extent | duplicitynet

So you like being called a slut?

[Tate asks with a sudden interest, like that - also helps, because it does. The more Tate gets into things, the more focused he is on getting off the darker his mind tends to go. The filthier the wanderings, the more lewd the content. 'Like all I was was a hole to fuck' also feeds into that, and he groans again. His hand moves faster, he writhes on the sheets and he's getting there. Really close.]

I'm going to come on you - you next time. All over your... fucking face.

[Breathy, breathy, nearly. Nearly there.]

Yeah, call me a slut.

( he grins into the device, pressed against his cheek. his other hand still grinds down flat against his dick, but it's half committed at best. he's so much more dedicated to every sound he's getting out of tate's mouth, the fact that he can hear his hand on every down stroke. )

Come on my face. Please. I'm waiting for you. I want you to hold my mouth open and come all over me anyway. Come on, please.

[Eyes shut tight and the world around him blotted out, Tate can just barely convince himself into pretending this is what's happening right in front of him. Nick's voice is in his ear, pleading with him to come, and that's a pretty image to paint in his head. Tate's hand moves quick and he fucks up and into it, working harder to swivel his palm and fall into that fantasy of blowing his load across Nick's flushed face. To paint him with a splatter of cum, and watch it slide down his cheeks.]

Fuck - fuck, ff-

[And that's it, Tate moans louder still; the words he's cursing beneath his breath are lost as his body tenses, seizing up as his shoots his load up and paints himself in turn. His breathing stays shallow and hurried and there's a long stretch of silence, his voice a rumble at the back of his throat as he pumps a few times still to milk out the last drops from the head of his cock.]

Jesus Christ.

( nick laughs, breathless like he's the one who's just come. he ends up on his back, device jammed between his shoulder and his ear as he contemplates whether or not he wants to commit to jerking off right now. he could he's hard, he wants to.

but also that was pretty great, in and of itself, no hand down his pants necessary. he listens for the last noises coming from tate, the gasps as he tries to catch his breath again. )

Was that good?

( it's...maybe something of a stupid question, but he wants to hear tate say it anyway. )

[Tate needs another few breaths to really wind down before he's blinking back into the reality around him; the cool air of the treehouse, the empty space and the knowledge that he's alone. Nothing awful, really, but he just lets his head loll back and takes a moment to listen to Nick's voice before he can fathom a response. Was that good? He laughs.]

Yeah it was, you filthy fucking slut.

[He says that with a surprising amount of affection. An audible smile, too.]

Are you... ?

Yeah, I am.

( said like it's a source of pride for him — because it kind of is. maybe filthy fucking slut might be an insult somewhere, but right now, from tate, it might as well be a compliment of the highest order. )

Maybe. ( he wraps his fingers around his cock a little more firmly, gives a few testing strokes. yeah, he could definitely get off. ) Are you going to tell me something? Spin a little fantasy for me to moan in your ear over?

That what you want?

[Tate makes a soft mmmh noise, turning over onto his side - propping his head up on his palm, elbow down against the mattress. He takes a moment to look down at himself, the mess he's going to clean up, but then keeps his hand loosely around his cock as it softens. Now it's his turn to the be the slutty voice on the phone, it seems.]

Do you want to hear what I'd do to you if you were here? If I could get my hands back on that slutty throat of yours.

Yeah.

( the answer comes out a little rushed, and just as quickly nick works to get his underwear off. jammed around mid thigh will do fine, at least they're out of the way, and then he picks the device back up so that it's not wedged against his face. he's been interested for a while, but now that he's actually trying it doesn't take long for him to get rock hard in his palm. )

What would you do to me? If you could do anything, what would you do right now?

First, I'd make sure you were flat on your back. I'd... force your legs apart, and get between them.

[He doesn't hesitate to put the force in this fantasy that he wants to be there, all things still considered. He closes his eyes and it's kind of funny, talking like this now that he's in the afterglow instead of the heat of things. He's still committed, but it just - isn't doing much for him except enhancing those little ripples of pleasure that he's settled into. He's got to talk some filth to Nick next time while his dick's still hard and wanting, he'd probably be even cruder.]

I'd hike your knees to your chest and fuck you hard. Making you beg for it the whole time.

( it's easier to get into it, now that he's not so caught up on tate, listening to his reactions, focusing on what he's saying. nick picks up the pace of his hand, strokes himself a little faster. moans loud enough to be heard over the speaker, only partially for show. )

Yeah- and if I made you work for it? How would you make me beg?

You wouldn't make me do anything.

[Tate laughs - like this is the fun part, being cocky about his ability to take the control in this situation. How he'd be the one calling the shots, and Nick might think that he's able to hold out but Tate would be the one driving into him quite literally, forcing his hand. He breathes in deep, and smiles to himself.]

I'd hold you down, fucking into hard - dry to start, with spit if you're good. I'd keep you down with a hand on your chest, and if you're not loud the way I want you to be? Mmm...

[What to do.]

I'd take that as a sign you want to be quiet, so I'd put my hands around your throat and squeeze until you come.

Jesus, yeah, okay—

( nick's voice hitch around the words and the device slips for a moment as he throws his head back. it's his turn to fumble for it one-handed now, and he blindly presses a few buttons before he finds the one that switches on the speaker. like that it's much easier to hear the slap of skin as he jerks himself off faster, as tate keeps talking. it's much easier to hear the dragged out whine in the back of his throat, when tate talks about his hands around nick's throat. )

I want— you to choke me, like you did, again. It was...so fucking hot.

[Tate does another little back of the throat laugh, pleased by the way he can hear Nick better now - he likes the reverse of this more than he thought, all things considered. He's not sure why he's surprised because he's always had a thing for pleasing the people he likes, to whatever extents that they need to be pleased. He sits up a bit, still leaning on his elbows.]

I'd put my hands on either side of your throat. Soft, at first - stroking in before I splay my fingers. Pressing inward I'd squeeze, starting easy. But the more I fuck you and the more you moan, the more I squeeze until your last gasping breath is gone. Then - nothing, you'd fight to breathe again as I make you blow your load. Even if I have to get you to pass out to do it.

( he's tempted to wrap his own fingers around his throat and squeeze a little, but it's really not the same. nick hikes up a leg and presses a dry finger to his hole, and that's not the same either but he's not trying to fuck himself. )

Fuck— fuck, ( he groans, louder than he plans to. he's all but fucking up into his fist now, fast, tight thrusts designed to get him off as quickly as possible. ) Would you keep going? Are you going to choke me until I pass out and fuck me until you come too?

I'd choke the ever loving shit out of you, and I wouldn't stop until I came, yeah.

[There's a teeth-gritting emphasis there, confirmation of a darker fantasy; one that borders on probably not a great thing for them but who would they be if not teens making bad decisions at every open turn.]

You'd black out and I'd keep using you until I blow my load, and then some. Watching that light start to drain out of your eyes - that'd be what does it for me. Makes me come so deep into you it hurts.

Shit, that— Tate—

( at some point he's probably going to have to unpack the fact that this is what tips him over the edge, but it sure as hell won't be happening today. nick just grinds up into his fist until he's coming, thick ropes across his hand and stomach to the tune of a panting, shuddering groan.

it takes a moment, even after he's done twitching through aftershocks nick can't quite catch his breath. he slumps back onto the mattress, flops one hand out to the side, the other flat on his stomach and ignoring the mess for now. he's still panting harsh enough to be clearly heard, but he turns his head towards the device semi-abandoned next to his head, attempts a soft little laugh under his breath. )

I need, like...a minute.

[And just like that, it's over again. Tate likes the way Nick sounds when he comes, though hearing it through tinny little speakers this time leaves just a touch to be desired. A touch he'll make up for the next time he can put his hands on Nick for real, squeezing his throat for real - and ah, he sighs. A moment sounds good.]

I'd say we should do this more often but I like actually seeing you.

[Pulling back from that darker kink space, Tate's - elated, back to feeling happy.]

But we should still do this more often.

Aw, you said you liked me.

( not quite, but nick still sniggers and stretches out to grab an abandoned shirt. he makes a half hearted effort to wipe at the mess left behind, reaching his free hand out to switch back off speaker and hold the device back to his ear again. )

This was pretty good, huh. Happy birthday me. ( a surprisingly genuine statement, as it turns out. there's a lot about the day that's been pretty awful, but this part isn't too bad. ) I think I like having you around here slightly more...but this makes a pretty good back up.

Mmm. Happy birthday.

[Tate flops back down against the bed, putting off cleaning up himself for a little while yet. The one thing that's less than favorable about living in a treehouse is that your shower system's not only outside, but prone to being wonky. He looks to the side as if remembering his device was there, and picks it back up.]

Wanna meet up on the weekend?

( it's a transition that maybe should be more jarring than it actually is, from getting off to thoughts of choking the life out of nick, to idly making plans for the weekend. the hazy afterglow provides an excellent buffer for the whole thing though, and nick tosses the shirt vaguely in the direction of the basket before stretching out lazily. )

Yeah, I think I'm free. Let's do something.

I'll text you on Saturday.

[He doesn't want to sever this connection, but...]

I'm gonna go clean up. But - yeah, Saturday.

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