extent | duplicitynet

I think you like most things I do.

( that's a level of confidence that has been pretty absent for nick, lately. it's easier like this though, probably. something about control, even if nick isn't consciously thinking that point all the way through. he's not holding his breath quite as much, waiting for things to sour. when he ducks his head, he nips lightly at tate's throat. not hard enough to even leave a mark, just feeling things out for now. )

I think I do.

[Tate laughs, just - a barely there rumble in his throat beneath the press of Nick's lips, his head lolled back to draw the skin taut. He lets Nick continue to set his own pace, still keeping up with the rolls of his hips and adding a bit of push to it by using the heel of his shoe dug down into the mattress for leverage, grinding upward. It's harder to do from the bottom, but it's something - arms surrendered as they are, Tate tries to take this easy.]

I like this.

[He says, eyes up - staring off and away and not on Nick before he flutters his pale lashes and closes his eyes; he can hear the thrum of the club's music leak in around them and move through him in turn. The mattress is disgusting but in the state of mind he's in, also not half bad. Oh, and, his dick's now rock hard under Nick and nothing bad's bound to come from that - so he's happy.]

Yeah?

( nick hums the word against tate's throat, pressing a smile in there alongside the slightly harder bite. it's still not particularly hard, but nick soothes over the spot with his tongue anyway. at least until that makes him feel some kind of way, and nick slightly abruptly sits up.

it's too soon. this is a goddamn minefield and it hasn't even been a day, but he's nothing if not determined. nick lets up the grip on tate's wrists, only so that he can shift back a bit on tate's hips and start pulling at buttons and flies. at least one layer needs to go, fast. )

Can you get off like this?

( said with a roll of his hips, grinding down onto tate's hard cock until it's enough to get a low, drawn out moan from nick. )

Ah-

[The noise escapes Tate of its own accord, when Nick grinds down on him and asks him that question. A question he's not sure he likes, by merit of being horny and just wanting to fuck - but it's got an edging vibe to it with the way it makes blowing his load a bit more of a challenge. They'd have to work for it and Tate's not against that, but it'd be a lie to say it's his first choice. That said? That's not what he was asked.

Tate's face is flushed a pale pink, color creeping up his neck as sweat beads on his forehead beneath his messy blond bangs. He's grinding back, pitching up his hips to work against Nick as much as he can - otherwise laying back, hands limply staying where Nick's hands hold or leave them.]

Yeah, I think. It'll, ah. Take some work but - yeah, yeah... I could.

( he has to shift a bit to actually get tate's pants undone, sitting back more on his thighs than anything. he gets them open, but he's barely made a move to push them down before he changes direction, reaching up to shove tate's shirt up around his chest instead.

nick is...flighty. he can't make his mind up and he can't settle on where he wants to be. he slips his hand under where tate's shirt is hiked up so that he can spread his hand out against his skin, on the centre of his chest. )

Did you watch it?

( which isn't really 'not talking about it', but the question has been gnawing at him since tate's first message, and this seems as good a time as any to ask. which is to say it's terrible, but apparently the pressing need for an answer matters more to nick right now than the timing )

[Nick works in a semi-disjointed way, but Tate allows it. His stomach flexes after Nick stops pulling down his jeans, opting to bare it instead. He feels odd, but not in a bad way, as he's laying at Nick's mercy and there's this hot tremble of anticipation in his gut for it. He's watching his every move, eyes flicking down when his hand settles on his chest. He breathes in deep, heart a dull throb against his sternum underneath. He blinks a few times, staring up at Nick before he answers.]

No.

[He saw it, briefly, among a lot of other posts going live on the network. Tate doesn't often really browse it, and when he does it's more scrolling than anything else. He hardly, if ever, interacts with anything. Maybe it's just from growing up pre-social media, but it never really snags his attention unless someone he knows is on screen. And for a brief, fleeting second, he saw Nick. And a little of what was happening to him. Did he watch past that? No, not really.]

