it's surprisingly disorienting after nathan had fallen asleep with his head on gabriel's chest just a handful of hours ago, the steady beat a lullaby nathan had never had before. but would like to have again. soon, if possible, as he's not sure he's ever slept so soundly in his entire life.
he rubs at one bleary eye and peers into the dimness under furrowed brows, attention drawn to the spill of light from the adjoining bathroom. nathan makes an inquiring sound in the back of his throat as he turns fully over and, after a moment's shuffling, gabriel appears, bringing with him another bloom of light because he is apparently an angelic, blinding being.
or he has flicked on a lamp, which means nathan byrn is thinking about celestial beauty at something like six a.m. and oh shit. shit, he really is in love.
there are shy g'morning's exchanged, though perhaps it's really only nathan that feel this flutter of giddy jitters in his stomach in the face of simple conversation. gabriel is infinitely calm and gentle and yet he really is glowing, if nathan, who has spent much of the night rolling about in a bed with him, is to be any judge. despite the tangle of his hair and the persistent rumple of his bedclothes, he is at the kind of ease nathan can feel across the space that separates them.
then comes further evidence of his comfort. gabriel plucks at his messy strands and muses, with an air of playfulness: what is the english... there's an english word for this. he smiles brighter. sex hair?
nathan's not sure if he should laugh or sputter or become one with the sheets. he does immediately feel flushed for no good reason—it’s not as if gabriel’s choice english term is at all inaccurate but maybe, ridiculously, hearing him say the word out loud is simply a lot to process at the moment—and so when he does speak, his voice tilts into some semblance of indignant. just enough to cover himself. appearances or something. ]
Here. [ he says with a scoff that wants to be a laugh, sitting up, pushing the blankets away from bare chest and waist. months ago, it would have been strange to be this exposed—scars and tattoos and all—around anyone, but now he isn’t thinking about that. because it doesn’t feel wrong. he waves a lazy, impatient hand at gabriel, inviting him to the space left between his legs once he’s rearranged the blankets and bent his knees. ] I can fix it.
[ he sounds confident. or at least determined. he has never actually tended to hair like gabriel’s, long and soft and undeniably prone to tangles, can barely speak to the care of his own hair though he figures he has a couple good excuses for that, but he has countless memories of arran brushing deborah’s mane as she’d sat and read. arran would use deft and careful fingers to comb through the small knots, looping strands over and over one another into intricate braids. he could do it in minutes with all his practice, and if nathan has his way, he and gabriel will steal away an hour at least before the day demands more from them.
he wants to stay here as long as he can. here, in this. ]
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for gabriel | hair braiding