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No, I mean - unless you want it.

[Tate's words are muttered between a string of kisses, planted on Marcus' mouth and along his jaw and neck, distracted sucks of skin as he helps him out of his shirt and discards it next to the mattress they're on. His fingers skim over Marcus' warm skin, touching over his chest and ribs before he's taking another breath and a break away from giving him a hickey to elaborate. He doesn't need or worry about condoms - doesn't think he has once here which is probably not the greatest thing but he's never caught anything or cared about being messy. But maybe Marcus does?

He leans back a bit, using his thumbs to pull up his own t-shirt overhead. With it still threaded on his arms he looks at Marcus, and nods toward the side of the bed. A short bedside table (a milk crate repurposed,) holds a battery lantern on it's upturned side while inside the crate itself is a scattering of other objects. Lube is among them.]

I'd like you to come in me, though. If that's - what you want. Lube's there too.

[ No - Marcus doesn't care about being messy, either, and if he'd been getting laid back home, even back before he'd gotten into King's, he would have been as careless as he is now. Would have fucked anyone if it meant fifteen minutes of warmth, inside and out. He just wants to do this right, needy as he is to make himself something special to Tate. He shakes his head, telling Tate that he doesn't want protection when Tate asks if he does, and swivels to an almost comical stop when Tate asks him to come in him. His jaw drops and a shiver runs down his spine, and there's an added urgency in him when he starts pulling Tate's shirt off the rest of the way, pushing him onto his back against the mattress. ]

I bet you talk to all the guys like that.

[ He's trying to capture some of his normal wry, above-it-all attitude with a joke, smiling lopsided in an attempt to look more controlled than all his pre-fuck jitters have made him. It's partly an honest question, partly an attempt to fish for Tate to convince him that he's special, and party just a dumb, ironic contribution, making fun of guys who say things like that while being one himself. He leans down and kisses Tate on the neck before reaching over him for the lube, sitting up on his knees after leaving it beside the mattress so he can unthread his belt. He feels like he should be slower, or - sexier, or something, but he just rushes to get down to his boxers, then tugs on Tate's waistband to urge him to keep stripping, too. ]

It's not the same.

[What he says to other people and how he acts - he can talk slutty to Derek but it's more for fun rather than the blatant actual need the way he wants to let Marcus know it is now. He likes being something for someone else, likes being able to give the people he loves a fantasy they want - to scratch their itches. But this is something he wants. Yes, in part because he wants Marcus to like, adore and need him just as much but in this moment he's able to tell himself that it's also a need he has too. He wants to feel Marcus' first as physically as possible.

He writhes out of his pants, pushing them down and stripping to naked with another nudge of his boxers; it's a bit hard to get them down past his knees but it's a work in progress, interrupted by the way he puts his hands on and off Marcus again. He rests his hand against Marcus' knee when finally kicking his jeans away, leaving a pile of strewn clothes around the loft - and lounging against his worn down mattress fully naked, other hand stroking his own cock while his eyes follow Marcus' hands.]

I've never dated... a guy before. We're - that's what we're doing, right?

[ Marcus watches Tate, hawk-like and desperate, hanging on every syllable, every pause. He briefly feels a little overwhelmed by the responsibility and the commitment that comes from what Tate is asking, some small, minimal shot of gay panic mixing with his general inability to comfortably tie himself down, but if he didn't want this, he wouldn't be here. If he didn't like the look of Tate like this - spread out underneath him, naked and vulnerable and wrapped up in bed like he's a gift to Marcus - then... ]

You haven't officially asked me to be your boyfriend yet.

[ Marcus spreads his hand flat against Tate's chest, pushing him flat on his back and leaning on him while he strips down the rest of his clothes, barely thigh to thigh as he peels his boxers down his ankles. He's just in his shirt, still hanging on him unbuttoned, as he straddles Tate's waist and curls his hand around his cock. He squeezes the base, strokes himself in long, slow pulls, and swallows the nerves in his throat that might have prevented him from saying what he wants to say next. ]

But I wouldn't say no if you did.

