The uppercrusts of Duplicity's most prestigious auto dealership are probably too busy snorting cocaine to notice one part-timer falling behind on his work. Tell me about it.
well it's always kind of lonely up in the tree house when ur at work been here all day. more fun now that there's a roof, y'know? less sun in my eyes when i'm jerking off to the scent of you on the sheets.
[ derek's genuinely getting a little more into this - the collarbone where he's going to bite tate, the talk of his scent, the idea of someone jerking off over him, they're all critical hits on derek - but it is difficult not to make a joke about cobain screaming and jumping on tate the way she did to derek. he drags his tongue over his lip and takes a second to respond. ]
well, at first it was kind of frustrating. i was thinking about how much i wanted to get fucked by you but it's always kind of hard working up to it, since i'm always a little too tight even though i do like the thought of you stretching me out. sometimes i'd rather just you fill me, you know?
so i was getting loose for you, starting with my fingers. pretending they were yours.
[ another pause. derek's - gonna have to move. he makes his way to the back of the garage, winding through shelves, dodging coworkers. he hides out in the far corner, in one of the security camera's blindspots. jesus. ]
I think about that a lot, too. Filling you. Pushing you to your limits. Making you come for me. Fucking you so hard you can't even tell how loud you're screaming.
[Tate's getting a positive response - so he scratches the itch he knows gets Derek's leg kicking.]
mm. so, i started up in the loft. stretched out on the bed naked, got my fingers slick. fingered myself for almost an hour, edging myself off cumming each time. it got easier with time, I could add more fingers. still wasn't as thick as you'd be. i wanted to use something else but i couldn't find anything.
[ they're just playing a game, really. tate only messaged him to find out how to do this in the first place, and in the back of his mind, derek isn't even entirely sure all of this is for his sake and not just... practice, for someone else. he doesn't believe that tate did that, not really. derek isn't even entirely sure that tate's hard right now and not just, like - going through the motions, saying things he think might work.
but they do work, and derek briefly forgets that this might not be real. he wants more. ]
You're killing me here. I'm gonna end up jerking off at work. You're gonna get me fired.
Maybe I shouldn't be wasting my time hiding in the corner, then. Should be putting on a show.
[ a pause. this isn't real. he can give tate what he wants, through text, without... worrying the way he does. worrying about hurting him, worrying about going too far, worrying that tate wants more than he can handle. he can engage in some of the things derek doesn't know if he could really do, in reality. not outside of the full moon. derek types a little faster. ]
Tate - I'd pin you to the bed. Hold you down. Fuck you until your bones ache. Slap your ass until it's red. Pull your hair until your eyes water.
I'd put my hands around your throat. The way you always wanted me to. I'd squeeze. Feel your windpipe beneath my thumbs, brittle and fragile. I'd flood you with my cum while your throat rasped for the little gasps of breath I'd let you have. You'd feel full. Every part of you. Overwhelmed. Hurt. Happy.
[He went into this to learn a little, toy with Derek and maybe feel the satisfaction of knowing he has influence. Only it turns out Derek has influence too, and it's really swooping over Tate with a hot coiling heat. He lolls his head back for a moment, as if he can feel those phantom hands on him and his toes curl against the bedsheets. Fuck. Okay, okay. Okay.]
I want that I wanna feel every inch of you tight inside me, swelling. stretching. hurting I can deal with that. you can stay in me as long as you want, when you knot you liked doing that. you should be able to do it as often as you want. to me. what good's a beta for if not letting you feel like the alpha u really are?
from the second you walk thru the door 'til whenever you decide to leave I'm yours, ok? to do whatever you want with. to do everything to.
[ there's - a pause. on the other end of the line, derek whispers a quiet fuck it to himself in the garage, fumbling with his belt and tearing open his zipper with enough force to break it open. he doesn't waste his time with foreplay, he just - slides his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and pulls out his cock, thick and heavy and hard. he gets his hand wet with precum, lubing up the more he strokes, his back against the shelves. if he gets seen - he gets seen.
i wanna cum for u right now. again: fuck it. derek swipes rapidly to his camera app takes a video of himself, his hand gliding firm and fast up and down his dick, fast and a little loud. he's breathing hard, trying not to moan. there's the sound of people moving around in the garage not far from him. ]
[Tate's hand is also around his cock, jerking himself off slowly after really stretching out on the bed. His clothes are less than neat with how they're scattered at the bedside, Cobain having taken one of his socks with her when she hopped down off the landing to guard the main door. He wets his hand again with lube, keeps stroking his cock with one palm while he slips his fingers back up between his cheeks.
