extent | duplicitynet

[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.]

duplicitynet | inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject