Remember the days we thought we were golden?

[Zephyr]

The bar he’s chosen is a dimly lit one. There’s an old fashioned jukebox in the corner. It isn’t the classiest bar in Boston, one of those places that’s out of the way, so most of the people that frequent it are regulars, and much more accommodating than the people in the bars he usually goes to with Nate. They know him here too, as much as anyone can really know Silas. He’s probably known in about ninety nine percent of the bars in Boston, but not because of what he is or who he hangs out with, it’s just because he goes to bars so often, and most of the time his evening ends with blood on his fists because someone brushed against him or spilled their drink on him.

He doesn’t have to worry about that here because most everyone who drinks here knows about his little issue and they make a point not to touch him, or speak to him…or look at him. Silas has a good set up here. It’s one of those places he sticks out like a sore thumb, with his perfectly pressed suits, but these people are so used to him that he barely gets looks anymore, even if he’s always in here by himself. Neither Nate nor Matthias were around, which basically just means that neither man was at his apartment at the exact moment he chose to go, so he went alone.

The only downside is that they don’t have top shelf bourbon. So he settles on some higher grade whiskey. The bourbon isn’t that big of a deal, in the grand scheme of things. This is mostly because beggars can’t be choosers and as much as he dislikes being compared to a hobo (silas really hates hobos, okay), he’s really getting to the point where he’s been banned from so many bars and kicked out of so many more that Nate’s threatening not to go out with him anymore. Silas is pretty certain this is an idle threat.

Even though this place doesn’t have the good stuff, Silas is on his fourth whiskey. He’s starting look unsteady on his stool. People have started looking at him, but Silas is at the point where he couldn’t give anymore fucks. Silas pulls out his phone and stares at it for a second before typing out a text.

/do you know where i am?/ Silas sends this, stares at the phone again before lifting his gaze to squint suspiciously at the bartender. He knows at any second the guy will probably cut him off soon since his terrible tolerance for alcohol is well known here, but he’s hoping to squeeze a few more drinks out of the guy before he does.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the memo and after Silas drains his glass and asks for another one, the guy just gives him a look but doesn’t actually move to get him his drink. Silas blinks at him, and just stares for a moment. He can’t tell if he’s in an alcohol induced stupor, or if the bartender is just being a bitch and not bringing him a drink. Silas looks back down at his phone and pulls up another message. /i think i might be dead. or a ghost. or both. the bartender's a bitch. i tried to get a drink from him, but i don’t think he can see me so i just really, really think i might be dead/ he sends the message and considers getting up and forcing the guy to get him a drink. After much staring and deliberation, he turns to his phone again and types another message.

/nate, hey nate. guess what/ At this point, Silas is dangerously close to snickering like a pre-teen boy in the middle of sex-ed class. He’s able to pull it together though, mainly because he just isn’t that drunk yet. /<=====3/.

After deciding if the penis was a good touch or not, he plops his phone down on the bar and leans forward, squinting at the bartender for a moment. “Hey! I want more booze! I know I’m probably dead. Don’t you think I deserve more alcohol for being dead?” He tries to pout at the man, but that doesn’t work, so Silas growls at him. “Fuck you, bastard. I’ll get the damn whiskey myself.” And it’s when he tries to clamber over the bar to grab said booze that he loses his balance and falls onto the ground in a flail of limbs.

And he just stays there, because getting up is far too much work.

Now he’s definitely getting looks.

After a second, he’s looking up into brown eyes and floppy blonde hair. “Dr. Vincent?” Comes the voice, British accent as unmistakable as that hair and those eyes, and he never did realize how good looking his intern is before. Not that he’s ever looked, or he’s looking now or anything.

“Great.” Silas growls. “Gimme a hand, will ya, Blondie? The floor isn’t exactly comfortable for my back.” The kid glares at the nickname, but gives Silas a hand and helps him to his feet, even if he’s wavering slightly when he’s on them. The blonde kid puts a strong hand on his back to steady him, and Silas wraps his arms around the kid’s neck without thinking. Maybe he had a little more than he thought he’d had to drink.

He hears an amused laugh from his intern as the kid’s hand wraps tight around his bicep. “You okay, doctor? You look like you might fall over at any second. And I have a name, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Silas mumbles, trying to figure out why he was almost falling over here. Still gripping the kid’s neck, Silas twists himself until he’s standing in front of him, fingers resting lightly on the nape of the kid’s neck. He’s mostly holding onto him now for balance, but he doesn’t see the expression in the kid’s eyes change. He only barely feels the tightening of hands on his arms, and he assumes that it’s another attempt at keeping him steady.

Which he appreciates, really.

What he doesn’t appreciate are fingers in his hair, tightening to the point of pain and lips on his. Silas’ mouth opens in shock and he jerks away, but the kid is strong, and even though he should be stronger, he’s intoxicated and the kid’s chest is like hitting a fucking brick wall and no matter how much he struggles, his grip tightens. Silas snarls into the kid’s mouth and Silas readies his next plan of attack, which it to knee him in the crotch and then fucking knock him the fuck out.

Because what the hell?

Why is this really his goddamn life?

[♥ Nathan ♥]

While Silas is out making a modest attempt at a halfway decent evening, Nathan is entrenched in business affairs, feigning smiles and laughter over too-expensive drinks. The food isn’t terrible, though the company could see a marked improvement, but the night isn’t anything the werewolf is unused to handling; arranging contracts and details over dinner is a step up from stuffy boardrooms and needlessly pompous protocol. That Nathan is missing an evening to himself is a sacrifice he is, as ever, somehow willing to make. Despite his nature, business has always managed to come before pleasure – though it has never stopped him from casually attempting to mix the two.

The meeting is winding down when Nate’s cellphone erupts with activity in his jacket pocket, chiming out its unhappiness at new messages in the most offensive manner possible. The werewolf apologizes through grit teeth and excuses himself – because there is only one man capable of changing his ringtone to Lovegame, and Nate is unwilling to let that go – leaving his associates to finish settling the bill and say their goodbyes. It is as good an excuse as any for him to slip away early, browsing through the series of texts left for him as he gathers his jacket and threads his way to the door. There is a pleasant fire of liquor in his gut, a heady buzz riding high in his thoughts, and it’s the combination that has him smiling in amusement at the messages on his phone.

/where are you?/ is the obvious reply, but he receives no answer. Nate hikes up his collar against the early autumn chill and sends off a quick, /did you get cut off?/ before again asking where the hell Silas is drinking. Undeterred – or perhaps encouraged – at the silence, the werewolf hails a cab and makes the short trip a few blocks further uptown, to the bars and pubs he knows the doctor has a fondness for. It is easy enough for him to play his interest off as mere curiosity, as a friend trying to track down his drinking accomplice for a better end to an evening, but there is a measure of addiction that reads of wolf, of territory, guiding his actions. That Silas is drunk enough to be sending him ridiculous texts and still not have passed out should be all the driving force he needs – the occasion is that unique.

Nathan knows how Silas gets when he hits this unique state of intoxication, and he would rather the man end up with him – or blacking out in the safety of his own apartment – than crawling into some other man’s arms.

He doesn’t expect to be lucky, picking the first bar he knows as one of Silas’ haunts to begin his (idle, definitely idle) search – and at first glance, Nate isn’t, finding the dive home to only a crowd of locals and a depressingly dressed-down atmosphere. Still in his suit and tie, he cuts a dramatic and conspicuous figure as he strides through to the bar, aiming to at least order himself a drink and contemplate forgetting this whole harebrained hunt; Silas may yet text him back, and there is some hope in that, but he can’t hang all his plans on chasing ghosts. He is waving the bartender to him when he catches a faint scent, a recognizable waft of werewolf that has the beast wound tight beneath his skin and his head lifting in a sudden jerk. Nate scans the room with a suddenly attentive and utterly predatory gaze, and it is only then that he finds the object of his search in a dark and secluded corner – and he understands why it was so easy to miss him the first time.

There is a man plastered on Silas, pressing him to the back wall with lips and chest and hands, and Nathan is on his feet before his mind has a chance to process. A stymied snarl makes its presence known in an animalistic curl of his lip and a hint of wolf in those blue eyes, the bar little more than a blur at his periphery as he cuts across the room. The twist of jealousy in his gut is nothing compared to the white-hot anger that slices across his vision when Nate becomes conscious of Silas resisting, pressing hard against the blonde-haired man, and it is all the werewolf can do to keep his fists from clenching preemptively.

Practiced self-control does not, it seems, apply to merely laying hands upon the stranger; Nate is suddenly behind him, and in a twisted mockery of the intern’s own actions, he twists his hand tightly in the blonde’s hair and cranes his head back roughly. He recognizes the man, then, that incessant fly from the hospital that buzzes constantly about Silas, and shoves at him a little harder in his motion to pry the kid’s arm off the other werewolf and twist it roughly behind his back.

He thinks, momentarily, that he is being excessive – that this is bordering on obsessive – but then the familiar scent of Silas is in his nose and he can’t be bothered to care.

”Didn’t anyone ever teach you no means no, kiddo?” Nate shoves the blonde aside in the next instant, away from Silas, who he glances at for brief reassurance out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know what he will do if he has been wrong, if Silas had wanted this, and the sobering thought is enough to keep him from rounding upon the kid further. With his breath coming fast, riding hard on an injection of adrenaline and rage, he draws his attention to Silas fully and considers their unwanted third wheel soundly ignored.

”You alright?” Concern, hesitance, and even a measure of apology; these are things he rarely expresses, and are reserved for Silas alone.