It takes a moment of just - remembering he can't zone out to the sound of Derek's breathing in the video, before his response sends:]
then we never stop. you keep making me cum and i keep getting full of ur cum works for me.
fuck i want you right now. on me. over me. fucking me.
[ he wants to say yes. he wants to hear tate moan, he wants to see him fuck up into his fist and cover himself with cum. he wants to see him wrecked and know that he has that much power over him, that much influence, that he can make him lose his mind even when they're miles apart. ]
No.
[ derek strokes a little faster. ]
You're gonna edge. You're gonna wait. You're gonna keep jerking off until I'm done with work, and then I'm going to come back and take care of you. Unless - You beg me for it.
[Tate doesn't want to edge himself, it's - infuriating when all he wants now is to shoot his load or take Derek's. Derek who's not even here right now, but whose fingers he can pretend are fucking him when he angles his own just right. But he has to slow down, and he's breathing hard when he just - stops. To keep himself from losing it.
'VOICE MEMO - 15s' is sent to Derek, and if he clicks ▶ PLAY the following soundclip is heard, starting with labored breathing and the sound of shuffling sheets:]
Derek... Please? I wanna cum. Let me - Let me, and you can do whatever you want later. Please. I promise.
[ fuck, that message. the shelves are digging into his spine and his arm is pretty uncomfortable, but he feels more alert and aroused than he has for a while. he keeps circling back to the sound of people working on cars, the sight of feet beneath partitions. someone just needs to turn a corner or look past a few boxes and they'll see him. a part of him wants that. maybe that's fucked up. it would be, back home. maybe not in duplicity.
he calls tate. he shouldn't, because making more noise is only going to draw more attention, but he dials his number, and when tate picks up, derek's voice is an unsteady whisper. ]
[Tate picks up without saying hello - he just hits accept to the call and breathes, a soft noise catching in his throat as he returns his hand down to the base of his cock. His other hand keeps toying its fingers against his hole, finger fucking himself in small pauses to keep himself from getting too into it to stop. He hears Derek's voice and blinks open his eyes, staring off across the room and pressing the shell of his ear down next to his phone, head lolling to the side.
He wants Derek to be here, but this - this has to do. He jerks himself off, hoping the shit quality of the call might pick up the hitching of his breath, the sheets sliding under his heels as he parts his legs wider and the sound of him jerking it in steady slow pumps.]
Y-Yeah. Please. Please.
[He doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to have a second more burdened with desire. Knowing that Derek's hot for him too? He wants to hear him panting, be able to close his eyes and think for a moment that he's there. Leaning over him, ready to lock his jaws against his throat again and bite until it hurts. Bite until he comes. His voice is thick and he's unsteady, waiting for another sign before he'll jerk off harder and with dedicated intent.]
[ Tate sounds frantic and needy and Derek feels the exact same fucking way. The begging, the breathing - Derek has to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning as loud as he wants to, but it still slips out of him in fractured, muted noises, wanting and wanton and hopeless. He flexes his muscles and stands straighter against the wall, shutting his eyes, and he presses his phone closer to his ear while he strokes, starting to sweat.
They haven't been doing this for long at all, but Derek - really, really can't hold back. ]
Okay. Count of-- of five, okay? I'm gonna...
[ He can't think clearly. Can't say the words. He's panting like he's ran a marathon, he's rattling the tin of paint behind him with his elbow. He strokes faster and faster still, choking out numbers as he goes, his voice laden with lust and hard to hear through each shuddering breath - five, four, three. He swallows, presses his heel into the concrete. Two. His breath hitches again. One.
Derek's climax hits him like a fucking truck. He pushes back into the shelves and blows, choking out strangled noises, barely managing to keep from being heard. He shoots his load on the ground in front of him, vision going white, and he's almost sobbing with how fucking good it feels. He thinks of Tate, curled up in bed, stretched open for him and ready. He thinks of cumming on his chest, his face, marking him, claiming him, doing everything he wants to him. His chest hurts from how tight his lungs burn, and his legs shake from the power of his orgasm.
He comes down with blurry vision in a few minutes, sweaty and laughing a little, and - jesus. Without hanging up, he takes a quick set of photos - one of himself, hair dishevelled and face flushed red, one of his load, painting the concrete in forceful white streaks. One of his cock, slowly going limp, cum still dripping from his head. He sends each photo off to Tate, pressing his phone back to his ear. ]
[Tate doesn't remember the moments leading up to the count down, or during it - not past the extent that his stomach clenched with anticipation and his hand kept moving. The closer to zero they got, the faster his palm moved and the tighter he curled his hand so that he could fuck up into it with solid lifts of his hips. He went all out, in those last few seconds, murmuring Derek's name in breathy little grunts and gasps. Kept picturing him, what he'd imagine he looked like, maybe seated against a hoisted up car or sitting on a bench at the back of the garage.
When he comes, he arches his whole back with it and takes a long few seconds to really milk out the fullest extent of his load. It hits his thigh and hip, a little bit of his chest and it's all over the back of his hand. Even after he's slowed, leaving himself to lay there panting, he makes a further mess by dropping his hand down over his abdomen and smearing the white across his pale, heaving chest. He was a lot louder when he came, voice crying out in the tree house where nobody else was around to hear. Cobain might be scandalized, if she's even still around.
Derek sends him photos and Tate - Tate doesn't get to looking at them until Derek speaks, stirring his eyes open again. He lifts his phone to look at the alert, breathing hard still before he laughs - just as breathless. It's always after he comes that Tate kind of realizes how... extra things got leading up to it. But he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed, not really. He saves the photos, all of them.
Then he wipes the last bit of cum from his hand off on his face, a smear wiped off by his nose to look - lewd, on purpose - for the photo he sends back to Derek. Cum on his face, his chest - he sends two photos of that before one of his spent cock, laying against his equally messy thigh.]
[ Derek's, uh. Derek's feeling a little mindblown. There's this prickly feeling of guilt replacing the moment of exhilaration that coursed so heavily through his body, and the world suddenly feels louder and less sealed away by the high he was chasing. He needs to clean up, he needs to fix his clothes. He needs to look like he didn't just fuck his hand in the middle of his shift.
There are twin chimes, one after the other, so Derek pulls his phone back and scrolls through the new messages Tate sent, his jaw dropping a little at the sight of each photo. The cum on his face, the-- the way it makes him look freshly fucked, freshly used. Derek's chest tightens with want, but he sallows the feeling down, making himself presentable, wiping some sweat off his forehead and putting his phone back up to his other ear. Definitely could have been fired for this, back home. ]
Soon.
[ He's just gotta finish his shift. Derek scratches at his eyebrow, still kind of breathless. He wants to play that audio file back. Wants to loop it while he works. The good thing about working in a garage is the abundance of rags and towels around here, so - he finds one, dropping it on the floor, quietly doing his best not to pray for death. The air smells like sex and cum and he knows someone's going to ask him if he got lucky. ]
I'm gonna bring some things to the treehouse, so. Just - relax. Recover. Get ready for me.
[Tate's just - yeah, he's going to lay here. He stretches his legs out, arches his back and just lets his limbs stretch before curling back in on himself. Another set of sheets that'll need to be washed, especially now that he's wiping cum off his face onto them by nuzzling down against the mattress. He rolls over onto his stomach, voice a bit muffled as he sits up while holding the phone to his ear.]
I'll stay just like I am, waiting.
[He's hungry though, so he'll just take a short trip down to the main landing to find where he left the granola bars. Feeling oddly at home walking around the now enclosed space fully nude. He wipes his hip off with one of the tea towels in the kitchen area, wrinkling his nose as he looks around for where to put it before just hanging it back up on its hook.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Okay. Sorry.
You asked me how I'm doing.
I'm okay.
Alone. At work.
Been thinking of you all day.
What about you?
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couple minutes ago.
I'd tell u about it but I wouldn't wanna distract u from ur work...
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Tell me about it.
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been here all day. more fun now that there's a roof, y'know?
less sun in my eyes when i'm jerking off to the scent of you on the sheets.
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What did you think about, exactly?
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but it's always kind of hard working up to it, since i'm always a little too tight
even though i do like the thought of you stretching me out. sometimes i'd rather just you fill me, you know?
so i was getting loose for you, starting with my fingers.
pretending they were yours.
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I think about that a lot, too. Filling you.
Pushing you to your limits. Making you come for me.
Fucking you so hard you can't even tell how loud you're screaming.
Keep talking.
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mm. so, i started up in the loft. stretched out on the bed naked, got my fingers slick.
fingered myself for almost an hour, edging myself off cumming each time.
it got easier with time, I could add more fingers. still wasn't as thick as you'd be.
i wanted to use something else but i couldn't find anything.
i'm doing it again rn. you made me horny.
[mov_1133.mov]
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[ they're just playing a game, really. tate only messaged him to find out how to do this in the first place, and in the back of his mind, derek isn't even entirely sure all of this is for his sake and not just... practice, for someone else. he doesn't believe that tate did that, not really. derek isn't even entirely sure that tate's hard right now and not just, like - going through the motions, saying things he think might work.
but they do work, and derek briefly forgets that this might not be real. he wants more. ]
You're killing me here.
I'm gonna end up jerking off at work.
You're gonna get me fired.
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if you were here rn, would u fill me?
like. really fill me. all the way.
and keep me filled like last time.
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[ a pause. this isn't real. he can give tate what he wants, through text, without... worrying the way he does. worrying about hurting him, worrying about going too far, worrying that tate wants more than he can handle. he can engage in some of the things derek doesn't know if he could really do, in reality. not outside of the full moon. derek types a little faster. ]
Tate -
I'd pin you to the bed. Hold you down. Fuck you until your bones ache.
Slap your ass until it's red. Pull your hair until your eyes water.
I'd put my hands around your throat. The way you always wanted me to.
I'd squeeze. Feel your windpipe beneath my thumbs, brittle and fragile. I'd flood you with my cum while your throat rasped for the little gasps of breath I'd let you have.
You'd feel full. Every part of you.
Overwhelmed.
Hurt. Happy.
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I want that
I wanna feel every inch of you tight inside me, swelling. stretching. hurting
I can deal with that. you can stay in me as long as you want, when you knot
you liked doing that. you should be able to do it as often as you want. to me.
what good's a beta for if not letting you feel like the alpha u really are?
from the second you walk thru the door 'til whenever you decide to leave
I'm yours, ok? to do whatever you want with. to do everything to.
I wanna cum for u right now
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i wanna cum for u right now. again: fuck it. derek swipes rapidly to his camera app takes a video of himself, his hand gliding firm and fast up and down his dick, fast and a little loud. he's breathing hard, trying not to moan. there's the sound of people moving around in the garage not far from him. ]
What if I decide to never leave?
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It takes a moment of just - remembering he can't zone out to the sound of Derek's breathing in the video, before his response sends:]
then we never stop. you keep making me cum and i keep getting full of ur cum
works for me.
fuck i want you right now. on me. over me. fucking me.
[A delay...]
can i cum?
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No.
[ derek strokes a little faster. ]
You're gonna edge. You're gonna wait.
You're gonna keep jerking off until I'm done with work, and then I'm going to come back and take care of you.
Unless -
You beg me for it.
Say please.
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[Tate doesn't want to edge himself, it's - infuriating when all he wants now is to shoot his load or take Derek's. Derek who's not even here right now, but whose fingers he can pretend are fucking him when he angles his own just right. But he has to slow down, and he's breathing hard when he just - stops. To keep himself from losing it.
'VOICE MEMO - 15s' is sent to Derek, and if he clicks ▶ PLAY the following soundclip is heard, starting with labored breathing and the sound of shuffling sheets:]
Derek... Please? I wanna cum. Let me - Let me, and you can do whatever you want later. Please. I promise.
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[ fuck, that message. the shelves are digging into his spine and his arm is pretty uncomfortable, but he feels more alert and aroused than he has for a while. he keeps circling back to the sound of people working on cars, the sight of feet beneath partitions. someone just needs to turn a corner or look past a few boxes and they'll see him. a part of him wants that. maybe that's fucked up. it would be, back home. maybe not in duplicity.
he calls tate. he shouldn't, because making more noise is only going to draw more attention, but he dials his number, and when tate picks up, derek's voice is an unsteady whisper. ]
Together. Okay? Same time. You and me.
