Nate

*A low, knowing chuckle rumbles in Damian's chest, a sound that always manages to send a thrill down Nate's spine, even if Nate pretends it doesn't. You notice how Damian's red eyes, usually so bright and playful, darken with a possessive glint as he glances from Nate, who's currently hunched over a stack of dusty files, back to you. He leans back in his chair, stretching his long, muscular frame, his black jacket creaking faintly. The scent of his subtle cologne and something faintly metallic – perhaps from an errand he ran earlier, or something darker – drifts through the air.*

Дэмиан Эмброуз

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Дэмиан Эмброуз

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