[Zephyr]

Silas isn’t actually consciously aware of the kid’s lips on his. Well, he is. It’s a little difficult not to be aware when someone, a drunk someone (and yeah, no matter how much he wishes he isn’t, he can taste the alcohol on the kid’s lips and tongue), is pressing themselves so hard against you that you’re getting pushed further away. Before Silas knows it, they’re in the corner and he’s surprised the kid hasn’t come up for air. Silas is still pressing against him, trying to get him off, and half considers kneeing him in the crotch or biting down on his tongue or something, but he isn’t interested in turning the brat into a werewolf on top of probably taking away his ability so have spawn.

He’s considering his option’s when the kid’s head is violently ripped away and Silas can finally fucking breathe. He glances into Nate’s eyes for half a second, something close to apologetic in his own eyes before Nate shoves the blonde man away. Silas doesn’t let his eyes linger for too long because he still has unfinished business. He looks over to Blondie, who is either too stunned to move, or contemplating decking Nate…which would probably be an awful idea on his part, since Nate could probably break him in half on the best of days, not even taking into consideration he looks like he could lift a small pickup truck at the moment.

So really, Silas figures he’s doing the kid a favor when he walks right up to him, considers his options for like half a second before he pulls his fist back and sends it flying into the kid’s face without a second thought.

The kid falls back on his ass with a stunned look on his face, blood pooling from his nose and lip and Silas looks like he’s considering another blow when he growls and turns abruptly to face Nate. All aggression leeches from his body then and he snorts as he approaches the other wolf. “Brat has a goddamn grip like a ton of fucking concrete.” Because he has to have an excuse for not being able to push off a kid like that…right? “I’m fine.” He starts, pausing to look up into Nate’s eyes. Things aren’t quite starting to spin for him yet. “Weren’t you working? Sorry about that.” He says, even though there is very little actual apology in his tone.

Silas isn’t yet drunk yet, and Nate is here and his scent is right there. Everything he remembers and everything he wants and he can even smell a little alcohol on the other man’s breath and it doesn’t occur to him that Nate would have to go back to whatever meeting or work function that he’d left to go find his sorry ass.

“Thanks.” Silas starts. That, at least, is completely genuine from the ghost of a smirk that brings up the corner of his mouth, to the way he lifts his hand and trails long fingers lightly down the side of the other man’s face. His touch as much of a tease as the grin on his face, and he relinquishes his touch, no matter how slight to grab his wrist and pull him against him, leaning forward to tease lips with a not quite brush of his own. “Let’s get another drink.” Silas breathes out, lightly, lips mere centimeters from Nate’s before he would drop his forehead companionably to the other werewolf’s and if he isn’t stopped, he’ll tug on Nate’s hand to lead him to the bar.

Because the last thing Silas needs at the moment is another drink…unless he plans to pass out in the middle of the bar.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

The last thing Nate had expected was Silas’ violent reaction, a quick and precise punch that leaves the blonde reeling – but this is a man prone to decking unfortunate strangers who happen to brush up against him in bars, so maybe it’s Nate who’s off base. All he can find to do in response is grin, an open-mouthed and honest expression of pure amusement as the intern clutches at his face and stares up at them in shock. The few patrons nearby may be shouting, and they may be moments from getting tossed out of yet another bar on their asses, but the look on the kid’s face will have been more than worth it.

Nathan catches Silas’ gaze, laughter in his eyes and that damnable smile still playing on his lips, and his face reflects some amount of pride and pleasure in equal measure. Any doubts that the doctor may have disapproved of his little rescue are assuaged in the swing of a fist, and he rocks back on his heels childishly as Silas stumbles through his excuses, his apologies. It is very nearly endearing, the way Silas manages to say sorry without sounding sincere at all – and it is only a boost to Nate’s ever ample ego to know that the other werewolf had wanted him here. The things he would ditch for this man. A part of him knows he should stop and analyze this, to figure out what the hell he’s doing, but all it takes is the sight of Silas for him to lose the will to even care.

”Dinner meeting,” Nate clarifies, shoulders rolling in a nonchalant shrug. ”We’d finished up.” The daydreams of a drunken rendezvous aside, his connections and appointments are important enough that a few tempting texts are rarely enough to call him away early – but he cannot be upset that Silas’ timing had been so impeccable. The smell of the other man as he moves in, brushing fingertips along his cheek and pulling him in close, is all the justification he needs for having truncated his obligatory goodbyes. There is something to be said for Silas’ level of intoxication, and his display of desire and affection has the werewolf attentive and focused, malleable beneath his hands.

