Post by Logan on Jun 10, 2012 2:48:54 GMT -5
There is a thick sadness that clings to Blackwater like a mold looking to darken and rot. The wolves are hurting, mourning their losses, and some – like Sabra—have taken to the bottle. Bonds wear thin, people are drifting apart, and yet Logan’s personal world remains untouched, resolutely solid. A sprig of guilt taps at the back of his mind but it will not be granted access. On some level it may be selfish, but the Duvall hunter refuses to let anything compromise his and Nathan’s happiness. He eyes the ring sitting snug on his finger and smiles. Especially now.
Together they have weathered one storm after the other. There have been monsters both wearing the guises of men and wolves to contend with, transformations both emotional and physical to survive through. A young runaway and a wayward stray, against all odds, came together and built a home. The rest of Blackwater may be hurting but Logan, without an inkling of doubt, knows that they deserve this. They deserve to be happy. They’ve earned it.
December sees a steep drop in temperature and, tucked safe within the radiant warmth of the kitchen, Logan stares out of the frosted window. He wonders when they will get the first snow that decides to stick. The hunter has not spent the holiday season with family, with people –the person—that matters, in years. He has reached an apex of serendipity, a high that he hopes will never fade. There is a sense of belonging here, a feeling of comfort that spurs Logan into relaxing. Comfort enough to allow him, a broad-shouldered, scruffy old sailor of a man, to spend the day in the kitchen preparing dinner and baking a cake. Manly things.
The cake sits cooling on the counter and outside, on the deck, the coals of the grill run hot. Nathan should be back home from work within the hour but Logan will hold off on the steaks because the werewolf likes his meat rare. A list full of Nathan-related information has been faithfully compiled over their time together. Logan knows things like how Nathan likes his steak, his favorite color (blue), his addiction to movies, and the fact that he is a December baby. Birthdays stopped mattering to Logan the day he left Alaska but this is important because Nathan is important. It is also an excuse to spoil the man and Logan, freeloader that he is, likes to provide something for the werewolf.
No colorful decorations adorn the house. There are no guests invited. It is the way Logan prefers life – a series of moments reserved for him and Nathaniel alone. Lark peeks her head into the kitchen and Logan looks at her and smirks, thinks Lark too. This is his family and Logan, not typically a selfish man, does not like to share. Lark lays down, rests her head on her paws and takes to watching Logan in the kitchen. Those puppy dog eyes nearly cajole him into sneaking her a snack but Logan refrains, distracts himself by popping open a can of icing and spreading it over the cake.
A year ago he spent his time traveling the roads and hunting down men – killing them. Now his life has become tending to the house, cooking, cleaning, and baking cakes. A bizarre shift of his place in the universe and Logan would not have it any other way.
His thumb catches a morsel of icing and he sucks at it. He hopes Nathan is in the mood for chocolate.
Nathan has never had much holiday spirit, and he has long since stopped minding that fact.
This year would be no exception, had circumstances not so suddenly and inexorably changed; it would have simply been another month – little better, little worse. Apathetic. December has, since even before he left home, been little more than a bitter footnote to end the year upon; times where the season, his birthday mattered are little more than distant memories. And yet the onset of this particular winter – with its bitter, unexpected early frost and all the horrors this little town is hiding – is marked with such a joy it makes the man feel guilty. To be experiencing such a shining example of happiness – of easy simplicity, of a numbing comfort that locks the rest of the world out – when so much has gone so terribly wrong seems… inappropriate.
It itches at him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but for once in his life, Nathan doesn’t succumb to that worry. The new year holds nothing but promise.
The sight of Logan beside him each morning – the ring that the hunter now wears, a silver measure of commitment, of possession – is sufficient to keep his spirits up; he has a lingering suspicion it will be for some time. And with that ongoing giddiness, that innocent joy and happiness every moment of the last few days have elicited, Nathan finds time to think about things he hasn’t in years – buying the man a Christmas gift. Maybe getting a tree, if Lark won’t eat it. Countless other banal things he hasn’t cared for that now somehow have meaning; a little piece of family life attached to mundane activities that he finds himself craving. A slice of normalcy – and maybe even romance – amongst all the chaos. They are distracting enough thoughts to keep the werewolf grinning to himself throughout a long day at the office; to keeping his mind focused on home, on planning, on all the experiences he's anxious to share.
