needlebomb | inbox.

[ Oh, wow, no, Marcus isn't making breakfast. He screws up his face, totally disregarding the idea despite the fact that he offered, last night, to make Tate dinner if the pizza wasn't good enough. But he might change his mind soon enough - once Tate has his hands on him, Marcus is immediately affected, mood changing like the stupid, overly impressionable animal he is. He smiles, horny and relaxed, spreads his legs a little, closing his eyes to just enjoy the feeling of Tate getting him off, and he's dazed and barely paying attention when Tate says he wants to shower first. It takes a second for him to process the words, but he frowns, snapping his eyes open when eh does. ]

You're gonna get me hard and then tell me I have to wait?

[ Said like Tate's putting him through unspeakable hardship. Marcus sighs, rolls his ear against his shoulder like he has to really work through the decision to let Tate shower, but ultimately, reluctantly agrees that it's a good idea. ]

Let me shower with you. Then - you know. Ruin it, by cumming on your face.

You come on my face, I'll come on yours.

[He tips his head as if to agree, and then pushes away from the mattress with his knuckles down against it. He's let go of Marcus after getting him hard - or nearly so, at least - but once he's up and on his feet he's the one holding out his hand. Tate'll wait to haul Marcus to his feet before he reaches to strip his shirt off of him, dropping it down to the bed to stay relatively clean before he's nodding to the stairs and heading down. Marcus may have wandered around earlier to use the restroom but the shower itself is a hanging contraption outside that is now at least quite a bit better than it used to be.

Cobain mewls from one of the crossbeams overhead, watching two stark naked boys with a swish of her tail - and hops down to the kitchen below when Tate walks by her food dish. He throws a scattering of loose kibble in it before turning to a shelf near the bathroom, pulling two towels off it before waiting to direct Marcus outside to the back deck. The wood is warm from the sun and he nods to the shower.]

It starts off pretty cold but if you ask nice, I'll keep you warm like you want.

[ Ugh, again, no. Marcus has that same scrunched up, dismissive face when Tate says he'll come on him - he's not horny or lonely enough to even consider it. Still, he rolls up onto his feet and willingly raises his arms when Tate pulls off his t-shirt, but he keeps it close so he can wear it again when their shower is over. If asked, he'll deny any sentimentality he might feel, or whatever - he'll just say he doesn't have anything else to wear on hand.

Considering Marcus used to take baths in public fountains, or else waited for it to rain before he could shower, he's not all that bothered by where Tate leads him. He crowds under the showerhead and shivers when he feels the wind on his ass, and he makes the rookie mistake of standing directly beneath the water when Tate turns it on. He hisses and steps out of the spray, immediately shivering, holding his arms over his chest. ]

Jesus fucking Christ.

[ That's not just cold, that's cold. Marcus shifts his weight to his other foot and considers stepping back inside until the water heats up, but he doesn't want to look like a pussy, so - he just waits for Tate to go under first, fully intending on making good on that offer to keep him warm. ]

[Tate doesn't say anything to Marcus' scrunched up face, but he's still thinking about it when out on the deck. Just in an absent way, where it plagues his thoughts as he hangs the towels over the railing a few steps from the showerhead and snorts at Marcus' reaction to the temperature. Tate's always been one to loves teaming hot, near scalding showers, so he knows this isn't ideal but when he steps under the water it's without a flinch. It's cold, like ice, but so is death and he's felt that more times than most could ever dream of. Water drips down his skin and he slicks back his hair, feeling the water already start to warm with the help of the heating system that Derek rigged up.

He adjust the dials, adding more warmed water to the mix - it won't get as hot as he'd like it to, but it's much more bearable within a minute. He looks back to Marcus and beckons him in with a wave of his hand, a bar of soap and a few bottles on a hanging shelf also propped against a tree trunk. Very nature-like, with the smell of the woods and the water seeming more like rain once you close your eyes.]

Warm water won't last too long so. Be quick.

[ Marcus is dragging his feet now, acting like he's above this, or - more appropriately phrased - like it's beneath him. He steps under the water, still shivering, more because he's been bundled up in sheets all day rather than because the weather's cold, and he shuts his eyes as he lets rivers run down his face. He takes up more space than he means to, but he steps aside for Tate when he lathers up, scrubbing his skin with soap and rinsing his hair with shampoo. He's slightly self-conscious - without the heat of explicit, sexually charged energy between them, it feels like Tate have more reason to criticize the scars covering every inch of Marcus's body, or at least be curious enough about them to ask probing questions - but that doesn't make him rush through this any more than he already is. He washes the soap off of his hands, looking at Tate through one eye. ]

I still want a place of my own, you know. An apartment, or something. Don't cheap out on the water heater there like you did here.