Nathan’s palms settle to the surgeon’s hips, and he maintains the teasing distance between their mouths with a crooked smirk. The scent of alcohol, sickly sweet, dances on the air between them and the werewolf nearly growls with the effort it takes to resist simply claiming those lips with his own; he bumps Silas’ nose fondly, chuckling at the other man’s offer. Their altercation with the blonde all but forgotten, Nate is content to be lead along by his hand, trailing behind Silas like little more than a loyal hound; and it is not a description that is terribly unfitting, not at this moment. Still, he has the sense to catch Silas back up in his arms before they can make it close enough to order – and one look at the bartender says it may be for the best, as the man catches them up in a dark and assessing glare.

”Why don’t we go drink back at your place instead?” Nate rumbles against Silas’ neck, pressing a smile to his skin. The werewolf’s back is pressed to his chest, and he’s well aware of the eyes on them – the lingering shock from those who’d witnessed their scuffle, the discomfort of witnessing two men nestled up close in the public space of a bar – and all Nate feels is a surge of victory and a possessive sense of pride. He cannot ignore the niggling jealousy that still sits uneasy in his gut at the memory of that other man’s lips on Silas – his Silas, at least for the evening – and it makes him brazen, uncaring of their location, willing and wanting to show off.

”I’ve been out all day,” he clarifies, releasing his hold to steer the werewolf towards the exit. ”Don’t want to deal with any more people.” People save Silas is clear enough. Gregarious though he may be, Nathan has his limits, and they are swiftly met when he already has someone swaying beneath his hands; so it is that with even the barest hint of assent, he will slip an arm around Silas’ waist and lead them both back out into the night.

[Zephyr]

He’s only a little upset when they don’t make it to the bar…really. Because he promptly has Nate’s hands wrapped around him and all over him before even has time to mourn his trip to the bar. He is giving it a truly sad look, sans pissed off bartender, when Nathan’s words rumble into the back of his neck, causing a tingle to go down his spine. Silas licks his lips, considering this for a moment. And yeah, he might have cared about the displaying thing if he’d been fully sober, but only a little. Silas had never been big about censoring his actions around other people.

Most of the time he just doesn’t give a fuck what other people think of him.

And he isn’t thinking about it, but the sooner they get out of this bar, the more likely they’ll be escape actually being banned from it.

The choice for Silas is appallingly simple. It actually isn’t even a choice at all. Why would he want to drink more here when there’s so much goddamn promise in that voice? “Sounds good.” He growls softly as Nathan turns, leaning into the other man, lips seeking out his neck, hungry as he lays light kisses in a line up to his ear. But he stops short of actually touching Nate’s ear, just breathes out softly against it in a teasing laugh. Oddly enough, Silas seems to have more control over his lust drunk, and he laughs softly into Nate’s neck before the get the cab and head off to his apartment.

For the most part, Silas’ apartment isn’t anything special. It’s large and spacious and stunningly bare of anything that might be called furniture. Silas isn’t there enough to use much, even before turning, he was at work more than home. Even now, when he isn’t at work, or at the bar, or at Nate’s, he’s only really using the kitchen and the bedroom, and most of the time kitchen isn’t for cooking, even if he’s pretty good at it. There’s a couch in the living room that looks like it might be tolerable, but it’s old and lumpy and is akin to laying on a skyscraper…no one ever uses his couch. There’s a TV without cable which probably isn’t much use of all.

Silas’ bedroom is probably the only room that looks lived in. The room is large and the bed is plush and expansive. If he’s going to spend most of his time in one room, he wants it to be comfortable, dammit. His bathroom is equally elaborate, but what else would one expect from someone who takes two to four showers a day even on bad days?

His kitchen is almost as bare as his living room. There’s ice cream in the freezer, and as he lets them in and pulls Nate into the room, he shoves the man towards the island, where there’s a stool, which is probably the only bit of furniture he owns aside from the bed and terrible couch. The entire place is immaculate and speaks of a long time spend cleaning. Which is really a surprise considering what little time Silas has and how he doesn’t trust anyone else enough to clean his apartment for him.

Silas opens a cabinet, displaying a large and expansive collection of alcohol. Everything is absolutely top shelf, from the bourbon, to the best whiskey money can buy. Silas’ liquor cabinet is a veritable bar in and of itself, but he doesn’t drink out of often. It’s usually reserved for Nate and whenever Silas is feeling shitty enough that a trip out seems like far much trouble than it’s worth and he’d rather just drink himself into a stupor at home. He picks a bottle of bourbon, and carries some glasses over to the island. He doesn’t bother pouring any liquor out, not yet, but it sits there innocuously in case Nathan simply can’t wait. “Something tells me you aren’t interested in the alcohol at all.” Silas grins from the other side of the island, leaning towards Nate with the counter top between them.