He takes off from work a little early; his own gift to himself. Wandering thoughts, pulled from shadow in the silence of the drive home, cast his mind back to dark places; to Billy and Sabra, to the idea that while Logan and his little yellow house may feel more like home than ever, Blackwater does not. There is an unfamiliarity to the town that has ghosted in without the resolute, overpowering solidity of the pack, and it makes him all the more interested in rushing home – to shutting the door on the outside world and dwelling in his own little bubble of peace and reliability, drawn up around an old hunter and a dog.
There is nothing he can do for Billy or the pack any longer, save for staying strong; it is a waiting game, but not one he will allow to pull him under. Somewhere in the last year Nathan has learned the power of moving on.
Cold hands fumble at the deadbolt, and Nathan slips inside and shuts the door quickly behind him, preventing the bite in the outside air from siphoning off any of the house’s welcoming heat. He stamps his feet with a pervasive shiver; slips his boots and jacket off in shed layers of damp and cold before casting a glance about for Logan. The house smells… delicious. And while he’s used to that – to coming home to a hot meal and all the scents Logan’s cooking creates (he may, in fact, be spoiled) – it’s the exact nature of the smell that piques his curiosity.
”Logan?” Nate calls, stepping into the kitchen and leaning up against the doorframe; an inquisitive, playful smirk pulls up the corners of his mouth, and he quirks a brow. ”…Are you baking?”
Lark is up and moving to her station near the door before the car even pulls up into the driveway. She is the perfect early-Nathan-alarm system but Logan does not bother in hiding the goods. He pulls the tinfoil-wrapped baked potatoes out of the oven and sets the tray onto the stovetop. Logan is tossing the empty icing container into the bin when he hears the front door open, the tell-tale sounds of Nathan’s arrival. He is lingering near the counter when Nathan makes his entrance. Logan turns a warm look and a burgeoning smile onto the werewolf.
”No sir. No baking here. A bunch of cake elves must’ve stopped by and left this,” he gestures to the cake, using humor to disguise what meager embarrassment he might be harboring. ”Weird, huh?” Logan pushes off of the counter and closes the distance, reaches out and pulls Nathan into a hug. Ben would gawk, the other hunters would mock him relentlessly, but Logan has found his place and if that place happens to involve baking then so be it. Besides, he’s pretty good at it, and Nathan better enjoy his cake because baking is serious goddamned business. The mixture has to be perfect, the temperature sublime, otherwise it won’t be moist enough, or it might crumble or be too dough-y. A lot of effort went into that cake because Logan is ridiculous and this is an important day. ”Happy birthday.” He says through a laugh and, just in case Nathan wasn’t catching on, reveals the reason behind the sweet scent circulating through the house.
He pulls away just enough to look the other man in the eyes. ”And don’t say I didn’t have to because I did anyway.” Logan steals a quick kiss, takes to wearing an impish smile. ”You’re just going to have to deal with it,” the man says winningly then gives Nathan the once over. ”Go get comfortable, and I’ll get the steaks started.” Before he is given a chance to head to the bedroom, Logan rounds Nathan in for another, more heated and lasting kiss. There is always a need for contact. Logan thinks he would live under Nathan’s skin if it were possible. He breaks the kiss, makes to step away. ”Sorry,” he apologizes but the glint is his eyes and the edge in his smirk say otherwise.
