(no subject)
Title: Aftermath
Characters: Nate/Eliot
Rating: R
Word Count: 1166
Summary: Timestamp to Control. Nate takes care of Eliot in the aftermath of his confession and grapples with the fact that his feelings may be deeper than just heat of the moment.
Author's Notes: I kept very carefully out of Nate's head while writing "Control" - I thought it would undercut the piece to keep switching points of view. The problem was that this kind of scenario ends up cutting both ways, and I appear to be pathologically incapable of walking away from a setup where I can further emotionally torment Nathan Ford.
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God, I need a drink. It was a momentary flash of weakness that Nate quickly shoved to the back of his mind. He focused instead on wrapping a fleece blanket around Eliot’s shoulders - the man’s skin was colder than it should have been, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop shaking.
Sweatpants…shirt… Light sparked off the decanter of whiskey on his dresser - distracting Nate from the seemingly endless “to do” list in his head.
Not for you… he thought, realization dawning. Gripping Eliot’s shoulder reassuringly, Nate went to the dresser and poured two fingers of amber liquid in one of the available glasses. “I want you to drink this,” he said, taking the alcohol back to where Eliot was sitting.
Nate went to one knee on the carpet, showing Eliot the glass. “We need to get you warm,” he said when Eliot looked up at him. He raised the glass to the younger man’s lips. “Not a request.”
A tension he hadn’t even realized was there seemed to ease; Eliot’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he took the glass in both hands without a word of protest. He raised it to his lips and drained the contents in a single swallow; wincing as the burn hit his throat.
“Good,” Nate said, taking the glass back and trying to ignore the fact that Eliot’s hands were still shaking.
You destroyed him. The idea brought him up short two steps from the dresser. In many ways it was more horrible seeing Eliot reduced to this beaten submissive creature than it had been listening to his confession about the work he’d done for Moreau.
Be honest. What’s horrible is that you did this to him…and it was easy. Nate closed his eyes, setting the glass back in its place on the dresser very carefully. Sweatpants…shirt… He forced himself to open the proper drawers, knowing that if he hesitated too long Eliot was likely to twig to the fact that Nate’s control wasn’t as absolute as they needed it to be.
It shouldn’t have been that easy. Eliot Spencer was one of the strongest people Nate knew, and the fact that he had been able to do what he’d done at all was terrifying.
Enough, he told himself before the guilt could overwhelm him. When he turned back towards Eliot, his expression was completely neutral again. He still needs you to be in control.
He wouldn’t fail Eliot. More importantly - he wouldn’t fail the trust Eliot placed in him. He’d abused it, ignored it, taken it for granted in the past.
Never again.
“Nate.” Eliot was watching him more closely the before. He was engaged…focused on Nate…no longer as frighteningly passive. “Are we okay?”
“You know that’s a very loaded question,” he said pointedly. Nate went to his knees again, busying himself helping Eliot into the sweatpants he’d found. “If you want an answer, you’re going to have to elaborate.”
Eliot laid a hand on his shoulder. Nate paused in his work, looking up to meet the younger man’s gaze. “What I said.” Eliot looked troubled; Nate knew he’d been naïve to think they could hold off talking until morning. “What I did. Are we okay?”
Nate studied him for a long moment, sifting out exactly what he wanted to say, and blending it with what Eliot needed to hear. “Keep that blanket around you,” he said, pushing to his feet and taking a seat on the end of his bed. “You’re still shaking.”
Eliot did as he was told.
“We’re okay,” Nate said - not willing to let Eliot suffer whatever mental tortures he was trying to inflict on himself. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you leave before you’ve slept and had a chance to recover, but as far as anything said or done…” He paused, thinking of the kiss they’d shared a few minutes earlier. “We’re fine.”
He could see the denial forming in Eliot’s expression and shook his head. “No.” I had to hold him down. He kept looking at me and all I could think was that I was able to save the girl, but they weren't going to let me save him... Nate scrubbed a hand across his face to hide his horror at the memory flash. It was almost too much for him to process, but he would deal with that in his own time.
Now the man in front of him needed him. You started this - you need to see it through. “I don't need you to believe me right now,” he said, meeting Eliot's gaze without flinching. “We've been through a lot tonight - everything's raw. I just need you to trust me a little farther.”
Eliot's smile was weak, but honest. “Doesn't make much sense to stop trusting you now.”
Nate nodded. “Okay. We both need to put this aside for a few hours. I want you to try and get some sleep.” Eliot looked at Nate again - a flash of panic in his blue eyes. “I'm not leaving,” Nate hastened to add. “I will be right here. I promise.”
Eliot considered that for a moment, and then nodded. “All right.” He gripped the arms of his chair and started to get to his feet. Nate hurried to his side - half expecting Eliot to try and wave him away. Instead, the hitter leaned heavily on him, letting Nate support him and help him to the bed.
“You need to tell me if I hurt you,” Nate said, once Eliot was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don't want you trying to hide anything right now.”
Smiling again, Eliot closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just tired,” he said, looking up at Nate again. “Felt good to get it out, but I'm so tired.”
Nate nodded. “Get some rest.” He urged Eliot to lie down and made sure the younger man was well covered against any possible chills. When his breathing was settled and his eyes were shut, Nate straightened up - blowing out a quiet breath of his own.
Physical contact was critical at this stage, from everything he'd read. He needed to make sure that Eliot knew he wasn't alone - make sure he didn't have the opportunity to think about everything that had happened. Nate went back to his dresser, pulled out sleep pants and a t-shirt, and stripped out of what he'd been wearing.
Unbidden, thoughts of Eliot kissing him drifted back into his thoughts. It had been an intense, emotional moment on both sides - there was no question about that. Probably best for both of us if we just chalk it up to that, he thought, pulling on his sleeping clothes.
The problem was, at that moment he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less.
Characters: Nate/Eliot
Rating: R
Word Count: 1166
Summary: Timestamp to Control. Nate takes care of Eliot in the aftermath of his confession and grapples with the fact that his feelings may be deeper than just heat of the moment.
Author's Notes: I kept very carefully out of Nate's head while writing "Control" - I thought it would undercut the piece to keep switching points of view. The problem was that this kind of scenario ends up cutting both ways, and I appear to be pathologically incapable of walking away from a setup where I can further emotionally torment Nathan Ford.
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God, I need a drink. It was a momentary flash of weakness that Nate quickly shoved to the back of his mind. He focused instead on wrapping a fleece blanket around Eliot’s shoulders - the man’s skin was colder than it should have been, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop shaking.
Sweatpants…shirt… Light sparked off the decanter of whiskey on his dresser - distracting Nate from the seemingly endless “to do” list in his head.
Not for you… he thought, realization dawning. Gripping Eliot’s shoulder reassuringly, Nate went to the dresser and poured two fingers of amber liquid in one of the available glasses. “I want you to drink this,” he said, taking the alcohol back to where Eliot was sitting.
Nate went to one knee on the carpet, showing Eliot the glass. “We need to get you warm,” he said when Eliot looked up at him. He raised the glass to the younger man’s lips. “Not a request.”
A tension he hadn’t even realized was there seemed to ease; Eliot’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he took the glass in both hands without a word of protest. He raised it to his lips and drained the contents in a single swallow; wincing as the burn hit his throat.
“Good,” Nate said, taking the glass back and trying to ignore the fact that Eliot’s hands were still shaking.
You destroyed him. The idea brought him up short two steps from the dresser. In many ways it was more horrible seeing Eliot reduced to this beaten submissive creature than it had been listening to his confession about the work he’d done for Moreau.
