#soudan&patrick

"I should've known." Tears have tracked down his face, getting caught up in the wiry threads of Soudan's beard and tickling his upper lip. But that isn't really what he wants to say, chin trembling as he tries to clench his jaw closed to keep any sobs from escaping even as more tears collect in the creases beside his nose. What he wants to say is that he should have done more.

All the warning signs had been there--the spouse reluctant to add any of their own input, the partner's hand permanently attached to their spouse's knee and thigh in a gesture that could have been soothing or protective if the rest of the spouse's body weren't leaned and angled away. Soudan had even seen bruises on the spouse, concealed behind makeup, but what more could he do when he had asked them privately, when the partner had gone to pull the car around after an appointment where it was raining, if they needed help? They had placed a hand on his arm, smiled, and told him that it wasn't anything to worry about, just a fall. He had known, of course. He had known. But there wasn't much he could do without substantiated reason, and he hadn't gotten any before receiving a call that afternoon from the hospital, asking if he'd had any insight or foreknowledge of the partner assaulting the spouse. The spouse would recover. Soudan, however, still mourned.

@khirurg​ sent  ❛  first, i want you to undress me. then i want you to kiss every part of my body.  ❜ from these Soft Dirty Talk starters

How was Soudan to refuse?  Easily, he supposed, once he was clear headed, but in the moment it seemed useless, futile in the pocket of temperate summer that had enveloped the pair. Where the waves of a summer storm had battered the sides of Patrick’s small vessel, which seemed only to be strung together with pitch and promise, there was now quiet sea for a dozen or more yards in all directions where, from then on out, a muted summer storm poured from heavens filled with pink and soft yellow light of the dying day.  In this cocoon of quieted time the rain was but a pattering, the only thing making it tangible to the pair was the scent of warm rain that still met them despite not falling where they floated aimlessly. 

The man had not yet learned to call for him simply, to ask unto the sea to carry his message, nor to ask the sweet summer rains to nourish the god’s seed of longing.  Instead he had left oars on solid ground and shoved out into the tumultuous sea, until he was merely a toy amongst the waves; a child’s ship bouncing along high rises and being thrown into the meeting gale, the mist of sweet rain becoming a blinding sheet, and only to call upon Soudan.  The poor man was drenched to the very bone, and Soudan could see his teeth chattering as he spoke his wishes with alarming firmness for a man near frozen despite the tepid summer air that, without the driving rain, felt tenderly warm.  When the god had insisted that the mortal bear his skin, to dry his skin where wet garments would mean only to freeze him further, the man had made his request.  And Soudan found himself unable to refuse, knelt at the man’s feet in the bottom of the vessel that now showed no evidence of being a part of the murmuring storm outside their warm, clear, bright column of summer bliss. 

@khirurg sent "❰❰ HAND KISS ❱❱ sender kisses receiver on the hand or wrist" from these indulgent memes

"Checking to ensure I still have a pulse?" Soudan teases as he opens his eyes, blinking against the noonday sun--basking in the warmth had seemed like a good idea, but he realizes as he wakes up that it was perhaps a little too comfortable, and he'd fallen asleep. It was, however, pleasant to be woken with a tender kiss to his wrist, and his thumb curls to brush along Patrick's jaw.

@sunbentsky sent "[ KISS ]:     sender pins receiver against the wall and kisses them passionately. (but reversed for that first kiss between Soudan and Patrick please and thank you)" from [x]

First dates were the worst. The formality, the feeling of needing to show up as some vision of the responsible, but not too terse, respectable person that could be brought home to parents should the relationship persist and would be deserving of a key to a hypothetical apartment... it was all just so much for so little real reward.

Soudan had been set up by one of his sailing buddies with their cousin--a nice enough sounding woman with a small business and her eye on retirement by forty. They'd spoken on the phone a few times, made coffee plans that always fell through for one reason or another, and finally decided on a dinner date after both their workdays were well over and they wouldn't be interrupted. As long as Soudan got the medication from his doctor, that was, after his most recent injury had become infected. Otherwise he might have to bail early, the way the nice suit he was wearing felt too hot thanks to said infection.

He was grateful to catch the Doctor on his way out. Doctor Sumner, or Doc Pat as Soudan called him with all endearment, had pulled more foreign bodies out of Soudan in the past year than the burly seaman had ever had lodged in him in all his time on the water. What could he say? He was a sucker for sad, intelligent eyes and the sighing tone of reproach he was always given. He liked the good doctor. Maybe more than he should. But he tried to push that from his mind as he rushed from the RIDE he'd called to get him to the date with a doctor pitstop, hailing Doctor Sumner down as the other man was exiting the office.

For a tweet my muse would make about yours

@sunbentsky sent "🐰 a goofy text" from these text prompts