Logan retrieves the seasoned steaks from the fridge and heads outside where he tosses them onto the grill. Cold weather is invigorating, reminds him of Alaska, but it is also cold and he hasn’t bothered with a jacket. Regardless, he basks in the December chill, breathes it in deep and lets it seep down to the marrow of his bones. Gray eyes take stock of the landscape; the bare trees, the yellow grass. Blackwater feels dead, mute, and hollow. He turns his attention to the small yellow house and is hit with a certain gladness that it remains as a bright spot, as safe harbor in these hard and trying times. He is a fortunate man.
The hunter returns inside and starts to set the table. He considers the miniscule weight in his pocket, the sketchbook filled with ideas. Logan is engaged to this man and yet he still worries over things like when is it too much. He is affectionate, loyal, possessive. But Logan does not want to come off as that obsessed bride (husband) to be, the one that turn out to psychos in those weird movies Nathan watches. He sets a fork down, checks the clock. The steaks should be done in a few minutes. Logan is about to check on them when Nathan returns.
”Hey,” he greets, ”Hope you’re hungry. Steaks are almost done.” Logan figures he knows the answer because the werewolf always has a respectable appetite after work –unless he’s sick. The hunter pulls out a chair and beckons Nathan over. ”Take a load off.” If Nathan even thinks of trying to help, Logan will tie him to his chair. This is his special day and it is going to be special. He exits long enough to retrieve the meat and sets the larger one on Nathan’s plate. Logan has never been one for red meat – he prefers chicken and fish. Dinner ready, cake baked, Nathan home and comfortable. He finally feels capable of relaxing.
Logan takes a seat and lets Nathan have the first bite before starting to eat. Steak, salad, baked potatoes. Not the most extravagant feast but Logan’s more about hardy and healthy than embellishments. ”I was thinking,” he begins after swallowing, ”We should go out on one of your days off and get a tree.” He has not properly celebrated a holiday in decades and Logan has a driving need to make their world normal, to do all those things happy, functioning human families do. ”And also probably ornaments. Unless you like naked trees.” Logan brings a cube of meat to his mouth, chews thoughtfully while watching Nathan.
”What do you think?”
”Crazy,” is the knowing and playful reply, and when the hunter draws him in, Nathan nestles his face right up to the man’s neck, pressing a gentle smile to skin. ”Thanks.” Arms find their way around Logan’s sides and the werewolf just holds him tight; resists pulling away, ever so slightly, when Logan edges back. He smirks, sets his head on an angle. ”…but you still really didn’t—“
—and his mocking counter is cut off by a deeper kiss. Nathan succumbs to it; relaxes into that embrace with an appreciative sigh. He could stay here all day; he could forget about dinner, dessert, time itself. He could just hold this man in his arms and find the hunter’s lips with his own and never want for anything more. When they part – when Logan apologizes – Nate can only respond with a laugh and a teasing roll of his eyes. He sweeps a hand through his hair and gently pushes the hunter away, grinning all the while.
”After dinner,” is the only chiding admonition, said with a wicked hint of promise. ”Food first.” He exits; trusts that the hunter will not risk burning their meal by following him into the bedroom, because certain things are important. Like special birthday dinners, followed by cake; there will be plenty of time left in the evening to get to everything Nathan would like. The time Logan spends cooking and setting the table, Nathan spends in the shower, sluicing off memories of the day’s work in waves of hot water and steam. He changes – into something nice, however comfortable, because again, special birthday dinner – and he just so happens to like looking good for Logan.
Though dinner is still grilling outside, by the time Nate sidles back into the kitchen the wafting scent of meat has permeated the entirety of the kitchen, and the werewolf pauses in the doorway to indulge himself with a deep inhale. His stomach rumbles in protest and his wolf shifts about beneath his skin; Nathan, both man and beast, are in agreement. ”Am I ever not? It’s steak,” he answers with a grin, following Logan’s instructions to relax; he props his feet up on the chair across from him and leans back, takes to watching the hunter finish his preparation with an amused air.