Be honest. What’s horrible is that you did this to him…and it was easy. Nate closed his eyes, setting the glass back in its place on the dresser very carefully. Sweatpants…shirt… He forced himself to open the proper drawers, knowing that if he hesitated too long Eliot was likely to twig to the fact that Nate’s control wasn’t as absolute as they needed it to be.
It shouldn’t have been that easy. Eliot Spencer was one of the strongest people Nate knew, and the fact that he had been able to do what he’d done at all was terrifying.
Enough, he told himself before the guilt could overwhelm him. When he turned back towards Eliot, his expression was completely neutral again. He still needs you to be in control.
He wouldn’t fail Eliot. More importantly - he wouldn’t fail the trust Eliot placed in him. He’d abused it, ignored it, taken it for granted in the past.
Never again.
“Nate.” Eliot was watching him more closely the before. He was engaged…focused on Nate…no longer as frighteningly passive. “Are we okay?”
“You know that’s a very loaded question,” he said pointedly. Nate went to his knees again, busying himself helping Eliot into the sweatpants he’d found. “If you want an answer, you’re going to have to elaborate.”
Eliot laid a hand on his shoulder. Nate paused in his work, looking up to meet the younger man’s gaze. “What I said.” Eliot looked troubled; Nate knew he’d been naïve to think they could hold off talking until morning. “What I did. Are we okay?”
Nate studied him for a long moment, sifting out exactly what he wanted to say, and blending it with what Eliot needed to hear. “Keep that blanket around you,” he said, pushing to his feet and taking a seat on the end of his bed. “You’re still shaking.”
Eliot did as he was told.
“We’re okay,” Nate said - not willing to let Eliot suffer whatever mental tortures he was trying to inflict on himself. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you leave before you’ve slept and had a chance to recover, but as far as anything said or done…” He paused, thinking of the kiss they’d shared a few minutes earlier. “We’re fine.”
He could see the denial forming in Eliot’s expression and shook his head. “No.” I had to hold him down. He kept looking at me and all I could think was that I was able to save the girl, but they weren't going to let me save him... Nate scrubbed a hand across his face to hide his horror at the memory flash. It was almost too much for him to process, but he would deal with that in his own time.
Now the man in front of him needed him. You started this - you need to see it through. “I don't need you to believe me right now,” he said, meeting Eliot's gaze without flinching. “We've been through a lot tonight - everything's raw. I just need you to trust me a little farther.”
Eliot's smile was weak, but honest. “Doesn't make much sense to stop trusting you now.”
Nate nodded. “Okay. We both need to put this aside for a few hours. I want you to try and get some sleep.” Eliot looked at Nate again - a flash of panic in his blue eyes. “I'm not leaving,” Nate hastened to add. “I will be right here. I promise.”
Eliot considered that for a moment, and then nodded. “All right.” He gripped the arms of his chair and started to get to his feet. Nate hurried to his side - half expecting Eliot to try and wave him away. Instead, the hitter leaned heavily on him, letting Nate support him and help him to the bed.
“You need to tell me if I hurt you,” Nate said, once Eliot was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don't want you trying to hide anything right now.”
Smiling again, Eliot closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just tired,” he said, looking up at Nate again. “Felt good to get it out, but I'm so tired.”
Nate nodded. “Get some rest.” He urged Eliot to lie down and made sure the younger man was well covered against any possible chills. When his breathing was settled and his eyes were shut, Nate straightened up - blowing out a quiet breath of his own.
Physical contact was critical at this stage, from everything he'd read. He needed to make sure that Eliot knew he wasn't alone - make sure he didn't have the opportunity to think about everything that had happened. Nate went back to his dresser, pulled out sleep pants and a t-shirt, and stripped out of what he'd been wearing.
Unbidden, thoughts of Eliot kissing him drifted back into his thoughts. It had been an intense, emotional moment on both sides - there was no question about that. Probably best for both of us if we just chalk it up to that, he thought, pulling on his sleeping clothes.
The problem was, at that moment he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less.