[Marcus' hand against his sternum makes him feel hornier still, settling back without a hint of protest and keeping his eyes on every little movement Marcus makes. He watches him handle his cock with a soft inhale, tilting his chin upward a bit as his own hips lift to the subtle pressure of Marcus' weight on top of him. He murmurs a pleasured noise and his cock grows harder, and it's pretty fucking funny to have his head full of awkward romance while his body is screaming for some filthy physicality.

Tate plants both hands on Marcus' hips, sliding down his thighs and stroking his skin gently while the word boyfriend bounces around inside his skull. He feels that same stupid shameful pull inside his chest, a closeted boy's nervousness something he knows is stupid in the wake of two years fucking anyone and everyone without any of that hesitance. But he's always avoided labels and this feels like a label - one he would never have been able to accept if he hadn't felt normalized to it, hadn't met people like Derek who made it seem like nothing at all to be afraid of.]

So I have to say it, huh.

[He smiles a bit, tongue caught between his teeth.]

Be, ah... be my boyfriend then. Or whatever.

[ Marcus's laughter always seems a little mean, even on the few occasions when it isn't intended to be. His smile is sharp and pointed, his voice immature but razor-sharp and perpetually cynical. When Tate smiles up at him, Marcus laughs in response, instinctive and casual, and it could sound kind of mocking, if he wasn't so clearly enamored. If his face wasn't still flushed, hair matted down to his forehead with sweat, his dick rock-hard in his hand. Beneath all the devilish good looks, Marcus is still just an adoring teenage boy who values the company of someone he likes over anything else. ]

Yeah, alright. "Or whatever".

[ He's doing his best to sound casual, but the thrill of what he's saying, what they're committing to, is undeniable. Marcus drags his fingertips down the center of Tate's chest, following a straight line down to his cock, dragging the base of his palm against the tip in one brief, teasing touch. He curls his fingers around the head of Tate's dick and laughs again, in a more nervous, exploratory way, still innocently unused to touching another guy like this, even this far in. He pulls his lips in and searches out eye contact, taking a breath to steady himself. ]

... You get very many chances to get off when you were stuck in the down?

Jerked off to pass the time once or twice. Spent the rest of the time missing home.

[And the implication being that Marcus is included in that, with Tate's words punctured with a sigh as even the slightest touch has him rolling his hips. Eventually he might realize he answers this with subtle manipulation through what he avoids saying, or what he hints at, but it's not as intentionally manipulative as it could be. He just doesn't see a reason to tell Marcus about any drug induced or boredom afflicted hook ups that happened while he was trying to clear his mind and not see shadows creep in from his peripherals.

He reaches to touch his hand against Marcus' wrist, feather soft caresses despite his wish to just pull his palm toward the base of his cock and to forcefully get him to just start jerking him off. He's leaking a small bit of pre from the anticipation, and gestures to the lube bottle - he might as well be proactive here, in whatever ways he can. His fingers crook to ask for it silently.]

Did you... ?

Yeah. The city... made sure we all distracted each other.

[ Marcus is being just as manipulative as Tate, only a little more intentional. He doesn't necessarily think of himself as malicious, for trying to make Tate question what Marcus has been up to without him, but truthfully, he does want to give Tate a reason to be jealous or insecure. That is, after all, how Marcus feels about him; needy and small, an unfillable vacuum of self-doubt. If he can't get to sleep without getting anxious thinking about Tate with other people, he wants Tate to feel the same about him.

He gets the lube, as requested, sitting up with straight posture for the added height, holding the bottle by the cap between two fingers. He leans back when Tate takes it, swallowing slowly as he drops both hands to Tate's thighs, quietly adding pressure in a silent request for him to part his legs a little. He shrugs with one shoulder, acts like he's still being casual. ]

But I just kept wishing I was with you.

[The one thing that keeps Tate from being too upset with this subtle game of back and forth is that Marcus did just say this would be his first - something he hasn't shared with anyone else, something that Tate can covet as his own. He can't control if Marcus chooses to fuck other people later but he thinks they'll fall into an easy way of avoiding the topic if need be, just like they're skirting around things now. Tate meets his gaze for a moment and then nods, approving of what he said as he opens the cap of the lube and spreads his legs.