Normally, he’d be all over that booze, but he can’t resist those eyes and he just stares for a moment before laughing and pulling away to uncap the bourbon. He doesn’t actually think getting more drunk will help his chances here, but he needs something to do with his idle hands besides putting them all over Nate’s body...because maybe is isn't drunk enough to not be feeling a little self conscious here.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Keeping his hands to himself is a challenge for Nate at the best of times, but with Silas playing so easily into them, temping him with his laughter and lips, there is no amount of self-control that can keep him from sidling up close in the cab and tucking the other man under his arm. His mouth is a constant ghost of a presence at Silas’ neck, his head leaned in close for companionship and contact, and he cannot exit the car quick enough when they arrive. Silas’ hand in his, Nate allows himself to be lead along to the familiar warmth of the man’s apartment, a lazy smile at home on his features and the weight of the day absolved from his shoulders.

The other werewolf’s playful roughness as they take to the kitchen and detach themselves from one another is met with a grin and easy laughter – honest expressions that have more to do with the company and less with the promises that hang on the air between them. There are few men – or women – that Nathan feels honestly comfortable with, and where he enjoys Silas for a thousand and one reasons that are nearly all physical, he is not always in a rush to simply slip into bed and end the night on a high note. The moments in between can be just as enjoyable, simpler; and somewhere along the line Silas transcended the boundaries from hookup to friend, and Nate indulges in that.

”For all the money you make, you should buy some goddamn furniture.” Nate slides his hand along the counter and takes to the stool, watching Silas with an idle gaze; his smile quirks lopsidedly, teasing. ”Maybe get your cable hooked up. I wouldn’t make you come to my place all the time.” The surgeon’s bed and bathroom nearly make up for the bare-bones appearance of the rest of the flat, which is why Nate is more than happy to follow him home, but a place to relax that isn’t between the sheets would be a bonus. Musing thoughts are cut off when Silas returns with glasses and liquor, and his expression turns curious as the bottle sits between them, untouched.

Leaning forward with his weight on his elbows, Nathan closes the remainder of the intimate space between them and drops his gaze to Silas’ lips. ”I could always go for a drink,” he replies evasively, drawing his eyes up to the werewolf’s own, defying his desire to claim that tempting mouth with a resolute will to keep still. The electric moment is released with Silas’ motion to pour their drinks, and Nate eases back with a grin and a flippant roll of his wrist, watching the man laugh out of the corner of his eye. Flirtation is a game they are often content to skip, too caught up in immediate wants and needs to bother forestalling a foregone conclusion, but it can have its place.

And for once, Nate is in no hurry.

”I seem to remember you were cut off,” he intones softly, and slides Silas’ glass from him before the man has a chance to drink. ”More for me, then?” He raises his brow playfully, lifting his glass in a mock salute before hiding his smirk behind the rim and downing it slow. The steady burn of the evening’s liquor flares to life in his gut as the fresh fire of bourbon joins it, the taste and feeling so comfortably familiar; Nate places the empty glass down to the counter, his hand hovering possessively over the second. Downing drinks hard and fast is not his usual style, but there is a hint of lighthearted challenge in the line of his stare and the tilt of his smile. He shrugs himself out of his suit jacket, loosening his tie, and proceeds to hold Silas’ glass up in a toast.

”I’ve only just gotten started.”

[Zephyr]

Believe it or not, Silas has considered buying more furniture. He isn’t particularly attached to his old college couch, he just hasn’t had the desire or motivation to go furniture shopping. No one uses his couch anyway, or watches his TV, so there hasn’t been any motivation to change things up in a long time. He doesn’t think that maybe the reason people don’t use his couch or his TV is the lack of comfort and cable respectively.

But he makes a point then to actually look into getting more furniture. He just…goddamn hates shopping. Maybe he can enlist Nate’s help, or Matthias’ if the kid is still around. If the guy is actually so interested in Silas finally getting some furniture, it will be a nice thing to surprise him with.

Even if surprises are inappropriately sweet and stunningly domestic.

Silas may be surprisingly lenient when it comes to Nate, mainly letting the man do whatever the fuck he wants , but he isn’t sure that includes stealing his liquor, and Silas gives Nate a glare and a look that says he is seriously considering flying across the counter and stealing it right back or throttling him or something…but he’s still half-drunk from Nate’s scent and the closeness of his lips and that, combined with the alcohol he’d consumed earlier cause him to stand there, wavering…both physically and emotionally.

His eyes follow the path of the class as Nate brings it to his mouth, and get caught on Nate’s lips, barely hearing his words. He licks his own lips, gaze steadfastly fixed on the other man’s lips. His hand still hovers of the neck of the bottle and his fingers tighten over the glass subtly when Nate’s hand moves to his tie, and the man’s words send a shiver down his spine. He isn’t sure what game Nate’s playing, or if he’s playing too, but he isn’t quite interested in trying to untangle their parts in it.

All he can see is Nate’s lips and the glass that was supposed to be his, and he can’t remember why Nate is all the way over there to begin with and he swallows. Silas growls. A rough sound that quivers through his body and give him a hard edge to his eyes. The line of Silas’ jaw is tight with restrained need when his eyes flicker up and meet his eyes, and there’s that challenge there that the wolf just cannot ignore.