I saw a little, but it was enough to just - want to check in. I didn't - nobody should've seen all that. It was messed up, broadcasting it.

A lot of people watched. Or saw, at least.

( he knows, because he has an inbox full of messages to prove it. nick frowns down at tate for a beat, two, while he decides what he wants to do with that information. it bothers him a bit, but in a detached sort of way that he doesn't really feel connected to.

...but then maybe that's all the drugs.

still, it's enough for now. he bends and catches hold of tate's wrists again, squeezing just short off too hard and kissing him, hard and without warning. he stays close, even if not moving away much is kind of at odds with his next request. )

Take your clothes off. All of them, if you want to.

[Tate kisses him back with the same fierceness, chasing his lips even after they part away from one another and he feels anchored back against the bed. It's a mix of the feeling of Nick's hands on his wrists, the drugs at the back of his skull and the heaviness of the moment. He lifts his hips in one last roll before he starts to oblige, slithering a bit beneath Nick and waiting for the release of his wrists before he starts sliding out of his clothes. He doesn't care about where they are, the level of filth around them - nothing a hot shower can't wash off later.

While he works his arm out of his shirt, taking his time and not kicking Nick off of him - actually taking his time to better enjoy this - he looks at him for a long beat. Speaks between struggling moments of stripping.]

Is people seeing it that bothers you or - them treating you like glass because of it?

( for his own part, nick shifts around, still on his knees but not sat on top of tate's body any more. there's not a lot of room to work with, but it is possible at least. he pulls his own shirt over his head with only a little struggling, drops it carefully onto the mattress beside them.

it's one of those questions he hasn't thought about at all. deliberately, of course. the whole point of this trip out has been to avoid thinking about anything — and before this, all he'd done was hole up in his room and resist much contact with people. but tate asks the question, and nick can't very well ignore it.

or. he could, but maybe he doesn't entirely want to. he hums thoughtfully, drifts his hands to his own pants, but he doesn't do much more besides popping the button open and unzipping the fly, for the moment. )

People are already treating me differently. I'm not— I'm not fragile, I don't want people acting like I'm going to break at any minute.

Then you have to tell them that.

[Tate says, having wriggled out of his shirt but more or less left his pants to Nick's mercy - button also undone as he pulls his last arm free of his t-shirt and abandons it somewhere overhead. He exhales long and slow, lolling his head to the side and staring up at Nick with dark brown eyes, void of any particular emotion on his face. He's just - looking at him.]

If they're trying to take care of you, it means they care. But if you just ignore things, it'll just... keep feeling this way.

[Where solutions like what they're doing as an escape are the apparent best choices. He gives a weak shrug.]

I promise I won't treat you like that.

Feeling what way.

( nick isn't angry, but his tone sharpens a little and he watches tate right back, very still. the conversation has been short but he already feels like he's losing control of it, and he doesn't know how to shut it down without drawing attention to the fact that that's exactly what he's doing.

except, he could. it doesn't matter, tate's already seen the cracks, he probably wouldn't believe an elaborate lie anyway. and it's not like he's put up a fight about anything up until this point. nick sighs, stands, feet still planted either side of tate's legs. it's only so that he can drag off his pants anyway, pulling one foot out before he drops back down to his knees. he's basically naked now, and there isn't a shred of evidence that anything even happened earlier. )

Don't you dare. ( it comes out harsher than he means it, paired with a tight expression that isn't quite a frown as he runs his hands along tate's arm again. ) I'm not going to break, if you start pulling that shit—

I won't. I promise, I know you're not made of glass.

[Tate reiterates his point, staying still as he watches Nick moves and tries to get a read for the moment. He's not sure how far into this conversation they should veer before returning to good old fashioned physical distraction, but he's trying to meet any needs Nick might have on both fronts. He breathes in deep, holding it for a second before exhaling. He stays calm, head lolled back.]

It's up to you to tell people off, if you need to.

[Otherwise you'll feel this way, with people treating you different than before.]

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