He doesn't know how to make this particularly provocative so he just focuses on what needs to be done - he takes the lead in getting his fingers slick, and reaching down to coat himself just enough to take the bite away from what they'll do next. It's strange being the more experienced one and receiving. He would've done better to loosen himself up or to lead Marcus into trying it, but he can bear whatever'll come from avoiding it and instead reaches to start sliding lube up the side of Marcus' cock as he jerks him off slowly, swiveling to properly coat him.]

Well now you have me. And I want to feel you in me - stretching me open.

[His voice is thick, coming from the back of his throat before he swallows hard and encourages Marcus to make the next move. He wants him to feel in control, even though a part of his brain tells him this would've been better if he'd been on top - riding him, letting him lay back and just enjoy this like he had the blowjobs. But Tate's got faith in him.]

I want to feel you fuck me nice and hard.

[ Considering how brand new this is to Marcus, Tate could do anything and it would be provocative for him. His eyes widen the second Tate coats his fingertips with lube, and when he sees his fingers disappear between his legs to get himself ready, Marcus's dick twitches, a heavy flow of pre running a river down his shaft. He's red again, looking stunned stupid when Tate tells him what he wants. This all comes easy to Tate, but Marcus feels like he's gonna choke on his own heart. ]

Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I-- fuck, yeah.

[ Marcus's confidence crumbles in the wake of Tate's ease, and he stumbles over whatever slick response he wanted to make. This close to what they're doing, he's back to feeling desperate and too out of his own head to do anything but what he needs to do. He shuffles forward on his knees and holds his breath, the feeling of Tate's fingers around his dick bringing him closer to his climax already. Marcus reaches out and gingerly grabs Tate's wrist to stop him from moving too fast, the lube heightening his already heightened sensitivity to insane degrees. If they're not careful, this'll stop before it even starts.

He clears his throat, taking his hand from Tate's wrist when he's sure he's calmed down enough, and drops his still trembling hand down to Tate's hole, lungs burning. He's not looking at Tate's face, when he tentatively circles the edge of Tate's entrance with careful, curious fingers, focused instead on watching what he's doing. He's uncharacteristically shy, when he adds that first bit of pressure, not enough to push inside but just enough to tease. Marcus looks up, seeking reassurance. ]

Is this going to be... I mean, I don't want to hurt you.

[Tate lets out a little noise when Marcus' fingers skim over his hole, the tight muscle flexing in response - the subtlest of touches feeling just as heightened to him as they do to Marcus. It's strange, he's had his ass pummeled before and yet these feather soft first touches have him breathing shaky and feeling like his knees are weak. It's the romanticization, the... fact that it's a first. Their first. He can put more stock into it like that and it hypes it up in his head, making it feel ridiculously good.

He lolls back his head again, lifting his hips in little rocks, waiting for more touch to come - and stroking his own dick while he waits, slow and steady after taking his hand away from Marcus'. He's got a mix of their pre and lube on his palm and a jumpy, jittery feeling in his chest. Shit, why does he feel like a total fucking virgin right now?]

I'm... I'll be tight, but it's fine. I like it, and you won't hurt me. I'll tell you to stop if I need you to.

[He will not.]

Otherwise I'm good.

[ That's all the reassurance Marcus needs. He nods, knowing that Tate has a far better grasp on this shit than he does - truth be told, he's more worried about doing something stupid or embarrassing and killing the mood than he is about hurting Tate, but guidance is guidance. Marcus takes a soft, steadying breath, then slowly presses forward, stretching Tate open around one finger, sinking into the warm, tight heat of his body. Marcus swallows and shifts his weight to his other knee, slowly fucking Tate with a slender, tentative touch, so much more gentle, appreciative and full of clumsy, human need than anything the city normally throws at Tate. ]

You... fuck, you really are.

[ Marcus laughs again, nervous, yes, but - excited. Tate's fucking tight, and Marcus's cock is achingly hard, knowing he'll be able to feel him soon. As his initial nerves start to even themselves out, Marcus gets more eager, more thrilled. He adds another finger, shuffling forward until his knees are at the back of Tate's thighs, and he leans down, his other hand beside Tate's shoulder. He brings his nose close to Tate's, fingers probing deeper, like a part of Marcus wants to see if he can get Tate off with his hand alone. ]

Hold onto me? I want...

[ He wants to feel close. Connected. Wants to feel Tate's arm around his neck, keeping him tethered. ]

Sh-Shit, yeah - okay.