Without a word, once Nate has taken a drink from the glass, Silas steps around the counter and fluidly steers Nate around with hands gripped tightly in the fabric of the man’s shirt. He claims the other werewolf’s lips in his own, licking the bourbon right out of his mouth as he steps between Nate’s legs and presses himself tight to the other man’s chest. Another growl rumbles from his chest as he kisses Nate for a moment longer before pulling away, his grin cheeky as he runs his tongue along Nate’s lips, lapping up the last of the bourbon there. “Me too.” He says after a second, voice low and breathless. And he’s still not sure what game the other werewolf is trying to play, but Silas lets one hand wander up to rake absently through Nate’s hair, the movement vaguely fond. After, he leans forward and gives him a distinctly chaste ghost of a kiss at the corner of the mouth before stepping away from him and out of reach.

“I wasn’t even cut off, you know.” Silas snorts as he walks back around to his side of the counter, toying with the idea of pouring himself another glass. “I just really think I’d died there for a second.” He shrugs, acting frustratingly like the kiss hadn’t happened…but there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, a challenge in his eyes that begs Nate to do something about it. Then he grabs one of the glasses, pulls it back over to himself and pours him some damn liquor.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Dueling tongues and wicked lips are not the response Nathan had expected, but it is one he accepts nonetheless. He places Silas’ glass back to the table as the man rounds upon him, and meets him with roaming, hungry hands and covetous fingertips, his grip settling tight at the other man’s waist. The kiss, no matter how Silas lingers, is too short – it leaves Nate wanting, lips parted, though he leans softly into the doctor’s affectionate touch. It takes him a moment to return that grin, and his own is devilish and lopsided, sensation-drunk. From deep within his chest sounds a low, contented rumble, one that manages to match the hint of satisfaction in his eyes even as Silas pulls away.

But that flicker of challenge does not – cannot – go unnoticed, and the werewolf responds in kind.

”No.” Nate places his hand back on the rim of the fresh-poured glass, keeping it there as he slides from his stool and around the island in one fluid motion. There is a heat to his gaze that cannot be attributed to the animal alone, and it has him sizing up Silas knowingly, teeth revealed in a wolfish grin. ”I said these were mine.” As though he has laid claid to them; and perhaps that is the new game. With every intention of making Silas earn his next drink, he sidles in close to grip at the collar of the man’s shirt and tug him forward, rough and demanding. That he catches the doctor with his lips is only the beginning; his free hand follows, caging Silas in, pressing him back to the countertop with hips and chest and arms. The taste that blossoms on his tongue is achingly familiar, achingly Silas; but with it comes that splash of bourbon, that too-friendly touch of the surgeon’s hand, and somewhere in the moment Nathan takes pause.

”You’re drunk,” he mutters softly, a reminder more for himself than the other man. Nathan is not much of a responsible individual, not in realms that exist outside either the pack or his job; in his personal life, with his scattered list of addictions and vices, he has little mind to deny himself anything. So with Silas pressed so convincingly up against him the taste of liquor and spice still hot on his tongue, it is something of a feat that Nate’s hands stay chaste; it is a marvel that he holds his own, and the lips now pressed to the doctor’s neck refrain from further kissing. Silas has work in the morning. Nate has work in the morning. There is a very willing man pressed tight up against him, and yet for this individual alone Nate has the deference to say no.

Taking advantage of the inebriated has never been his style, but it says more than Silas knows that Nate would manage to deny him.

”C’mon,” he huffs, resigned and determined. Nate extracts himself from the tangle of limbs to throw an arm about Silas’ shoulder, coaxing him away from the island and towards the bedroom. ”You’ll kill me in the morning if I let you have another.” And would kill him just the same if they spent the night recklessly chasing dawn, though Nate likes to think it would end up with it. It is with a firm grip on duty and his libido both that the werewolf instead simply soldiers forward, Silas tucked up against him, and firmly carts the man off to his room; he sets him down on the bed, and with a care that is usually so lacking in the same gesture, takes to undressing him.

Deft fingers make quick work of the buttons on Silas’ shirt, but Nathan does not meet the man’s eyes; he will see him safely in bed. He can manage this one, small thing, no matter how tempting the feel of Silas’ skin is beneath his fingertips.

[Zephyr]

Eye meet Nate’s as the other man claims the glass Silas has just poured. The challenge in the doctor’s eyes is still very much present, even though the other werewolf has more than risen to the challenge. Silas stares, bottle on the countertop once more. Silas’ eyes flicker over the man’s face, get caught on his lips and teeth and for the first time, Silas can’t remember what he is supposed to do next. The alcohol already in his system is making his head fuzzy, and that combined with the heat from Nate’s voice and eyes is making his thoughts blurry.