There are times when Nathan’s mind slips, when his thoughts fall upon how much Logan takes care of him – how much the man does, has changed for him – and he fears the hunter will grow bitter. Will eventually question this strange, housewife lifestyle he’s come to live, a role that’s a far cry from his time on the road. But to Nate’s credit, such concerns have been few and far between in the past week, staunched by certain silver extensions of trust – and now, celebrating his birthday in his own kitchen with the man he lives with, the man he is engaged to, those thoughts do not find him at all.
The werewolf simply smiles; takes it all in.
Logan’s birthday, by comparison, had been a somber, quiet thing; an encounter sullied by unavoidable situations. Nathan’s concussion, for one, and the depressive mood of Blackwater on the whole for another; there had been very little joy involved, all things considered. The werewolf resolves to make it up, come Christmas. Logan deserves that much. The man dotes on him, after all, and Nathan likes to repay him in kind.
As if in tune with his thoughts, dinner is served; the werewolf digs in, falling upon the meal with some managed display of mannerly restraint and very little delay. Nate appreciates few things more than Logan’s cooking – particularly when it comes to his favorite meal. Wandering eyes fall upon the hunter, and Nate makes a show of mouthing a bit of dressing from his thumb; the gesture falls just short of appropriate.
”You read my mind,” he says with a swallow, dropping the act to tap his fork on the side of his plate. ”I haven’t had a tree in… years. We could move the chair, put it in front of the living room window?” It would look good there – fitting.
”And a naked tree is just wrong, Logan.” Nate gestures at the man with his utensil – a look of playful warning on his face. ”We’re getting ornaments.” Not getting ornaments was probably a sin – one just as bad as putting those giant blow-up Santas on your lawn. Blasphemy.
”…And lights. On the house? I’ve never had lights. Can we get lights?” His grin is animated, lit with the life of their shared joke.
Because Logan will get him lights; because they are ridiculous, and Nathan loves it.
His laugh comes unbidden; an open and free sound tailored by Nathan’s hands for Nathan alone. Under the radiant glow of the dining area’s warm yellow light, a dell is created free from Blackwater’s woes and persisting injuries. ”Consider me schooled.” The hunter wears an open-mouthed smile and supplies the werewolf with a curiously humored look before dropping his attention to his plate. A fork scoops up the fluffy, buttery innards of his baked potato. ”Guess I should’ve known, since there’s only one kind of naked wood we like.” He pops the utensil into his mouth, turns that same mischievous look onto Nathan, and smirks.
”The living room window would be perfect, yeah.” From talk of Christmas, to talk of dicks, and back again without missing a beat. Logan and Nathan have the best possible relationship. ”I’ll have to take some measurements,” he considers aloud. Back home in Alaska, when his father was alive, Christmas was a big deal. There was a traditional family outing where all of the Duvall’s would head out and choose a tree together. In the den of the family homestead, to the backdrop of old Christmas favorites, Logan, Ben, his mother and his father would decorate the tree. Those traditions held more weight during his youth but Logan wants to recapture a semblance of them. He wants those traditions and he wants to make new ones because they are a family and that is what families do.
”If you want lights, we’ll get you lights,” Logan replies easily because it is that easy. There is little, if anything at all, that he might refuse Nathan and maybe that sense of bold dedication would have scared him once, but not now, not when they have come so far, and certainly not after Logan has changed so much. ”But I’m drawing the line at lawn ornaments.” Spoken mostly in jest but the idea of plastic reindeer and a cheesy nativity scene are things Logan could do without.
Dinner proceeds with companionable conversation. There is talk over what kinds of lights (white or colored) they should adorn the house and tree with. Ideas about ornaments and decorations pass idly between them and Logan wonders over Christmas dinner, asks how Nathan feels about ham. Simple, quaint things that, no matter how effervescent, serve as the bricks and mortar to further strengthen the ideas of home and family.
The food disappears, as it usually does, under the attention of two werewolf males blessed with healthy appetites. Logan spends a few minutes cleaning up and only offers a cheeky remark when and if Nathan offers to help, but allows the assistance because little things like washing the dishes together feel good. Ridiculous, but also the truth. Logan dries his hands off with a cloth, turns around and takes to leaning against the counter. A certain, thoughtful quiet settles over the small kitchen in which Logan, as he is oft to do, simply watches Nathan. There is, in the hunter’s mind, nothing more worthwhile to look at.