[Tate's got a bit of a shiver from the way Marcus' fingers are slipping into him, digits slender but long reaching and the crook of his knuckles feels particularly good grazing into him at the angle they are. He knows he's tight because he still feels the friction, aches to feel just how tight he'll be around Marcus' cock - that hot, burning feeling of nearly too much something he's already anticipating enjoying. Maybe there will come a time he explains just why he's so tight - the strange logic of always reverting to a dead form, how he'll never stay loose permanently. But that might cut away at the moment, the illusion of something here and so he doesn't voice any of it.

He's got that thick feeling still sitting at the back of his throat and he rolls his hips, and uses one hand to hold back his leg by the thigh to let Marcus sink closer. His arm slips around him, cupping to the back of his neck and then dragging his fingers across the spread of his shoulders - wishing he'd gotten his shirt off entirely but instead twisting into it for a tight and sound grip. He kisses him again, hot and slow, using his tongue to lavish at his, breathing hot against his lips and jaw.]

I want you in me, Marcus.

[ Marcus is the same as any horny teenager; even if he thinks he should prep Tate more than he has, he sure as fuck can't deny an offer like that. He's not as good at dirty talk as Tate, but he's twice as affected by it, and the rapid, consenting nod is enough to show how eager he is. He withdraws his fingers and lines himself up with Tate, hand around the shaft of his cock while he presses the head against Tate's hole, and there's a second, maybe more, where he tries to ground himself for what he's about to do. There's another fluttering feeling of cold feet at the back of his mind when he realizes he's about to lose his virginity to a guy, but that doesn't stop him from quickly, suddenly snapping his hips forward. ]

Nn.

[ He enters Tate hard and fast, sinking the head of his dick into Tate's hole and feeling the tight grip of his body light up every nerve he has. Marcus tries to exhale but doesn't have the breath for it, eyelids shuddering as he scrunches them up tight, and as he feels fireworks bursting through him, he tries to think of the right thing to say.

But words don't come to him. Instinct has him driving his dick deeper, stretching Tate out inch by inch until Marcus feels so purely, purely fucking good that he has to stop himself from fucking into him any further, just in case he blows his load before he even gets a chance to go balls deep. Marcus is trembling again, full-body shivers and quiet, out of control moans sputtering out of him in awkward, unbidden, almost ugly pulses, and as Marcus sweats and follows up one of Tate's kisses with another of his own, he thinks he should be doing something different. Holding Tate by the waist, maybe, stroking his dick in time with his thrusts, or something. Some alpha pornography shit, instead of this ecstatic, teenage desperation he has in spades.

Rather than try to act good enough, though, Marcus just does what feels natural to him - he craves the intimacy, the connection, that he can only get through real, solid, emotional touch, and even if he's not going to be the best Tate's ever had, even if he's not going to measure up to the standards Marcus has in his own head, this still means the world to him, and he wants it to mean the world to Tate, too. Marcus snakes one of his arms beneath Tate's upper back and grips his opposing shoulder from behind, resting his entire body weight against Tate's chest while his other hand slips up to the back of Tate's head, fingers curling in his hair. He holds Tate close, a full, solid embrace, and slowly, slowly thrusts forward, not stopping until Tate is completely, fully taken. ]

Edited 2021-05-06 04:50 (UTC)

[Tate lets out a low moan when he starts to feel Marcus enter him, his cock pressing in for a long beat before breaching his hole in a way that makes his dick twitch and throb in response. He can feel how tight he is around him, the pressure of insertion making him want to instinctively shrink back and away before the instinct is smothered down and ignored. It's not as easy as it could be if they had more time and more lube, but it doesn't hurt in any way Tate finds unpleasant. Much rather, the friction has him red faced and panting, clutching on to Marcus like he's his lifeline.

His hand slides down his back before he regrips his shirt, twisting and pulling at the back panel as their bodies meld together more soundly. Marcus keeps entering him, slow and steady and unavoidable, and Tate's breathing is stiff and stuttered - his chin pressing in against Marcus' neck, lips grazing over it as they fall flush with one another. His legs ache a bit and he pinches them to either side of Marcus, thigh trembling as he lifts it to hook his legs around his waist to keep them as closely tethered as possible.]