[ Marcus finishes cleaning up before long, but standing under the water feels... nice, and there's still a part of him that hopes Tate might get on his knees for him before they're done out here, but he's not in a rush to ask him to. Instead, he tilts his chin up, beckoning Tate closer. ]

Turn around. I'll do your back.

[Tate's watching Marcus as he showers a bit, his eyes indeed following a few raised lines on his skin but not in any intrusive way. Much rather he looks at the scars like they're just another interesting part of him, nothing Tate hasn't really seen before. He's butchered and been butchered, blood and guts and little faded scars are nothing but signs of an interesting story to Tate. He looks up when he talks, hand raised to skim over the curve of Marcus' arm before he nods his head and turns around.

Facing away from Marcus, Tate feels the water run down his back and the bridge of his nose. He closes his eyes, arms hanging at his sides as he leans into the idea of letting Marcus take care of him for just a second. Just like the face Marcus made, Tate hasn't forgotten about the promise of a blowjob either - he'll have to get to that too, but first:]

Do you like any of your scars? Or hate any in particular?

[He asks absently, blinking away some water off his lashes.]

I don't hate mine even though I think I should.

[ Marcus has never done this for anyone before, obviously, but he assumes there's no real trick to it. He soaps Tate down, his touch careful and attentive, making sure every inch of Tate's back is tended to. Tate's question is kind of a heavy one, and he's not sure how to answer it, so he deflects, at first, lightly squeezing Tate's shoulder in the silence that leads up to his response, just to show that he's listening. ]

Why don't you hate yours?

[ And then - when Marcus figures out what he wants to say, he follows up without waiting for Tate to answer. ]

I like the ones I gave myself more than the ones I got from other people. The scar on my face gets people's attention, given that it's the most visible, but... I'm not the only kid out here with damage, so. Don't get questioned half as much here as I did back home.

I guess it's because I don't wear mine like most people do.

[That's an odd way to phrase it but he's not entirely sure how else to say it, so he lets that sit in the air for a moment as he digests what Marcus said to him just now. 'I like the ones I gave myself more than the ones I got from other people'. He thinks he can agree with that - might be why the only ones Tate 'wears' are the stripes on his wrist that he got when he was alive, young and depressed. He holds up his wrist, where those faint lines are somewhat visible in the afternoon light and thumbs them over.

He likes the feel of Marcus' hands on his back and tilts his head one way and then the other, shoulders relaxing a bit under the touch. He wants to lean back against him again, feel his weight behind him like he did when they were laying in bed together. He could really afford to just go back upstairs, lay down and sink into one another for a while. Maybe forever.]

A few of mine would give you a run for your money.

[ Tate might be speaking literally, rather than figuratively, thanks to his ghost powers... but Marcus takes that comment metaphorically, nodding as if it makes sense to him, however he's choosing to interpret it. His eyes flicker over Tate's wrist and he holds back any comment he might want to make, opting to instead smile sardonically and focus on the second half of their conversation. ]

I doubt it. The guy who gave me this one likes to fuck dogs.

[ Marcus clicks his tongue, cocking his thumb to the scar covering his eye before returning to washing Tate's back. One clean cut with a nice, long blade gave him that one. He's not sure what Tate means by a run for your money, exactly, but Marcus thinks his scars all tell some pretty dark stories. Between the suicide attempts, the needlebomb, the physical abuse... there's not really anything Tate's scars have on his, he thinks.

He finishes rinsing Tate's back, then steps selfishly back into the water, letting the heat run down his shoulders and flow down his spine. He stretches his arms, cracks his neck, then heads out from underneath the shower, searching out a towel and roughing his hair up with it when he finds it. He gets sick of Tate taking his time in the shower, apparently, because before too long, Marcus is hooking the towel around Tate's neck and trying to tug him inside. ]

C'mon. It's cold. I wanna go back to bed.

I like that one.

[Tate says after turning back around, half roped into leaving the flow of water by Marcus' needy demands. All of the soap's run off him after a quick wash, but Tate could've stood in there longer - and would've, if alone. He still has a dull ache of tiredness somewhere deep in his bones that'll take more than one night's sleep to banish but he does feel a great deal better than he did some twelve hours beforehand. He turns off the water taps with a squeak of the dials and rolls his eyes but follows Marcus, half-smile on his lips.

Pinching away the towel from Marcus' grip, Tate will use it to tousle his hair and cause the once stuck-down curls to bounce up again. The sliding door was left ajar and Tate'll head back through it, wet footprints left on the wood floor as he slowly makes his way to the stairs. He can't really make a lot of commentary about fucking dogs considering he's had a knot in his jaw but... he doesn't like knowing someone gave Marcus the scar, at least not now that they're... something.]

I like your scars, actually. All of them.

[One foot on the stairs, he nods for Marcus to head up first - he'll follow behind, if only to see if he'll let him see his ass.]

inbox.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject