nate: wouldn’t be the first time
me: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN
holly: we rehearse every beat
me: DO YOU
#ttf12 #sendhelp #rumbamagic
@Strictly Scandal on Threads:
We all thought Nate Eriksson was Season 12’s wild card but afterthatrumba? He might just be the secret weapon Holly Martinez needs to finallywin the damn thing.
The real question is:
Is the chemistry real or just for the cameras?
Because that offstage heat looks alotlike the real thing…
9
THINGS HE DID: THAT
Nate
“It’s fine. I just have a problem. And several follow-up problems.”
She stuck in his head.
Her laughter, light and breathless, clung to the hollow of his chest like perfume. That little stumble they’d turned into choreography, that flash of real delight in her eyes when he caught her just right. The way her fingers had curled into the collar of his shirt. She’d gasped when he spun her too close, andthathadn’t been part of the routine. Neither was the way their thighs had locked together, bodies pressed flush, like they’d been designed for it.
Like they’d done it before.
He’d made it through dinner. Talked. Smiled. Faked normal like it didn’t cost himeverything. Cameras, castmates, clinking glasses… he'd played his role. But now? Alone?
This.
He was already hard by the time he kicked the apartment door closed behind him. No fantasy. No buildup. Just theviolentsnapof restraint giving way the moment he didn’t have to keep it in anymore. He stripped on the way to the bathroom like a man tearing free from chains. Jacket? Floor. Shirt? Gone. Belt yanked loose with a savage tug, jeans shoved down like they’d offended him.
His boxers clung low on his hips, one very telling spot damp with need and the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. For a moment he hesitated, thumbs sliding beneath where the elastic waistband bit into his hips. The cotton had gone tight, stretched over the weight of him. Already thick, already pulsing with theneedthat left no room for patience.
He dragged the fabric down slowly, breath shallow, jaw locked. When it caught over the swollen head of his cock, he hissed through his teeth, not from pain but fromcontact
The friction was maddening. Excruciating. Just enough to make his thighs tense and his bodyjerk, instinct tightening low in his gut. He freed himself with a rough exhale, the fabric slipping past, baring him completely. And still, it wasn’t enough, not when he ached like this.
Not when she was the fuckingreason.
The water hit his shoulders like absolution. Scalding enough to sear the memory of her out of his mind.Or so he hoped.Nate leaned a palm flat against the wall, jaw clenched, breath thick in his throat. His other hand was on his cock before he could think, graceless and desperate, hips jerking forward with a hissed, "Fuck?—"
There was no rhythm to it. No finesse. Justneed. Brutal, suffocating need that had been coiling low in his spine fordays. It owned him now.
Her name was already on his tongue. Holly. It slipped out like a prayer. Like surrender. He saw her in his headFuck, he saw her.Cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parted just the way they had been when she’d looked up at him after that last spin. That stunned little exhale, like he’dpulledsomething from her without her realizing it.
His hips snapped forward, hand tightening, desperate to feel her. Not even her body, just herpresence, herenergy, the way sheexistedin his world now like a sun he couldn’t look away from. She’d touched his arm after the show. Just a thank you, nothing in it. But he’d felt it like she'd slid her handinsidehim and left fingerprints on his fucking soul.
“God,Holly…”
His head dropped forward and his gaze dropped, breath catching as he watched his own hand stroke the ache that’d haunted him all week. He was flushed, thick, already slick at the tip, twitching in his own grip like his body knew she wasn’t there and hated him for it.