Fffuck.

[He repeats the word a few times, smothered against his skin as he kisses Marcus' throat and tries to get his body to work in rolling tandem. He wants to feel him really start to pound into him, encouraging him with a hand gripping at the back of his head, twisting into the dark strands of his hair and grazing his nails along his scalp. Everything feels dialed up to eleven and Tate moans again, slutty through parted lips, filling the silence of the treehouse with more grunts and sighs alongside wet, lewd noises.]

Harder.

[ Marcus already feels like he's reached some kind of exhausting, physical limit. He's gone days without sleep before, he's ran rooftop to rooftop to get away from the cops, he's dealt with a million primeval torture methods at the hands of King's instructors, but he doesn't think his muscles have screamed out this much in a good few years. Marcus is tense and aching in a way that feels fucking amazing, his body alight and focused with effort, and he doesn't think he'll be able to fuck Tate as hard as he needs it, but christ, he's gonna try.

He raises his hips, pulling out of Tate in a frustratingly slow drag, burying his face into Tate's shoulder and sinking his teeth in hard against his skin. He slams his hips forward, hard enough to make the loft feel as if it's shaking, his fingers gripping the small hairs on the back of Tate's neck while Marcus makes a half-moan, half-sob of pleasure into the bitemark he's leaving in Tate's skin. Marcus's shirt blankets the two of them, keeping them private and hidden behind the soft, white curtain hanging off of Marcus's body, and Marcus just feels - intimate. Close.

He tries to pick up the pace, but it's a struggle, when he's willing himself with all he has not to come. Another slow, slow drag out, like the windup before a firework blows, and then Marcus hammers his body back into Tate's, bottoming out with one hard grunt that makes his teeth sink tighter into his neck. He squeezes Tate close in the tightest bear hug he can give, and only reluctantly separates from him when the heat and the sweat are starting to get too much.

He sets both of his hands down in the mattress beside Tate's head, still angling himself as close as possible, nose to nose without crushing Tate entirely into the bed. He takes a breath, eyes open and staring into the black-brown depths staring back at him, and tries to find a grinding, staggering rhythm, moving at a slow, erratic pace without giving Tate a chance to breathe. He fucks Tate with unsteady, needy thrusts, speeding up faster when he starts getting desperate to come and slowing down when he wills himself off the edge. Marcus is making small, exerted sounds of effort and pleasure, quiet moans and swearwords and grunts interspersed with I's and Tate's, his fingers curled up vice-tight in the sheets. ]

[It's interesting, how they find their rhythm together and it's not like anything Tate's felt before. No practiced ease, no too-clumsy ruining of a moment. They manage it despite coming into this particularly inexperienced with their roles (Tate being a mentor who doesn't know how to be one from this angle, what to encourage or do as the supposedly more experienced of the two,) and it feels astonishingly fantastic. Tate grunts and gasps, feeling each hard thrust like a bullet to the chest that makes him squeeze around Marcus' cock with a flex of muscle and an involuntary flip of his gut. Then he's pulling out again, slow but sweet, and Tate's moans start becoming looser and looser.

When not staring into Marcus' eyes, he's staring the ceiling behind him. He thinks he sees stars shining through the woodwork despite it being impossible, and he shuts his eyes tight enough to keep on seeing those little sparks of color on his eyelids. His heels slip against the mattress and sheets when his legs slip away from Marcus, alternating between using that leverage to push up against his thrusts and also hooking his calves back around the small of his back to keep himself wholly speared on his dick. It's clumsy and Tate doesn't have a lot of strength to push with - tired as he was but also so much more used to someone fucking him being able to manhandle him the way they want.]

You're - You're gonna make me come like this, fuck.

[Marcus is focusing on holding back but Tate isn't, he's letting each warm and pleasurable wave wash over him and careen him closer to the peak. He's shuddering as a red hot flush spirts down his neck from his face, as sweat makes his skin sheen and he groans more and more audibly as Marcus' teeth bite into his flesh. He wants him to sink them in, to tear into the muscle and bone. He starts to plead with him, for that - 'harder, more- more- more' and for him to keep fucking into him. For him to give Tate more of himself, and to keep him on the cusp because as his voice becomes more of a cry, the closer he is already.]

