anyone yet. Nathaniel had even left his long hair loose to cover the fresh bite mark as much as possible.

"The ladies at the club were a little more... exuberant than usual. Dawn approaches, but I felt the need to wash myself before first light." Sometimes they just left him feeling too tainted. A vampire tainted by his victims. Imagine that.

The scent from Nathaniel becomes stronger, and he raises an eyebrow when he tilts his head and spots the fresh mark. "You let Asher feed from you."

Nathaniel swallows, his hand coming up to cover the sore flesh.

"Yeah... he was cold and I was there."

Wrapped up in his arms, but there nonetheless.

The smallest of smiles twitches at Damian's lips. He had watched Asher since the vampire's arrival. After all, he had been brought in to be Jean-Claude's temoin. Asher had replaced him when the blond chose to stay. He couldn't compete with a master vampire. Being wary of the new arrival had led to the inkling that Asher had an interest in Nathaniel. It is all he needs to make the assumption.

"It seems you both enjoyed yourselves. I know that Asher would have." It was also quite a way to celebrate the removal of Asher's scars, but he keeps that opinion to himself.

Nathaniel has the grace to blush.

"He needed to feed and I was there," he says lamely.

It had hurt like all hell, but he hadn't even minded that.

Pain could be pleasure, and Asher's bite was just that for him, even without the vampire able to roll him.

There was really no reason for Nathaniel to stray all the way to the Circus before returning to Anita's house after his shift at Guilty Pleasures. Damian knows this, but decides not to pry for details that seem clear enough.

"Sex usually makes you a combination of sleepy and giddy, Nathaniel. Asher's bite would only add to that. Why do I sense unease instead?" Even as he asks the question, he knows, but perhaps it is better for Nathaniel to speak to him about it than stay silent.

Silence could really be a curse at times.

"I don't know," he says, stepping back down the hallway, the lie clear in his words.

He knows he could order Nathaniel to tell the truth and come to him, but in some ways it feels like forcing someone against their will. Not his style.

He looks levelly at Nathaniel, summoning a tenderness to his gaze that he seldom feels and uses even less often. "There is no need to lie to me, Nat. I am only trying to help."

Damian reaches out, palm up, offering the only thing he believes he can in order to calm Nathaniel: touch.

Nathaniel eyes the hand, and he slowly reaches out to take it.

"His mark," he murmurs. "The first mark."

It hadn't been intentional, but it was there.

"He couldn't roll me."

Emerald eyes widen. It is a surprise he had not been expecting. His own skin is still a bit warm from the numerous small feedings of the night, and he hopes the heat is comforting while he closes his hand around Nathaniel's.

"I thought I could not be surprised so fully for at least a month following Asher's return. You've proven me wrong," he muses, trying to make the words a compliment as he rubs the back of Nathaniel's hand with his thumb. He could sense the wereleopard's fear; it radiated from every pore and seeped into his own hand.

"Anita..."

He licks his lips.

"I can feed them both, and she doesn't have to know about the mark."

As much as he wants Asher, this was home, it was all the security he had. When Asher tired of him, he'd need somewhere to go, and he couldn't bring himself to burn this bridge.

"She doesn't have to know," he whispers, eyes pleading with Damian to keep the secret.

Damian is not untouched by Nathaniel's plea. But the reality of the situation is far more complex than even Nathaniel knows.

"Nat..." He takes a deliberately deep breath and lets it out as he takes the wereleopard's other hand into his, holding them tightly. He wishes he could let Nathaniel remain blissfully unaware, but it seems even more unfair that way. "I will not tell her myself -- you have my word on that -- but you have to understand something. A master vampire will be able to sense Asher's mark in you. That means that even if I don't tell Anita, she can learn about it through Faust, Meng Die, or especially Jean-Claude."

Fear fills the lilac eyes, then he bows his head.

"Maybe they won't notice..."

One hand leaves Nathaniel's in order to comb through the long, auburn locks. He had seen the way leopards responded to touch enough times to know to rest his hand against the nape of Nathaniel's neck.

