Nathaniel’s breath caught the second Ambrose’s teeth met skin, a low sound slipping out of him, practically involuntary. His hand, already beneath Ambrose’s shirt, tensed where it had settled, fingers digging just slightly into the other man's side, no doubt leaving crescent imprints that would soon fade. The other hand slid to Ambrose’s hip, gripping there like a vice to hold him steady for his own sake more than the others.
“That’s a dirty move,” he muttered, voice rasping with just a touch of grit even as his mouth curled into a slow, amused grin. “You remembered that spot, huh?” The place Ambrose had claimed wasn’t just any skin, it was a weak spot, one that had drawn more than its fair share of trouble before. And judging by the low thrum now radiating out from the fresh bite, Nathaniel had no doubt it was going to linger.
“I don't even need to see it to know you left something behind,” he added with a breathy scoff, his thumb smoothing in slow circles across Ambrose’s skin. “Pretty fucking bold of you to go for the one place you know make my knees give out and then sign it like it’s your damn masterpiece. Though maybe that was your aim. Were you hoping I'd drop to my knees for you?” Nathaniel had no shame in vocalising as his eyes drank Ambrose in hungrily, tongue darting to wet his parched lips. "No... knowing you it's a statement piece. You want people to know who I belonged to for the night. Smug bastard." It was clear that Nathaniel didn't mind however, if anything he seemed impressed by the move. Nathaniel let his lips drag lazily along Ambrose’s jaw. He was aching to kiss him, to use his mouth on the other man in the most sinful of ways but he also relished the teasing as much as Ambrose did. He smirked against the skin as the man attempted to push his buttons. “Came looking for you is a stretch. Spotted you and decided that you were worth my time is more appropriate. But don’t let that go to your head... actually... do. Provided it goes to the one i'll get more use out of right now." There was the briefest of glances down between their bodies.
His hand, still under Ambrose’s shirt, dragged with purpose now, fingertips grazing along the curve of his spine, then dipping lower to the small of his back. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Ambrose’s ear, his voice smooth and dangerously quiet.“ The thing about puppeteers,” he began, shifting his hips forward just enough to press their bodies together, slow and deliberate. “Is that they can be very good with their hands…” His thumb slid just beneath the waistband at Ambrose’s hip, curving around and grazing skin that lay just beneath the layer of clothing. “They can make a puppet do anything with the right application of pressure and movement...”
"A dirty move? And here I thought I was being efficient," he smirked to himself smugly. Ambrose's eyes traced the blooming bruise on Nathaniel's neck, a proud, almost possessive glint in them. "Consider it muscle memory," he replied with a casual nonchalance, currently more interested in what Nathaniel might do next than the logistics of remembering the sensitive spot. He was almost daring Nathaniel to recall all the little things that got Ambrose just the same. "And it reacted so charmingly," he mentioned with a heated delight, his skin still stinging lightly from where Nathaniel had dug his nails in. Ambrose lowered his voice, and in a conspiratorial tone murmured, "A masterpiece? Perhaps. I do like my work to leave a lasting impression." He let out a humored scoff. "Smug bastard, you say? Well I've got you looking at me like that so it's clearly doing the job," he replied, wetting his own lips as they almost mirrored one another.
Ambrose fought hard to keep his lips from chasing after Nathaniel's, leaning into the feeling of them brushing against his jaw in a painfully tempting manner with clear desire. "And no, I wasn't hoping you'd drop to your knees here– not yet, anyway. Though that's certainly an image to keep in mind." He met Nathaniel's gaze, his own darkened and hungry for the other. He wanted him so bad.
He could feel the deliberate drag of Nathaniel's fingertips dipping lower, just beneath his waistband, and a low shiver traced its way through him despite the heat of the club and the bodies around them. Ambrose shifted his own hips, a subtle grind that mirrored Nathaniel's movement, creating a delicious friction as he indulged himself. His mouth fell agape from the pleasurable shudder and he let himself give into the looming temptation, muffling his moan into Nathaniel's mouth as he finally closed the small gap between their lips. Now that the bridge had been crossed he couldn't help himself, his thoughts clouded by lust. He grabbed Nathaniel's neck forcefully, deepening the kiss as his lips crashed against the other's hungrily. There was no finesse, only raw, unadulterated need. His fingers, still tangled in Nathaniel's hair– tugging, pulling him even closer, demanding deeper.
Breathlessly he came up for air, still feeling victorious even if he'd finally let himself give into one of the many things that they'd been toeing the line of. "Oh, I have no doubt that you've got talented hands, Nate," Ambrose murmured, his voice coming out as a low and gruff rumble. He leaned in, closer still, until his lips were once again barely an inch from Nathaniel's, the scent of alcohol and Nathaniel's own unique musk filling his senses. "The question isn't what you can make me do," he breathed, letting his gaze drop meaningfully to Nathaniel's mouth once more, then back up. "It's what you can make me feel."