Sh-Shit, yeah. C'm- c'mon.

[He's starting to tremble, shallow breathing coming in little wheezing breaths.]

[ Marcus isn't skilled or experienced enough to give Tate what he wants while holding back the need to come, but again, he's just a stupid, horny teenager getting laid for the first time - how can he say no? He's fucking something impossibly hot and slippery and tight, someone is giving him that, so he can't resist doing exactly as he's told, can't resist getting more. He stops fucking Tate just long enough to brace his knees in the bed and move his hands to Tate's shoulders, holding on tight like he's treating them as if they were a set of handlebars, and when his fingernails bite into the teethmarks he left there, he starts moving his hips again.

Marcus's breaths are shaky and heated as he fucks Tate faster. Harder. He grunts through grit teeth and feels sweat running down his face, getting in his hair, and focuses on the discomfort in his spine and the strain in his bones to stop himself from getting lost in how fucking good this all feels. Every begging, pleading word from Tate only urges Marcus on - he's visibly hit his limit, his breaths loud and undignified as he slams his cock into Tate with all the strength he has, the mattress squeaking and straining almost as much as he is, but Marcus doesn't stop, doesn't let himself hit some dead plateau before he's done. He grunts, bites the inside of his cheek, fucks Tate harder and faster still, hands slipping from Tate's shoulder, balls slapping against Tate's ass, eyes stinging, voice raspy and desperate and completely unchained. ]

F-Fuck-- fuck--

[ He doesn't stop. He gives more, throwing his body forward like he's running a marathon, and when Marcus really, really starts to piston into Tate, pounding against him in fierce, animalistic slams, he throws off one half of his shirt and leaves it hanging from one arm, his now free hand pressing into Tate's chest again, slipping as it searches for purchase it can't find. Marcus cries out as he holds onto Tate, head bowed forward, and just-- fucks, brutal and relentless until he's seeing stars, riding the edge of his orgasm and keeping himself from spilling over with the most extreme steel-will restraint he's ever had. ]

[He's being given exactly what he asked for and it's driving him beyond his own limits, grunts turning to louder cries the more Marcus is pounding into him. The room feels like it's spinning in his peripherals and it might as well be for how hard he feels Marcus' cock delve into him and it hurts, it really starts to hurt, but the constant pressure against his prostate makes his legs kick out and tears spark to his eyes. He's scratching up the back of Marcus' back once the shirt is hanging loose off one shoulder, nails grazing and digging in half moons as he's as desperate for a hold of him as Marcus is of him in turn.

The closer and closer he comes to losing it, the harder he presses his head back against the mattress and scrunches up his eyes. Tears sit on his pale lashes but don't trail down his face and he feels the tremble move through him seconds before his orgasm slams into him like a truck. His whole body jerks, quick and sudden, and he clamps tight against Marcus - every muscle in his body flexing and contracting tight. He gets a momentary cramp in his leg from how hard he's tightened up before it relaxes, a hot wash down his limbs sparking out from his gut as cum splatters up against his belly and smears between them in the motions that follow.

Tate can't catch his breath at first, feeling equal parts overwhelmed to crushed and his lip trembles with the next gasp that slips into him. He likes this feeling - of being used for Marcus' pleasure as well as them asserting their feelings so physically. He whimpers again, flexing his legs and letting out another choked noise as he eggs Marcus on to keep going, to get him to blow his load and join him in the afterglow.]

[ Marcus doesn't realize that Tate's blown his load, at first. He's so focused on giving him what he wants, on making Tate feel good, feel satisfied, no matter how much physical strain it puts Marcus through, that when Tate tightens down on him and pushes Marcus over the edge, he drowns out Tate's climax with his own. He cries out, sharp and loud, this intense, voice-cracking scream that he's embarrassed to have made as soon as he's made it, and he slams his body flush to Tate's, connecting the two of them as deeply and as closely as possible. He comes hard, full body convulsions and choked, staggering cries, tears fogging up his vision while he unloads shot after shot after shot of cum into Tate's body. He blows so much that it starts to scare him, the raw, physical feeling of draining his balls dry so intense and so immense that he thinks he might have broken something, but he feels too insanely, impossibly good to care, even if he has. He floods Tate, feeling cum spill out of him and drip down his thighs onto the sheets long before he's finished shooting, his hips spasming with furious, robotic slams, until Marcus finally, finally feels exhausted.

He drops down, shuddering hard, pulling Tate into whatever boneless, needy hug he can get from him, shivering through the aftermath of his orgasm, all his heightened sensitivity making him shudder and moan through his cooldown. He doesn't know where he is for a second, disoriented and dizzy while Tate's little flexes and choked noises barely register in his head, and when enough time has passed that Marcus finally feels like he has some strength or some control over his senses again, he steadily, slowly starts to move.

Marcus pushes himself up, leering down at Tate, and when his eyes rake down his chest, sees the slow, lethargic rise and fall of Tate's breaths, and sees the splattering of cum on his stomach - ]

Did you come?

[ He grins. He grins pretty wide, actually, revitalized, if only a little. He's still in Tate, but he gradually pulls out and rolls onto his back beside him, trying to catch his breath. He's flushed read and looks like he's been running through the desert for days, but when he rolls his head to the side, he's smiling, proud and excited. Tate came. Tate totally came. He needs the confirmation, but - there's an excited, boyish pride in his voice when he speaks up again, innocent and happy and stupidly drunk. ]

Did I just make you come?

[It's infectious, the look on Marcus' face when he stares at him from next to him on the bed. Tate's caught in near-breathlessness still, but shows a half smile in return. He laughs soon after, still too winded to really make more than another wheezing noise before he looks down at his chest and strokes his fingers through the cum on his skin, smearing it like paint. He looks at Marcus again and his face is pink, flushing a bit deeper when he nods his head.]

Yeah.

[He came alright - feeling Marcus keep ramming into him even after he had, it was a phenomenal moment. Not the hardest or most painful sex he's ever had, but it was... unique in a way that's no true replication of anything he had before. It was... the first time he's been fucked by his significant other, and the first time ever being fucked by his boyfriend. His stomach does another little flop and his dick twitches one last drop down the side of itself before he's wincing a bit as he shifts his hips.

Tate reaches for Marcus' hand and guides it back toward himself, slipping it down between his legs to feel the wetness as it leaks out of him. He hopes it's not a step too far - but he wants him to feel just how full he made him, just like he can see how sweaty and well fucked Tate's become from such a short period of rutting together. He presses his cheek to the mattress, staring sidelong at Marcus.]

All of that you just put inside me. That's - it's hot.

[He laughs again, still breathy and light.]

I don't - I usually don't come that fast, okay? You just... you got me good.

[ Hearing Tate confirm that he came leaves Marcus bright-eyed and openly confident in a way that he's never really been, at least in recent memory. He laughs, smug like he's achieved something, and wriggles around on his back to get comfortable in bed, gazing up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. He could use a smoke, but for once, it's not because he needs one - it'd just be a nice way to cap off the evening before he inevitably passes out. ]

I didn't think I'd make you come at all, let alone... fast. I wasn't sure I'd compare to any of the other guys you'd been with.

[ It's an insecurity thing - Marcus is a good looking dude with a decent-sized dick and a willingness to please, but he's new to this and still, despite everything, thinks of himself as straight. He shrugs, still smiling, though it's starting to get more faded as his cooldown hits and his exhaustion takes over whatever heat he's got left over. He needs a shower, but he's aching too much to move, and even when he drags his hand down his face and yawns against his palm, he feels like he's moving way too much.

He tilts his head and looks at Tate, sleepy but happy, and when Tate takes his hand and guides it down, Marcus goes with it, completely okay with whatever might happen next. When Tate lets him feel his load, fucking shows him what he's done to him, Marcus sharpens up a little more, waking up again. He swallows, listening close, and nods, slowly, dick stirring in some half-hearted attempt to come to life again. If Tate's not careful, Marcus is gonna want to fuck him again. ]

I've never shot a load that hard. Felt like my fucking soul was leaving my body.

[ He holds eye contact with Tate as his finger circles the mess he made in him, and then slowly, gently presses back inside. He watches Tate's reaction as his finger sinks deep, down to one knuckle, then the next, moving onto his side so he can more easily fuck Tate with his fingers while they talk. His fingers are long enough to make it easy to reach Tate's prostate, moving in deep and seeking it out, toying with him despite the exhaustion, just to make him squirm. ]

... Well - I can think of a time that came close, but - that was in a dream, so it doesn't count. A dream about you, actually.

[ Tate's lips on his cock, the TV static changing and fading out between shows as time crawls on at an unknowable pace. Yeah - that dream came close. ]

You never told me y-you dreamt about me.

[Tate's teeth click together involuntarily in the middle of that sentence, all on account of Marcus' finger probing around inside him. His knees twitch toward one another and he wants to squeeze around his finger but fights the urge, his hole twitching nonetheless as cum continues to run out of him - especially with Marcus' finger moving into him. He bites his lip and squirm he does, hand slipping to hold Marcus' wrist like he's not sure if he wants to encourage him or pull him back. He feels hyper-sensitive, and shudders before rolling onto his side.

He keeps his leg shifted in a way to keep allowing Marcus to finger him and the cum to slide down the crook of his ass, but he pivots himself to face Marcus in a way where he can pull his face closer for another lazy kiss. He's not thinking about the time in the motel room, nor does he really want to delve into the reality of that 'dream' should it start to come back to the forefront of his mind. He could make a half dozen reassurances to Marcus that he fucked him just as good as anyone else has, but instead he just hungrily kisses him and seeks to slink against him for support, arm draped over him.]

You were really, really good. I wanted that... for a long time.

[Tate's aware how obvious his feelings were, how blatant his attraction was. So this is vindicating.]

Wanted you.

[ Marcus smiles, soft and still borderline proud, when Tate stammers over what he's trying to say. He fingers him deeper, curls a knuckle when he fucks into him so he can hold his finger directly against his prostate while they talk, applying gentle but forceful pressure, unrelenting. Whatever he wanted to say about the dream slips his mind when Tate kisses him, Marcus closing his eyes completely as a show of easy, relaxed trust, tasting Tate with his tongue while he sinks into the mattress. He keeps the kiss going, languid and relaxed, until he needs to breathe again, then just mumbles whatever dumb shit he can think of to keep the conversation going. ]

Maybe I just didn't want to scare you off before I figured some shit out.

[ That's not how Marcus thought he felt, but now that it's out there, slipped out of him unprompted, he wonders if maybe it is. He's implying that he's figured out whatever it is that's been confusing him, but - he's knuckle-deep in another guy's ass, cum running down his fingers, and he's still, in the back of his mind, thinking about the girls he knew back home and the identity he made for himself as someone who needed them. He doesn't know who he is. Selfish and a little delusional, maybe, but he always knew that.

Marcus sighs against Tate and slowly, slowly slides his fingers out of him, drying them on the sheets. He presses his hand to Tate's hip and gently pushes him back, guiding him to roll over onto his other side. ]

Here - move.

[ When Tate's facing away from him, Marcus moves in close, hooking an arm around his waist and pulling him in as close as possible. He's half-hard, his dick resting against Tate's ass, his chest to Tate's back as he threads their legs together. He rearranges the pillows beneath both of their heads to get them more comfortable and then pulls Tate even closer, spooning him from behind and settling in like he could sleep here. He doesn't ask if this is okay, or if he can stay the night in Tate's bed, or anything - but he does hope Tate's okay with being the little spoon. ]

[Tate has a moment where he's feeling pulled between two places - the heady desire to sleep and then the simmering under the surface is the lazy sense of lust that's kept stoked by Marcus' finger. He could fuck himself on his knuckle, milk some more cum from his cock and further enjoy the afterglow but things shift and he's instructed to roll over. It takes a moment, but he does, grunting softly as he feels an all too familiar dull pain inside him as he settles on his side and feels Marcus wrap his arm around him.

That gesture alone is - the spooning - is something Tate has a gut reaction to. He curls his arm over Marcus' and presses his back soundly against him, stretching not unlike a cat bathing in the sun. He's perfectly at rest, feeling someone's protective weight behind him. He pulls the sheet over their lower halves and nuzzles his face into a shared pillow, breathing in deep. He stares off to the side of the room, fingers tracing over Marcus' knuckles as his heartbeat slows and everything feels... good.]

Stay just like this.

[He wants that assurance, that comfort.]

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