"No power of glamour can keep a true mark from the others' sight," he murmurs, his tone regretful. He knows the reaction that Nathaniel fears. He knows Anita will not disappoint. For a brief moment, he feels utterly powerless.

The feeling compels him to start gently scratching his nails at Nat's neck, friendly contact that they both now felt the need for.

Nathaniel creeps a little closer to Damian, to the offered comfort, though the tension remains in his body.

"I can't lie to her."

She'd know about the sex, about the feeding, about the mark.

And Anita would make him choose, if she didn't choose for him.

Damian's body is still damp, but he moves on the assumption that Nathaniel wants to shower before heading to bed. He pulls Nathaniel into a full hug, fighting the urge to shudder at the wonderful contact it provides him.

He may not know Nathaniel incredibly well, but he counts the wereleopard as a friend, someone he is willing to protect.

"Do you want me to be there when she finds out?"

He laughs sadly.

"I'm sure when she finds out we'll have quite an audience."

Anita didn't seem to understand the need for privacy about such issues.

That laugh is nearly a heartbreaking sound coming from Nathaniel, and Damian forces himself to pull back so he can meet the lilac gaze.

"You are invited to sleep in the basement with me if you want to prolong the inevitable," he offers seriously, following it with what little humour he could manage. "It's the one place she won't look for you, after all."

Damian was straight as an arrow as far as Anita knew.

Nathaniel smiles, the expression grateful but watery.

"I can't just hide."

He sighs, so emotionally drained, and just leans against Damian for a moment.

Damian easily supports Nathaniel's weight, resuming the gentle scratching beneath heavy locks of hair.

"Off with the clothes and into the shower," he orders softly.

He laughs, eyes regaining a little of their sparkle.

"You just want to see me naked."

Nathaniel moves fully into the bathroom, pulling his shirt off and sliding his jeans down his legs after kicking off his sneakers.

It was safest not to respond to that accusation. "In," he orders with just a little more force, distracting himself by first closing the door, and then removing his own trousers and setting them aside with a small, amused smile. "Showers are more comforting with company, and I know you weres well enough to know your obsession with touch." He is careful not to mention his own craving for contact.

"The faster you get in, the more minutes you get before I have to flee downstairs."

Nathaniel couldn't deny how wonderful touch was, soothing and comforting and reassuring. Without Asher there, his fears easily rose to the surface, and at least Damian was offering some companionship.

He turns on the shower, nice and hot, and steps in, ducking his head under the fall of water, letting it wet the long length of his hair.

Damian does his best not to overtly stare at Nathaniel as he steps into the tub and pulls the curtain over to keep the spray of the water inside. He wastes no time, since there truly is no time to waste. Picking up the bottle of shampoo, he leans in to Nathaniel's ear to ask, "More comforting for me to wash your hair or your body?"

It's an honest question. Truly it is.

Nathaniel opens his eyes, smiling faintly.

"Can you wash my hair without knotting it?"

It's an honest question.

With hair that pretty much reaches Nathaniel's ankles when wet, the most realistic answer he can give is, "I can try."

"You need to use a lot of shampoo. Quite a lot, really."

He grabs the bottle and squirts a decent amount into his hand, the scent of rich vanilla filling the steamy room. Nathaniel rubs it together and begins to gently comb it through from scalp to shoulders.

"Like that, but you have to keep doing it from top to bottom."

"Why do I have the feeling this is a skill that I will never use on another man?" Usually he wouldn't put forth the rhetorical question, but if it would provide Nathaniel with amusement, he was willing to speak unnecessary words.

Taking up the shampoo, he adds more into his own, larger hands and follows Nathaniel's example, beginning the rather arduous task of washing the man's hair. He purposefully combs through the hair in such a way that his hands and forearms still touch Nathaniel's back.

A purr is added to the rushing sound of the water as Nathaniel surrenders to the gentle calm of someone washing his hair.

"Because most men cut their hair."