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He wants Derek to be here, but this - this has to do. He jerks himself off, hoping the shit quality of the call might pick up the hitching of his breath, the sheets sliding under his heels as he parts his legs wider and the sound of him jerking it in steady slow pumps.]
Y-Yeah. Please. Please.
[He doesn't want to wait, doesn't want to have a second more burdened with desire. Knowing that Derek's hot for him too? He wants to hear him panting, be able to close his eyes and think for a moment that he's there. Leaning over him, ready to lock his jaws against his throat again and bite until it hurts. Bite until he comes. His voice is thick and he's unsteady, waiting for another sign before he'll jerk off harder and with dedicated intent.]
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They haven't been doing this for long at all, but Derek - really, really can't hold back. ]
Okay. Count of-- of five, okay? I'm gonna...
[ He can't think clearly. Can't say the words. He's panting like he's ran a marathon, he's rattling the tin of paint behind him with his elbow. He strokes faster and faster still, choking out numbers as he goes, his voice laden with lust and hard to hear through each shuddering breath - five, four, three. He swallows, presses his heel into the concrete. Two. His breath hitches again. One.
Derek's climax hits him like a fucking truck. He pushes back into the shelves and blows, choking out strangled noises, barely managing to keep from being heard. He shoots his load on the ground in front of him, vision going white, and he's almost sobbing with how fucking good it feels. He thinks of Tate, curled up in bed, stretched open for him and ready. He thinks of cumming on his chest, his face, marking him, claiming him, doing everything he wants to him. His chest hurts from how tight his lungs burn, and his legs shake from the power of his orgasm.
He comes down with blurry vision in a few minutes, sweaty and laughing a little, and - jesus. Without hanging up, he takes a quick set of photos - one of himself, hair dishevelled and face flushed red, one of his load, painting the concrete in forceful white streaks. One of his cock, slowly going limp, cum still dripping from his head. He sends each photo off to Tate, pressing his phone back to his ear. ]
That was, uh.
[ ... ]
Unexpected.
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When he comes, he arches his whole back with it and takes a long few seconds to really milk out the fullest extent of his load. It hits his thigh and hip, a little bit of his chest and it's all over the back of his hand. Even after he's slowed, leaving himself to lay there panting, he makes a further mess by dropping his hand down over his abdomen and smearing the white across his pale, heaving chest. He was a lot louder when he came, voice crying out in the tree house where nobody else was around to hear. Cobain might be scandalized, if she's even still around.
Derek sends him photos and Tate - Tate doesn't get to looking at them until Derek speaks, stirring his eyes open again. He lifts his phone to look at the alert, breathing hard still before he laughs - just as breathless. It's always after he comes that Tate kind of realizes how... extra things got leading up to it. But he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed, not really. He saves the photos, all of them.
Then he wipes the last bit of cum from his hand off on his face, a smear wiped off by his nose to look - lewd, on purpose - for the photo he sends back to Derek. Cum on his face, his chest - he sends two photos of that before one of his spent cock, laying against his equally messy thigh.]
Shit. Ah... When are you coming back?
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There are twin chimes, one after the other, so Derek pulls his phone back and scrolls through the new messages Tate sent, his jaw dropping a little at the sight of each photo. The cum on his face, the-- the way it makes him look freshly fucked, freshly used. Derek's chest tightens with want, but he sallows the feeling down, making himself presentable, wiping some sweat off his forehead and putting his phone back up to his other ear. Definitely could have been fired for this, back home. ]
Soon.
[ He's just gotta finish his shift. Derek scratches at his eyebrow, still kind of breathless. He wants to play that audio file back. Wants to loop it while he works. The good thing about working in a garage is the abundance of rags and towels around here, so - he finds one, dropping it on the floor, quietly doing his best not to pray for death. The air smells like sex and cum and he knows someone's going to ask him if he got lucky. ]
I'm gonna bring some things to the treehouse, so. Just - relax. Recover. Get ready for me.
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I'll stay just like I am, waiting.
[He's hungry though, so he'll just take a short trip down to the main landing to find where he left the granola bars. Feeling oddly at home walking around the now enclosed space fully nude. He wipes his hip off with one of the tea towels in the kitchen area, wrinkling his nose as he looks around for where to put it before just hanging it back up on its hook.]
Don't give me time to tighten up, okay?
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