”C’mere,” he breaks the spell of quiet with a word and a gesture. Logan knows Nathan and makes the prediction that the werewolf feels that the cake and dinner are enough, that there is no need for presents. But Logan also realizes that Nathan knows him enough to expect one anyway, and this one has been due for a days. He pulls the werewolf into an embrace, enjoys the proximity, before offering a kiss. With lips meant to distract, Logan surreptitiously reaches into his pocket. He slips a ring onto Nathan’s finger and pulls away with a coy smile. It is silver in color, the same shape and width as the ring Logan wears. ”I figure this way everyone knows you’re a taken man.” There is no need for shyness here; Nathan was the one to take the plunge and propose. Still, there is a coiling excitement, a giddiness edged with trepidation. ”I, uh, took the ring you gave me in. And had a matching one made.” They are nearly identical save for the differences in luster and visible age.
The old and the new, a weathered past and a bright future. Fitting.
Nathan simply smiles and drops his gaze to his plate, shaking his head. He mashes the remains of his potato – skin and all – into a fine paste with his fork, before shoveling it into his mouth to circumvent derailing the chatter any further. Logan may be shameless, but that’s just the way he likes it – the sort of man who’d sneak into his place of work for an inappropriate rendezvous, and still have dinner ready by six. Nate wonders, not for the first time, how he ever got so damned lucky.
”You got that right,” he asserts. ”I don’t need any more competition around here – that tree is getting clothes.”
But dinner is distracting, and the conversation threads its way back to topics of charming simplicity and warm ideas, concepts that keep the festering wounds of Blackwater far from their minds. Nathan is an attentive listener; though his time with Logan already feels as though nothing could ever have come before, it is, ultimately, a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to the wide expanse of their previous lives. And while the werewolf has no plans on leaving any time soon – ever – and has all the time in the world to learn every intimate detail about his bridehusband-to-be, it is never fast enough. He hoards the information that Logan plies him with: straightforward gifts, freely given.
He does his part in exchange. Nathan hasn’t had ham since he was a kid but is pretty sure he’ll like it; it’s in the meat family of foods and that tends to sit well with him. White lights only – and none of those icicles on the gutters. No lawn decorations, he agrees; the werewolf is something of a minimalist. Despite an apparent longing for a tree and some sort of modest attempt at celebration, there is little else traditional – or religious – about his desires: no nativity; no angel; no church. Nathan prefers sharing things with Logan alone, and a brief stint in Sunday school as a child left him with a lasting impression that Jesus makes a shitty third wheel.
His favorite Christmas song is Fairytale of New York, and that alone sums up the majority of his opinions on the holiday. Welfare gifts in a broken home had tainted that seasonal charm to the point of bitterness, but he’s got an anxious hope that year will be different – Nate has cash burning a hole in his pocket, and the man he loves to spend it on. Everything else is secondary.
Insistent, the werewolf manages to insert himself into the cleanup, and Nate is placing the last of the dried dishes back in the cupboard by the time he notices Logan’s lazy stare. He pauses in his act to throw the hunter a wry smirk – because this part of the man’s nature is now thoroughly familiar, appreciated. It feels just as good, every time, and the timbre of Logan’s voice is a command the werewolf is unable to resist – he places the plates away before sidling up to the man with a curious, even suspicious expression. An embrace made of arms, of lips, is all the explanation and reward he needs, and Nathan settles in with a relaxed sigh, eyelids fluttering. A shifting motion – an attempt to raise his hands to draw his fiancé in close – is thwarted; deft digits find his own, and slip that band about his ring finger with a nimble swiftness.
Nate freezes.
He had been expecting something – because Logan is entirely too giving, and Nathan is growing to understand that there is nothing he can do to stop the man from overindulging him – but it certainly hadn’t been this. The werewolf pulls back, clutching at Logan’s arm with his free hand and an intensity born of desperation, and just holds him there while he raises his hand into the light. Though the leap had already been made, the commitment assured, it is still the most divine surprise – a thread of shock and awe that entangles itself hopelessly about his heart, driving eyes wide and lips apart.
”Logan,” Nate begins, tearing stunned eyes upwards. ”You—“ but the werewolf cuts off. Nathan does not want didn’t have to to be the mantra of the night; because Nathan wants this, needs this. He won’t undermine that gift with trite phrases. ”You did.” There’s a flicker of disbelief there; a repetition of facts to make a fantasy true. ”…Thank you.” He flushes hot; breaks eye contact to stare again at where the ring encircles his finger, and a slow grin pulls itself across his features. A sly glance is cast back to Logan out of the corner of his eye. ”Even if it’s just so everyone knows I'm claimed, huh?” he teases; because it’s abundantly clear that Nathan does not have a problem with that. With a simple twist he shoves the man away from him; it’s playful, an emotion written into the lines of his face.
”You sneaky ass,” he laughs, and follows the motion through with his own body, gathering Logan up again in his arms. ”I love it - I love you.”
Three words that have simply stopped being able to express just what it is they share – and yet, somehow, never manage to feel tired.
”What can I say, I’m a greedy man.” A statement true only when it comes to Nathan. Logan’s smile falls affectionate and he can’t help but chuckle because the werewolf is blushing and that is all sorts of wonderful. ”I love you too.” The return phrase comes with ease, instinctual but not passive. ”I’m glad you like it.” A quiet thought, one gilded with a gentle smile as Logan looks between the two rings. One day they’ll make it official, this he knows, and this he is willing to wait for.
Trepidation creeps back and Logan briefly worries his bottom lip between his teeth. The ring, no matter what Nathan might say, was a gift born from necessity and obligation. It had to be done, the action had to be mirrored. People might talk, might judge, but Logan does not care because they do not matter. He is done hiding and this pledge of fealty and love is one he wears gladly. But there is another gift in the works, one that he is not quite sure Nathan will find appropriate. Logan chides himself for being so uncertain, then clears his throat to find his voice. ”There’s another thing. An idea that I’d like the run by you.” The last time those words passed through his lips, Logan proposed the addition of a hot tub to the back deck.
”Come on, let me show you something.” Logan gives a jerk of his head, a gesture imploring Nathan to follow. He moves into the master bedroom and makes for the nightstand on his side of the bed. Logan opens the top drawer and reaches inside. He pulls out a leather bound book and takes a seat on the mattress, pats the area beside him with a hand to indicate that Nathan should join him. Springs creak in light protest under their joined weight and Logan takes a breath. A hand rests flat on the cover of the book and he turns an even look onto Nathan. ”Now, before I show you, we gotta make one thing clear – don’t feel like you have to say yes to anything.” A moment. ”Okay?”
Once Nathan gives the go ahead, Logan flips open the cover. He leafs through pages filled with drawings. Through the quick passage of paper, images of werewolf skulls, teeth, anatomy shift by. Those practical hunter things accented with notes eventually pass into familiar territory. Lark when she was a puppy, Lark throughout the months as she has grown and grown. The subject shifts back to werewolves but these sketches are different, limited to a particular silhouette, a particular wolf. A black beast with pointed ears and a proud head, drawn faithfully from memory. The pictures turn less realistic as the pages pass. They become graphic, stylized ideas and concepts all with that black wolf as the focal point.
”Here.” Logan declares when he at last turns to the proper page. On the white canvas is a stylized wolf. Behind it is a decorated scene of flora and fauna that seamlessly weave together. ” I was thinking of getting it tattooed on me.” The hunter admits and spares Nathan a sheepish look. ”I figured it would be less cheesy than getting your name stamped onto my ass.” A burgeoning if unsure grin, and a call to humor to deflect any awkwardness that might be headed his way.