Jason was still trying to get him to cut his.

Damian won't admit how much he likes the sound of Nathaniel's purr. Not directly anyway. He works in relative silence for a couple minutes, managing to lather the full length of hair and only knot it once. He is determined, though, and quickly remedies the knot.

"Turn and rinse, kausi," he murmurs, knowing he can be heard above the water.

"What is it with you vampires and not using English?" he laughs, shoving his head back under the water.

It takes him a good chunk of time to rinse the soap from his hair, and then wring it out so it could take the conditioner. He hands Damian the cream.

"I would be crazy not to condition this. I'd never get a comb through it."

Damian manages a low chuckle. "It feels a little more natural to speak in a native language, no matter how well you learn another." He can speak practically fluent English and German, but they will never feel the same way rolling on his tongue as Finnish and Old Norse do. Language is one of the few ways he can honour the time and place he came from. It is a piece of who he was before he became what he is.

Taking the conditioner in hand, he combs back through the mahogany curtain, roots to tips, his hands sliding down the length of Nathaniel in the process.

The tension finally begins to ease from Nathaniel's body, the purr settling nicely in his throat.

"You didn't have to shower with me," he murmurs, "but I'm glad you did."

"I wish there was more I could do," Damian admits, his voice equally soft as he finishes with Nathaniel's hair. Moving it over one shoulder, he runs his hands and nails lightly along Nathaniel's bare skin. A sigh escapes him, so slight that he almost believes it will be lost in the sounds of the shower.

Sensual without being sexual. He does try not to cross that line.

Nathaniel turns, a shiver running along his skin at the touch of nails, and stares at Damian. He thinks to call attention to that sigh, to the caress, but he simply blinks and leans back into the water, rinsing the condition from his hair.

Damian stares back, not allowing his eyes to move lower than what would be decent. The need to touch again rises up in him, though, and he can't help himself. Stepping close, he reaches around Nathaniel and combs his fingers through the long hair, which feels like liquid silk with the water running over it.

He hadn't been put in a position where he could touch and be touched like this in a very long time. The moments are limited, and he doesn't want to waste them. His lips are at the level of Nathaniel's forehead at such close proximity, and he murmurs, "Dawn is nearly here..."

His eyes open slowly, and he tilts his head up some to look at Damian.

"I can finish washing by myself," he says, voice low. "Thank you... for being here."

He wraps his arms around Damian's waist and presses their bodies together, hugging the vampire. It isn't sexual, even though he could make it such. It's a friendly gesture, one of common need for reassurance and comfort.

Given silent permission, he accepts and returns the embrace, giving and taking all he can through the wonderful warmth of the touch. It is all the comfort he could ask for, and he feels some of his ever-present tension ease out.

He controls his reactions expertly, giving Nathaniel a simple nod and gentle smile that doesn't quite match the lingering sadness and worry in his eyes.

"If nightfall comes and you need me, you know where I will be."

As much as he wants to stay close, he forces himself away, pulling back the curtain and stepping from the shower. A sense of urgency comes over him, and he tries to dry himself quickly. The pull is beginning. He will have to sprint.

Nathaniel draws the curtain closed again, listening to Damian as the vampire dries off. He huddles under the hot water, the heat working on his muscles, the water stinging Asher's most recent bite mark. He'd wash swiftly, and then get ready for bed. Exhaustion pulls at him. A door closing told him either Anita or Micah had come home, and the scent he picks up is the latter.

At least he wouldn't be sleeping alone.

A soft curse in a foreign language lilts through the steam with the rustling of fabric.

"Looks like I'm going to trust you with my reputation," Damian says in a rushed, but amused voice. "Sleep well, Nat. And good luck."

The door to the bathroom opens and closes. A muffled, awkward greeting and Damian's voice fades as he flees to the sanctuary of Anita's basement.

Nathaniel chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the soap.

His hand touches the tender area of his throat, and he sighs.

If things weren't complicate enough already, they were about to get much more so.