extent | duplicitynet

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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