He wonders if it is too much, if it is overreaching because Logan worries about these things. The ring sitting on his finger serves as an anchor, a talisman to ward off nervous concern but Logan waits with a baited breath. He hopes Nathan approves of the idea. It was the only way Logan could think to reciprocate the proposal. Something to carry with him on his skin. Something to label him committed and taken. Til’ death do them part.
Nathan has learned, through ample experience gained over time, that he’s rather fond of Logan’s ideas. The fact that they’re usually on the inappropriate side of things might, admittedly, have a lot to do with it – the hot tub was a nice touch; the addition of Logan-related lunch breaks into his work schedule even better – but Nathan appreciates the man for more than his penchant for illicit trysts. The simple, wholesome suggestions he adds to their relationship contribute just as much; visiting Alaska. Putting up a Christmas tree. And, very likely, whatever this new intrigue proves to be – because despite being lead to the bedroom, there’s something in the hunter’s expressions and manner that leads Nathan to believe this is not an explicit encounter.
He follows the man with an air of suspense and reserved interest; a quiet anticipation.
”Sure,” the werewolf agrees as he settles beside Logan on the bed – and makes yet another note to buy a new mattress before the rusty springs drive him crazy. ”I won’t unless I want to. Show me.” And he nods his head towards the possessively held notebook. Nathan leans in close – just short of looming – and as Logan flips through the pages, his eyes wander over the collection of images he’s now allowed access to; first with a wary amount of concern and then, as the depictions change, with a rising curiosity. It is a black and white a reminder of the change Logan has undergone in the past year – from the meticulous, detailed studies of prey, to an entirely different obsession somehow centered around the same thing. The werewolf thinks he’s glad to be responsible for that.
It doesn’t hurt that Nathan’s wolf takes notice; that he puffs up with pride in recognition of himself. He avoids pointing out the obvious – the excited that’s me that lurks on the edge of his lips, drawn up in an amused smile. It is strange, seeing his other half so plainly rendered; almost like viewing himself for the first time. A wolf, an animal, has little time for gazing vainly at its own reflection, and so it is that though Nathan has a better memory than most for his time spent as a beast, his own appearance is largely a mystery. A vision formed in dribs and drabs from explanations, descriptions, and half-caught glimpses; something innate that lurks within him more than any known absolute.
”I can’t believe you remember this.” He reaches out to ghost his thumb over the edge of the paper – carefully avoiding any of the thick, detailed linework – and tilts the book gently towards him. ”These are incredible.” It’s a simple truth; there is a hint of awe in Nathan’s voice. For a moment, he doesn’t reply to Logan’s inquisitive statement; a request for permission, if anything, that Nathan draws out through silence.
”I dunno,” he begins, lips drawn into a crooked line, ”I kind of like the idea of my name on your ass.” The skeptical expression breaks; morphs into one of enthusiasm. ”Hell, Logan, you think I’d say no to this?” Because there is something all sorts of right about inking his claim into the hunter’s skin – something that satisfies him on a territorial, possessive level. The fact that the man looks good with his tattoos doesn’t hinder his cause any, either.
”Where?” Questing eyes take in the other man’s form in a quick once-over, as if already analyzing where he’d like to see that image – where along Logan’s body it would sit best. But the question is edged with a clipped hardness, a bite Nathan can’t hold back because there is something inside him that comes unhinged at the thought of someone touching Logan; of someone viewing plains of skin that, however chaste the gesture, only Nathan wants to be allowed to see. He shifts his weight with a creaking of springs; looks down at the notebook once more.
He’s pretty sure these sorts of things are choices you’re supposed to mull over, to take time in analyzing, but he’s not known for being a patient man – and never when it comes to Logan.
”…Could you do something else like this? For me?”
And Nathan lifts his eyes to meet the hunter’s, to view him with the hesitant question formed there. Snap decisions have served him well, these last twelve months; he doesn’t have any reason to believe that stroke of luck will fail him now.