Post by ♥ Nathan ♥ on Jun 12, 2012 0:05:31 GMT -5
Logan. said:
A hammer strikes one last nail home and Logan calls an end to the cacophony of noise emanating from Nathan’s backyard. The wooden frame stands firm and ready to be filled out and finished – a task he will leave off for a different day. Sweat beads on his forehead, on his neck, rolls down the line of his spine. Tennessee heat is starting to pick up and Logan misses those cool Alaskan summers.
He misses other things, too. Mostly he misses Nathan because they’ve been pulling this odd, awkward dance where their schedules don’t quite line up. Work, house renovations. Logan is never in want for time but energy, and lately the pair has been playing a game of opposites. Last night, when Logan was wide-awake, Nathan turned in early. Logan feels like he’s trapped in a Benny Hill skit – with him chasing Nathan’s tail, accompanied by the infamous tune.
It’s starting to get to him.
His grandfather always told him how important it was to be a man of action, to go after what he wanted. Logan knows that the old patriarch likely did not mean for his advice to be used in such a scenario, but it’s a fun excuse – not that he needs one.
Logan cleans up his tools and heads inside for a shower. Fifteen minutes later, he’s dressed and in his truck. The hunter has never been to Nathan’s workplace but knows where it is on account of doing his homework, way back when he first realized what Nathan was. He’s not a stalker, he’s told himself, just a thorough and cautious man.
After a little investigation, the hunter finds his way to Nathan’s office, pokes his head in and smiles like a satisfied fox when he sees that the werewolf is manning his desk. He takes to leaning against the door frame and lazily raps his knuckles against the wood. ”Mister Hart,” he greets in a nonchalant voice but the coy smirk pulling at the line of his mouth is telling.
There’s a moment where Logan regards Nathan with a pair of curiously playful gray eyes. He inclines his head, takes a lazy posture. ”Fancy meeting you here.” It is relatively early in the work day and Logan realizes there is the distinct chance Nathan will be meeting with clients soon. But maybe there’s a window of time he can steal for himself, and maybe he’s looking forward to pushing that time limit.
Maybe or most definitely.
Nate said:
The office building is modern, impersonal, just one entrance of several in a white building on a lonely strip off the center of the town. It is largely a professional and administrative front, a home base for day-to-day operations and face-to-face meetings; something that started out as an excuse for Nathan to separate his work and home life that grew into a managerial requirement, a necessity. Blackwater itself is not in need of Nathan’s services, but he’d made the rural location work – at least as a hub – and the business has grown. The few offices inside are now filled with employees, more than he’d ever expected to be working with on a daily basis, and his secretary has long ceased being the token nod to professionalism and expectation she was originally hired as.
The company is at that tipping point where it is almost more than he can handle as a lone director, a thing grown beyond the confines of a one-man show. An executive nine to five has never been Nate’s goal in life, however successful it has made him, and it’s not the first time he’s contemplated quitting while he’s ahead – though more recent familial additions make the thought more solid, more tempting. He’s never seen himself as a desk job sort of man as it is.
He is good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it; Nathan suspects he misses something like excitement. Action.
And so it is that when Logan interrupts him, it’s not from a conference call or rifling through reams of notes, of important documents – it’s from playing solitaire.
Nathan is briefly surprised; minimizes the window and sits up with a start, though his subconscious brain has already processed that gravelly voice from unpleasant shock to welcomingly familiar long before the rest of him catches up. A sheepish grin turns into one of sly acknowledgement, and he rises from his chair to usher the man in – smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit as he stands.
In the simplest of actions, the length of the workday is washed away in revelation and boyish smiles and an onslaught of good humor.
”A real shock,” Nate replies smoothly, placing a guiding hand on Logan’s back to escort him in, and he shuts the door behind them with a purposeful click. The last thing he needs is to give his secretary more fuel for her gossiping fire. ”What brings you in? Business, or pleasure?” He straightens his tie, leans up against the desk and onto his palms with an air of casual nonchalance, an informal relaxation expressed in easy smiles and raised brows.
The clock is ticking down the minutes until his next meeting – a simple video conference he can handle relatively quickly – but his brain is already trawling for excuses to stall.
Logan. said:
Nathan looks good in a suit. Logan has known this for a while but it will never stop him from looking, from drinking the sight in. The smirk worn brazen on his features borders on unseemly, teeters, then falls straight into indecent territory. He is ushered inside and the door closes, effectively shutting the rest of the building out. Logan wonders briefly how soundproof, if at all, Nathan’s office is.
”Business,” he declares in a factual manner and moves towards the windows. The hunter peeks out into Blackwater and sends an impish look over his shoulder. He reaches out and coaxes the blinds shut, takes his time in repeating the action for all windows present. ”I’ve heard you offer…particularly skilled services.” In the quasi-dark of the office, Logan turns and regards Nathan with a playful look.
His hand gestures out in the facsimile of an apology. ”I know I didn’t make an appointment,” he says as he closes the distance between them. The hunter’s gaze lingers on Nathan’s mouth before moving up to meet his eyes. This is a game Logan likes already. A ghost of a coy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he reaches out, rubs the smooth fabric of Nathan’s tie between his thumb and finger. ”You think you could make an exception?” He pulls the werewolf closer by use of the tie, presses his lips firm against Nathan’s mouth.
The contact lasts briefly, remains relatively chaste. The hunter breaks away, lifts a hand to run a thumb over Nathan’s bottom lip. He has the most devious need to lean in and bite it but refrains. ”I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises in a low, bourbon-smooth voice. His hand drops, presses a palm flat against the werewolf’s suit-clad abdomen. Logan swallows when he steals a surreptitious glance towards the clock. He can’t know if Nathan is expecting an interruption but Logan likes to think that time is ticking.
Gray meets blue in an even, mischievous stare. ”What do you say, Mister Hart,” he mutters with a coy smile, ”Are you game?” There’s a friendly challenge here, one that Logan hopes Nathan is willing to engage in. He lets the idea stew, listens and thinks he can hear the employees going about their business just on the other side of the door.
Logan’s smile grows into a grin. He is shameless.
Nate said:
Nathan remains where he is, perched up against the front of his desk; as Logan dims the light, he somehow suspects that “business” isn’t exactly “business,” and his smirk turns lascivious. Call him crazy, but all those hungry stares and lewd, overt glances don’t exactly scream just stopped by to bring you lunch. Logan’s words only confirm his suspicions.
And Nathan is absolutely okay with that.
Logan looms close, draws him in and coerces him into compliance with the simplest kiss; but chaste though it may be, it is certainly far from innocent. It never is, not between them, and that knowledge makes the implied promise all the sweeter. Nathan settles his hands firmly, but safely, decently, upon Logan’s hips, and hitches his thumbs through his belt loops; his hold is just enough to keep the man there, secure and steady. Within those tense fingers is an implication of force to come should the hunter dare pull away – a desirous strength displayed in his grasp.
”No appointment, huh…?” The werewolf keeps his voice measured, low, an act that belies the pangs of longing sent straight to his gut by each and every roguish glance and vulgar smile. ”It’ll cost extra,” and Nate’s hands pull Logan in tight against him. He presses his face to the man’s neck, teeth worrying gently – fleetingly – against exposed skin, before backing away; his palms slide up Logan’s sides, his chest, and and entwine within the fabric of the hunter's collar. His clutching hold is fixed, aggressive.
There are a million dangers, neon warning signs that flash briefly through Nathan’s mind – damage to his business, his reputation. More stories for bigoted town gossip. The fact that he doesn’t have a spare change of clothes if—but no. The man shrugs them off, ignores them entirely, because there are things more important in this world than cultivated appearances and the superficial concern of a walk of shame from his own office. Things like never being able to look at his desk the same way again. Like knowing Logan would drive halfway across town for an amorous encounter. Like acknowledging himself as a weak, shameless man, and being utterly and completely all right with that fact.
”I have a meeting in fifteen minutes,” Nathan murmurs, leaning in to ghost his lips a fraction from Logan’s ear, his fingers tight on his shirt. ”But if you’re good,” and he marks this word with a gentle, faint brush of his mouth against skin, ”you can stay. If I can trust you to be quiet.” Really, it’s not Logan he needs to worry about, and he knows it, but he enjoys playing this game.
This is his office – his business – and Nathaniel Hart is in control.
Logan. said:
A half-hearted part of his mind acknowledges the potential hazards of a work-time encounter, but Logan cannot give the game up. Once the man wants something, he commits himself to obtaining it and Nathan seems more than willing to oblige. He has not been shot down. A slow, budding tendril of satisfaction pulls down from his ribcage where it settles and coils inside of his gut. Logan is smiling and it is not one of his boy-next-door smiles because Nathan is game.
Teeth against his neck elicit an intrinsic response that provides a compelling anticipatory tug. ”Greedy,” he accuses but his eyes read fascinated, like Nathan is a new puzzle that needs unraveling. Logan has never been bored but this is new territory, one where he can’t know what to expect – one where Nathan’s disposition suggests dominance. The hunter, by nature and title, is accustomed to being the aggressor, hence his unannounced presence within the werewolf’s office.
This is an unexpected change of roles. Hot words against his ear, the smooth touch of lips against flushed skin are coaxing enough to assuage any machismo-born doubt. ”Fifteen minutes,” he repeats and thinks it is hardly enough time, and that is just fine. His burgeoning grin is roguish and bold, and Logan is not dissuaded but encouraged. He likes a challenge. ”Then we had better get started.” Time, as they say, is precious.
Logan slides a hand to rest at the werewolf’s hip where a set of contemplative fingers tap against the leather of the man’s belt. There is a quick and devilish smile –a salacious omen-- before Logan tugs at Nathan’s tie, tilts his head, and leans in. The kiss is nothing like the former; it is engaging, heated, nearly reckless. Teeth tease at Nathan’s bottom lip but the pressure is fleeting; they cannot risk the man looking indecent for his upcoming meeting. Logan pulls back with an amused huff. ”I’ll behave,” he mutters in promise. Logan is clearly not behaving by societal standards but he can play by Nathan’s rules. He will be quiet. He will let the younger man take the reins and willingly follow his lead because this new development needs to be exhaustively explored, as it is captivating and has Logan feeling on edge in all the right ways.
A tongue darts out to wet across his lips and Logan swallows roughly. His dilated stare wanders over Nathan’s features and he offers an appealing smirk. ”So, Mister Hart, how can I accommodate you?” Logan can think of a hundred different things he wants to do but there are rules here, confines that make the encounter all the more tantalizing. How far can they push the game without giving the game away and cluing in the rest of Blackwater – not to mention Nathan’s clients.
This is not his office, not his business. Nathaniel Hart leads and Logan Duvall follows.
Nate said:
The conversation, on the werewolf’s end, is punctuated with mischievous smiles and wicked eyes; greedy doesn’t begin to cover it, but it is appropriate nonetheless. When it comes to Logan he is not, can never be, a man of moderation – he craves everything and more, whatever the hunter will give. This sudden adventurous side to their relationship is only a new aspect to embrace (and one foretold over a year previous, in a diner in Arizona), and Nathan responds with novelty in kind: confidence, dominance, authority. The things that are required of him here, in this building alone, that he normally allows to wane in Logan’s comfortable presence. Life outside their little house is a different world entirely.
Still, there is a stab of thrilling eagerness that accompanies each tug Logan gives to his tie, a notion he has to combat to enjoy the provocative charade of their game – though it gives his thoughts no end of inspiration.
Nathan returns the kiss with thoughtless abandon; he slides his hands from Logan’s shirt, entwining fingers within the man’s hair, the other hooked over the front of the hunter’s jeans. He is reluctant to break contact but his better judgment allows it – knows that their minutes are ticking down and wasting away, and to fall into that trap would be dangerous, however tempting. Logan, though… Logan suffers from no such limitations, no rules or obligations to stay clean, presentable – save for, perhaps, the eventual escape to his truck – and the werewolf’s expression turns devious at the thought.
”A business transaction.” The soft touch on Logan’s hair tightens – with just enough force applied to crane the man’s head back and bare that expanse of throat; Nathan presses his mouth in, always a hair’s breadth away from true contact. He is nearly overwhelmed with the desire to make good on their closeness, to fall upon the man with lips, teeth, tongue; but the situation calls for an entirely different set of talents. Ones of patience, of practiced and tortured restraint. ”You do me a quick favor – make it worth my while, you said? And then we can see about those skilled services you require.”
Let it never be said that Nathan is not a fair and giving man.