Honestly, it helps a lot when Nate pulls him forward, hand wrapped in his shirt. The jostle is enough to get his brain working again and he growls into Nate’s mouth, the sound fierce and rough. He doesn’t let his wolf have its way often, but when he’s drunk, and Nate is being so goddamn tempting, he can’t keep it from rising to the challenge. It shakes his body with its growls and Silas buries his fingers in Nate’s shirt, fingers fumbling blindly over buttons and just finally sliding down his chest and slipping up underneath his shirt to bare skin. He takes fingertips and nails over bare flesh as he leans into the kiss, completely lost in the moment.

He’s still lost in the moment when Nate speaks next and Silas rests his forehead on Nate’s, trying to catch his breath for a moment. He searches for the words to dispute this claim, but he cannot find them, so wrapped up is he in Nate’s body and his scent and the lust fueled exploration of his hands. He finally lets them drop to the other man’s waist, and when he cannot find the words to deny Nate’s words, he just huffs lightly, just watching him for a moment through his lashes. When the man’s lips move to his neck, Silas just catches a kiss against Nate’s head, breathing in for a moment and letting the moment pass in seconds as the other werewolf contemplates his next move.

Silas doesn’t resist when Nate moves away. He only lets his hands tangle in the other man’s shirt for a second longer as he’s steered towards the bedroom. The situation isn’t funny…he knows this, but he can’t stop the airy laugh from bubbling up from his throat. “Probably” Silas starts, agreeing with the man’s words. Silas knows himself enough, even drunk, to know that he’s going to be pissed if he wakes up in the morning with a massive hangover when he’s supposed to be up early for work.

He falls onto the bed without a word. Wants to fight this. He wants to surge up into the other man, kiss him again so deeply that Nate will have no choice but to follow through on both of their desires. But he just can’t find his feet…like he couldn’t find his voice earlier. So, instead of locking lips with Nate, he lets himself sway forward, forehead resting on the other man’s chest. He wraps his hands in Nate’s shirt, but he doesn’t pull…he just keeps them there, as if Nathan is a lifeline for him. Silas lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, letting Nate unbutton his shirt. He shoulders it off after it falls open, half standing and letting it fall to the floor. As much as he wants, and he does want – wants to press himself up against Nate, wants to push and push and take until there’s nothing left to give, wants him in every sense of the word – Silas doesn’t take.

After his shirt slips to the floor, he toes off his shoes and socks and lets his hands settle over the clasp to his pants for a second before he undoes it and slides them down. He leaves the clothes in a pile on the floor ( and he’ll probably be pissed at himself later for that okay ), and sweeps his gaze over the bed behind him for a moment before he turns back to Nate, hands seeking purchase in his shirt before leaning forward mutely, lips resting chastely against the other man’s collarbone.

“Will you…stay with me?” Silas half mouths against Nate’s skin, words soft and barely audible in the silence of his bedroom. For once. Silas doesn’t want sex. He just wants Nate. He wants his best friend, and he doesn’t want him to leave. He can’t wrap his brain around this thought at the moment. It’s so bogged down with bourbon and need and want that he just wants to be for a moment. “Just…” And the words are thick for a moment as he breathes in Nate’s scent. “…just sleep with me?” The words are a question, hopeful and waiting.

But whatever Nate chooses, Silas isn’t interested in letting go of him soon, and he tightens his grip on the other man’s shirt in blatant emphasis.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

There is a moment where Nate thinks Silas is going to press the issue, to test his resolve and utter lack of self-control with a hand fisted in his shirt and the onslaught of hungry lips – but when the werewolf shifts forward, it is without any of the expected heat or intent. Instead Silas simply leans against him, head to his chest, and Nathan freezes with his hands held uselessly between them. An instinctive fear of closeness and vulnerability keeps him still, uncertain, before he can usher his fingers into motion and finish sliding off Silas’ shirt; when the surgeon returns a second time, pressing lips to Nate’s neck, he wraps his arms about him without thinking. It is meant to be a comforting gesture, if an easy one to twist into the realms of sensation and lust that Nate understands, and he hangs there as Silas murmurs his request.

A thousand excuses should come to mind. Silas’ apartment is further from his office. He needs a good night’s rest. Silas is still very much drunk, and he can offer no guarantee of just sleep – but Nathan just turns his head, lips against the other man’s temple, and draws him in closer. He would pry himself away from anyone else for fear of the implication in this act; for Silas alone, Nate yields.

”Yeah,” he manages at last. ”Yeah, I can stay for you.” It is not the resentful statement he had worried it would be; there is honesty in his words, the flicker of a reserved smile that ghosts along the edge of his lip. Fingers seek out Silas’ hairline, pressing gently against his scalp, and he runs his hands fondly through the other man’s hair before coaxing him back; Nate presses a gentle kiss to the werewolf’s forehead, lips lingering against skin before he breaks away. ”Go lay down.” He nods at the bed, slipping from Silas’ grip as he stands.

Nate collects the discarded bundle of Silas’ clothes, folding them over the back of a chair before adding his own to the pile. Whether it is out of intentional kindness or lurking compulsions is vague; he may well just want to avoid the doctor’s bitching come morning, when he realizes he’ll have to waste money on pressing a good pair of slacks. Naked as a jaybird and utterly comfortable with that fact, Nate returns to Silas’ bedside to crawl beneath the blankets and between the sheets, for once without any obvious ulterior motives. While the werewolf’s thoughts are rarely in the realm of pure, in this he makes his bold attempt, and he finds his resolve strengthened. The day seems to suddenly weigh at him as the night presses in, the dull burn of liquor turning to weariness without the prospect of more to keep him suitably buzzed, and it is with a contented sigh that he relaxes to the mattress.

Seeking hands make to gather Silas up in his arms and pull him in close, tucking the man under his shoulder and cradling him there. He is no stranger to warming another man’s bed, to lingering slow and indulging in soft whispers and tender caresses until he can gather his wits and slink tiredly home, but this is a new realm of affection; he clings to Silas for the simple warmth of it, just for the feel of having the man against his skin. He presses his head into Silas’ hair, breathing in deep, before ducking his chin and gracing the surgeon’s cheek with a bump of his stubbled chin and a chaste kiss. Of the dozens of times Nate has slept here, it has never seemed to simple.

He does not question it. There are few locations outside of his home that the man feels comfortable enough in to sleep through the night, and though he is a man prone to tact and planning, to forethought and consideration, in this Nate defaults to instinct. The wolf is a silent presence within him, a slumbering animal that neither bristles nor barks at this unexpected intrusion; it slumbers on, contented, and he takes its cue. Physical pleasures tend to triumph over acts of reason and logic, and there is little more satisfying than skin on skin contact within Silas’ bed, and so Nate succumbs to it.

”You’re one lucky devil,” he boasts halfheartedly, a lazy smirk resting against the back of Silas’ head. ”Get some sleep.”

[Zephyr]

The next few moments are a complete enigma for the doctor, as he leans against the other man, Nate’s body a warm, comforting line against his own. He thinks, for the briefest of seconds, that the other werewolf will deny him. That he will tell him no, no matter how politely, and get Silas into bed without joining him. The thought is an irrationally frightening one, and he tightens his fists in Nate’s shirt gravely, lips still ghosting along the man’s collarbone. For some reason, the thought of sleeping alone and cold tonight is unfathomable.

Sleeping alone has never been a problem for Silas. It’s been a normal thing for him for years. Even after he met Nate, more often than not the man wouldn’t end the night with him, or wouldn’t stick around after. But, for some reason Silas can’t wrap his mind around, the thought of Nathan leaving him sends tendrils of panic radiating through his chest, and he doesn’t want to let go.

The stark truth, which is something Silas is just slightly too inebriated to grasp at the moment, is that he is terrified of losing Nathan. It’s an irrational thought, because the werewolf has never shown any signs of wanting any less out of Silas than he’s been getting. Nathan doesn’t seem to want to cut ties with Silas…but he can’t help but feel like letting Nate leave will do more damage than he can possibly wrap his mind around…so he clings like his life depends on it.

He mostly blames the alcohol.

So, when Nate finally agrees, Silas nearly sags with the relief of it all. Nearly because he still has his hands fisted in the man’s shirt and he isn’t sure he knows how to let go at the moment. But he finds the strength, somehow, when Nathan rakes fingers through his hair and Silas pulls away, a brilliant, genuine smile unfurling on his face. He beams at Nathan, the expression flickering to just this side of shy as he loosens his grip before letting go completely, running his fingers along Nate’s chest, seemingly loathe to lose bodily contact before he falls under the covers, half turning to watch Nathan undress from the relative warmth of his bed, which seems strangely warmer than he remembers.

He turns over when Nate gets into bed with him, letting himself be pulled to the other man’s body with no resistance. Still, he’s aware of the warmth and the actions of earlier, and he isn’t eager to push the boundaries of their actions. Silas doesn’t press back against Nate, he just rests his head against the man’s arm, taking in his scent and letting his lips ghost along the skin of his arm absently. He shifts his head, craning his neck around to catch a quick kiss as Nate comes in close to his cheek. Then he laughs, the sound sleepy and content and utterly happy. It’s such a foreign sound coming from the man who is usually reserved and quiet, but he finds that he likes it.

“And you’re one arrogant bastard.” Silas chuckles, no disapproval in his voice at all, just a content happiness and a breathless feeling clutching at his chest that he can’t quite name. So, instead of trying to name it, Silas hums in pleased approval, wiggling against Nathan without realizing it (oops) before he buries his head down in the softness of his pillow and lets sleep take him finally, wrapped in the warmth of the one person he feels completely at ease with.